jadesprite: (↪ crawl inside this second skin)
at our sisters rn -- it's her birthday and a lot of family is here, some of her boyfriend dave's and we don't even know them all so we're really nervous. we're hiding out away in the bathroom at the moment but we're going to try not to just spend the entire day in here, ugh

using dw on mobile is really hard so let's keep this fairly short!! wanted to write more to this but oh well maybe later

i have been having dreams or maybe memories with a consistent theme to them of ferrying the dead. i said, once, that we would like to in an abstract sense be some sort of reaper -- not taking souls, not always, not for everyone but i think we'd like to help them along at least. we feel such an odd connection with the dead. cultural necrophilia don't they say? it is something like that i guess. but instead of the large deaths we find ourself fascinated by the small ones. we want to take everyone we know that fears their own mortality and at The End we would like to peel back their skin for them like maybe helping some young person do up the zipper of their dress where they cannot quite reach it between their shoulderblades, just like that, so easy. oh love there is a bruise on your back, a real awful thing, and in a moment like that we'll just pick off the colouring and leave your skin fresh and clean again. it'll be alright.

we want to pry out people's souls and let them move smoothly, we want to draw out each path in the earth and light for each person, the roads from their Ends to their Beginnings. we look at bodies like prisons and cages and we think of people leaving them and we think of: showing them their own freedom, being a revolutionary of the dead, not an anarchist for there is nothing really to overthrow here but more we want to show them that, the lack of walls. people live fenced-in and squared off and i think when presented with utter genuine freedom it's not something we can really understand, any of us. but we want to learn how to understand with them. you are free now don't you see? all your mortal walls and boundaries and mortal chains around your ankles and mortal concrete-feet -- they are gone now. maybe we'll have to take you back to them in the end in some form or another but for now let's just be free.
jadesprite: (↪ under your spell)
wow this got a bit rambly!! let's call it stream of consciousness i guess. so it's going to be valentines day in under a week now and we're getting all sappy in preparation and man maybe this doesn't look much like sap to everyone but it is to us ok ::')

warning: gross imagery (injuries, self-harm?, cannibalism) as metaphor for emotion )
jadesprite: (↪ but i got that curse)

from narutaru which is a really good manga!! starts off seemingly light-hearted and shoujo-orientated action but dives pretty quickly into the deeper depressing story-motivated josei end of the scale. a lot of themes about the place of human society in relation to nature and how they co-exist, how the worth of a person's morality or 'right to exist' is measured, things like that. v interesting. (@ennis if you see! -- have you ever read this by any chance? it seems potentially really up your alley, dang. we keep meaning to ask you but never get round to it.)

"behind the pain
someone is rejoicing

behind the torture
there is love

who’s going to buy
this bullshit

if you don’t become the ocean
you’ll be seasick
every day."

we really love leonard cohen. it's probably clichéd at this point, probably too mainstream, but his poetry was the first we ever really got into
and although i doubt it'll be the last we'll likely still like it for a very long time! it's strange to think of how old he is now, actually. we're too used to reading about poets and artists and all the like dying young...

oh and. we're hesitant to post this here out of shyness but it is writing of a sort and definitely personal so...!! i guess it belongs with all the rest. we were going to do something like this on valentines day (hhhh) but riley came back from the con today and we got a really gross awful burst of inspiration talking to him, oh no! so this happened. found poetry as taken from our msn history w/ him, i guess. found poetry and what we found was homosexuality

disgusting. don't read. )
jadesprite: (↪ panic on the streets)
gggg we should really do personal posts more often instead of just writing but

do you ever feel like more of a concept, an idea, than a person? we do often but i am not sure if perhaps it is just born out of self-loathing, some miserable feeling of being less than a collected connected being with all our pieces in order, a feeling of being less, less. it does not entirely feel that way, though — not always, not for every disarrayed piece. not for everything
the thing is that 'noah' is vague and intangible and undefinable: he is not our blood, he is not our brain, he is not our heart. he is consciousness and nothing more and in that i suppose he is truly the essence of nothing in us. our body means nothing! the body is host and inside of it is where the person, the being, really lies. in a sense it is a cage; a cage of flesh and blood and bone, bone like You truly You are stuck among the arching frame of your ribcage as behind prison cell-bars. and you know our skin feels sometimes like it is the only thing keeping us together and we could hate that! if there was not a part of us deep down that is rational and logical and knows over believes (and that part we could hate, too) we would almost think that our skin is keeping us trapped—
like it is a foreign wrap on our innards, a bandage pulled too tight into numbness, only there is nothing to tighten down on, no innards, not really. it is a loose net around our soul but somehow it feels suffocating also. likely that is just in a metaphorical sense, likely it all is, most likely of all we are wrong because we are flesh and blood, can we not feel it? can we not feel our pulse and our body heat and the weight of our flesh? of course we can; it is dragging us down into the earth always. but deeper down, inside of even that, there is more or perhaps less

our soul is made of air if we have one i think. i think, i think it is nothing, personified nothing, the smoke of a dullahan’s severed neck-to-head, the film of mist lying on the surface of water where nymphs and sirens and lake-ladies reside, it is pure spirit of life and death and what else could a soul be? below our blood and flesh that is what i like to think lies. smoke, thick as highland fog, unbreathable and i suppose unliveable! but no, no somehow we live. oh we live. we live forever—and every one of us if it is what we so choose, what you choose—and within that all we die a million deaths and break through from a million rebirths before we ever manage to raise ourself into anything more than flies buzzing in the silent infinite everything of the universe. and still yet we go on.


so you know i guess it's a silly thing to say but we just want to help people so like... if anyone ever wants to talk to us about identity things or belief things and stuff like that then we're always open for that. and so long as you're relatively respectful about it, if you have any questions fsr about our writing or w/e then yeah that's cool too. i mean probably wont ever come up at all but hey just in case right? idk idk idk
jadesprite: (↪ oh we're thick as thieves yknow)
two pieces of personal writing, sort of related but not entirely. first is something we posted on tumblr not that long ago but we felt the sudden need to xpost it now for reasons im not sure of!! the second is more recent and from a comment to ennis regarding their personal beliefs (they're very similar to ours basically dang ennis how are we so alike)

new age spiritual bullshit )


new age spiritual bullshit the second, now with religious overtones )
jadesprite: (↪ love in wires)
some shitty ten minutes stream of consciousness writing i guess. theres some story to it in a way but its very little and i think its better without anyway

content warning: slightly gory imagery, nsfw, consent issues [basically sex with a sentient object; robotic] )

let's horribly break pokemon blue. basically something between a normal lp and a TAS (tas'd, losers)? i mean it's an lp but not of blue, more of the glitches in blue and dang is there a lot of them. it's all about glitch pokes and glitch items and why these things actually exist in the code and why the event flags to trigger them are what they are, interesting stuff even if we didn't quite get all of it but w/e!! also entertaining. glitches are a bit unreasonably fascinating to us ngl, i like watching games be broken open in this way, seeing programming fucked with and exploited and idk its just interesting somehow!

i think they're actually kind of pretty, in a way, too. seeing graphics deteriorate and mess up is a whole other level of cool to us on its own because i know its the stupidest thing but we're really interested in what people see in those kinds of things! and the colours and the shapes and all the strange jolted flickery movement to it -- it's a weird feeling, the way we perceive it. idk if we really have synaesthesia (and i'm wary to self-diagnose ourself with anything at all) but if we do then this shit makes it go wild. it's kind of like music to us. static and inversion and colour-bars, like they always say you used to get on tvs but i swear i dont remember ever seeing them at all maybe it was before my time? but like that yeah it just sounds and feels of so many different things, all of it, and together with every combination there are different results and it's really amazing sometimes idk

"i see songs in shapes and colours: like nuclear physics or pottery ovens, fluid lines that soar like towers"


i swear i'm having one of those nights where just everything i say comes out sounding stream-of-consciousness or weirdly detached in some way but it's really not intentional and we're not feeling out of it or anything??? dang. anyway um night dw! we're off to bed in a bit, see you tomorrow maybe i guessss. sleep well and have a good night everyone!!
jadesprite: (↪ the world in your hands)
i'm words. nothing but words, a walking dictionary of personality traits and a directory of names: (a)lex and teal and ridley-kristen and even the old one, the first one, jammed down among our ribs, stuffed at the base of our spine and down into in our guts, old-blood dried up and sunk under the new
from a formal viewpoint i guess my personality is not really "alex is" or even "i am" but "inside me there is" because we are not entirely a person or even people!! not a shape defined by its edges, not colour within the lines, we are edgeless and shapeless and without-boundaries of self, we are colour spilling, ink bleeding, raw emotion and clinical thought and
things full of so many things and at any given time we are more of one thing than another but that does not take any of them away!! it only carries them off in our blood, sweeps them into our bones where they cling like wet-seaweed to sand but in the end they are always carried back, just a constant inner tide of ebbing and flowing always and sometimes it lies low and calm and sometimes it foams and crashes but it is us either way
we are water and wind, the sea and the sky, both and neither and all roads between; we are the line of the horizon between endless light and ever-growing life and our soul is made of silver and gold, rubies and emeralds, gleaming like stars and that is what we are! we are stardust from a million years away, broken down into infinite unfathomably tiny pieces and drifted to Earth like snow or ash and the soil and water and light have brought it all back together again, rearranged us with white-tan skin and pink flesh and bubbling blood and heavy heavy bones but beyond them we could be weightless and maybe one day when our dust breaks down and sets to travel again that is exactly what we will be
we are the prince of a kingdom of stars and on Earth we are young and small but beyond this, among the stars, we are younger and smaller, infinitely so, a speck of nothing rubbing its raw-eyes, blinking and forever reborn, in the face of incomprehensible time and distance. but the difference is that here that distance is daunting — out there, it cradles us. in it we are both the tiniest fly buzzing unheard and the spider with its long spindly legs and its sharp eyes spinning webs between the dots of stars in which to catch solar winds.
dust in our veins and dust on our bones and in the back of our skull and in our mouth, we are made of dust, but it is dust that sometimes we swear we catch on the back-end of tingling, glittering. singing.


jadesprite: (Default)
rotten kid

October 2014

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