alasanon: (simple and clean)
Weaving webs.

--

I'm a little stuck again, and all I want to do is sleep. But it's just tired, not defeated, like I felt during September. I have a lot of things to do, and a few things that I *must* do, for work or for myself, but it's difficult to find the energy.

It'll get better in a week or so. ~_^;
alasanon: (Default)
....well, no.

But I feel the wind tangling my hair and the scent of rain and fallen leaves and I think that maybe I'm waking up.

--

There are pumpkins and bones and bats decorating my local coffee shop and I sometimes wonder how it took so long for Halloween to become another commodity. Everyone loves Halloween these days, but I remember being small and excited and shut down when I wanted to talk about ghouls and vampires out of season, and 'season' lasted only a week or two at most. There were parties, of course, and trick or treating, but not the rows and rows of candy and themed merchandise and massive shops. Of course, the world itself was smaller then, it seems. Christmas didn't start until the day after Thanksgiving. Things were slower.

No one can wait anymore.

--

I'm fucking directly off to Japan at the end of the year, as I have before. I need this like I need air; the space to breathe that I can only find when I'm (mostly) alone, when I'm in new places, maybe-maybe-not meeting new people. Out of this country for a short while, at the very least. This year has been nerve-wracking in a lot of ways. I just want to see the mikan groves and smell the sea and deafen myself with music.
alasanon: (Default)
September is almost over. Wake yourself in four days, shake off the dust that has settled in your curls, and begin anew.

Farewell.

9/5/17 11:07 am
alasanon: (simple and clean)
the scent of your fur changed days ago
but i've been mourning you for years
there is a fine haze concealing the sun
ash floating in the air
i can excuse my red eyes and not explain.

---
...I want to have more to say but all I can think is that it was time, it was easy, you let go without a struggle. My heart feels heavy, but it's a gentle enough weight to bear.

Now we wash your things and carry on without.
alasanon: (twisted)
I am hurt. There is a wound under my skin that only seems to open after you have touched me, and it stings.

I don't mind; I have dealt with worse devils than those you claim to have partnered with on many occasions, but it reminds me of mortality. Of feeling. Of vulnerability I thought I had cast away some time ago. It takes time to sew myself up again, each suture a thick black line remarking that I am not as cold as I pretend to be.

It unsettles me to look down and see them -- the past is the past and should remain quiet -- and yet, somehow, I don't regret a moment.
alasanon: (simple and clean)
Strangeways lost me going somewhere
walking on and into the drift of your attention
I haven't got a leg to stand on
nothing going, nowhere doing
my hands are still at my sides
alasanon: (twisted)
I put my mouth on you, not on your skin or mouth, but
on the parts of you that are invisible to most

I touch my teeth to your ribs, not biting not gripping
but feeling out the slip and curve -- each one
shaped slightly differently than the one above
than the one below

my tongue sleeks along your lungs, tasting your breath
the texture of your heaving chest from the inside out
spongey tissue warm and dense and strong enough
to pull me out into the world
alasanon: (Default)
it's difficult to tell whether I care or do not care, even for me.
alasanon: (Default)
You dream of bigger things, of love of hands and mouths that only speak kindness
alasanon: (simple and clean)
loneliness and pride and despair
sadness and fear and repetition of desires
alasanon: (portrait of anon)
which crippled heart hides the ability to adore
alasanon: (simple and clean)
I have been told many things about myself

The two most common are that I am small and weak

And that I am frightening and dangerous


I hate both in equal measure


I am neither, ultimately. I want people to know that I am as afraid as they are, or rather, I wish that I didn't have to tell them that. I wish people could just accept me and let me exist and not crush me under the weight of their expectations.

I hate being told that I am small, even in admiring terms. I like being made of twigs and leaves, I like not taking up much space. I hate being reminded that my state is one that people desire because it appeals to the greater public aesthetic. I hate being reminded that the gap between my actual state and my internal sensation is so vast.

And I do not like being told that I am dangerous. Full stop. I know when the things I say may reflect badly on others. I know when teasing is too much. There's a reason I don't tease more.

(no subject)

4/4/17 01:52 am
alasanon: (Default)
I'm sometimes a phantom

Ghostly letters across invisible space
Liminal fragments appearing in place
Ominous statements, probably lies
Wayward breaths conceal desperate sighs
Behind the curtain of virtue, sin takes hold
Under order of silence, the weak become bold
Given freedom and mercy, angels on pins
Sudden death overtime, the lesson begins
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