of a body, and scars that can still inhale beauty
sinking in the currents, counting the waves against a cold body
wash away the sins in the dark, she said to me
at the stroke of midnight between fingertips, water cleanses
and I sink even deeper, the deepest ledge you can jump off
without losing yourself completely
the antagonist said there is not enough light between hollow spaces, but I know that water covers every surface of a hollow heart,
this used to be a warm place, this used to be home, veins heating the skin
and breaths of unsaid words filling our walls
even counted sighs can bring relief
and now, just ashtrays left on the ground, and fog against the surface of the mirror
rough tiles treated by time, and smooth in places you don’t want to touch, yet they feel so good
and here I lay in the shallow creek that covers my lips, enabling me to breath
you can but you don’t want to, lost in the passages of time, challenging your lungs to hold the whole world in their fragile cells, but you stay there, you stay till the fire touches your chest, as if a passionate lover, destroying you in the best of ways, but you want to feel, you so desperately want to feel,
so you let it, you let it consume you until you are just a state of useless strings raving in commotion, but it’s not that, not that, annihilation is not your final line, it’s just the beginning as it all takes you in, challenging your state, challenging yourself, sinking even deeper under the darkness that swallows the stars, points of light on your skin
guiding you on a path that causes you to stumble on harsh shards,
the black ink within your veins building patterns for all that still lives in you, it wants to live, doesn’t it? you know it does, that’s why you sink in the waves, child, that’s why you drown in the oceans of your own eyes, you drown in the cells that build her universe,
the surface of the mirror cracking and showing your flaws,
the marks that can still inhale beauty
but now, just ashtrays, just ashtrays on the ground, heavy smoke in the walls, coloring your soul in stained yellows and fractured greys, but yet you sink into it all, waiting to the last moment until every living matter of space burst out of your chest, and then you breathe, oh how you breathe, a newborn gasping for air that consists of flowers and thick sweet murmurs, swallowing unconditional love in its soft skin, and then you hear it, you hear it so well, the thing that was lost for so long, your core, your heart, ruby vessels hugging the world within you, and its’ there, it screams, it burns, it sings so loudly, and in that one moment when there is nothing, you’re lost, you’re lost but you are found,
I dare you to breathe
and it’s there, you know it is, just you and that moment when everything fades away,
just like... a skipping of a single heartbeat, constructed of time
there’s nothing else you need, and you realize you’re not drowning but flowing in between songs built of everything and nothing, perfection caused by gentle chaos, and suddenly, you’re the time, it runs through you, it breaths, but it doesn’t move for anyone else but her, she’s the reason
and somewhere in the back of your mind a distant whisper touches your skin, letting you know that the world still exists, that time still rushes forward,
and then your eyes open, refusing slumber that came from ice and frozen hopes, it felt like snow, didn’t it? oxygen in space or the lack of it, and then you see it, noticing details, stains of matter within countless voids that were there before,
noticing the edge of the bathtub and the waves falling on the dirty tiles, how they cover the doors and sink into the purple rugs, dripping ceilings, and naked floors beneath your tender spine, yours and the house
and finally, yes finally, time and space cracks,
and it’s midnight touching the windows, and its the night resting on your eyelids and caressing that place behind your ears, always sensitive to touch, always, and it’s the sound of the wind and the creations sinking into you, sinking deep into you and washing away your sins, such beautiful scars they make, don’t they? the ones that only you can touch, rough to you in its own strength,
but so smooth to the one that sees you with soft light, but loves your shadows, despite how heavy you feel, despite how blind you became to the beauty of your structures, she sees it with her fingertips dripping of soul and honey,
with a heart that’s filled with space dust and gas, a tiny nebula resting in each of those craving particles, beating red, velvety dreams made from countless explosions, how clearly she sees you between the walls you build so well, pushing aways the layers of damaged skin, passing through the still bruised muscles and counting your ribs as if searching for the key that only you can give her
and it bursts again, red flashes of red and shimmering lights of flames, fireworks, feelings, yes, those fireworks and you, and it illuminates you, and you beg for release,
you beg the concrete parts of your heart to bleed again
and you beg your wanting soul to not hide crisscrossed thoughts, and there’s a scream, there’s a wail, there’s a roar, and you do it, you strip every vein and muscle, sliding open your ribs, you do it, you do it with pain and joy,
and you do you it, do you hear me?
all the world goes quiet as you open your chest for her and despite every hurt part of yourself, that cries of fear and tattoed loneliness, you do it, you do it for her,
and in between all the chaos, you find your whisper and those gentle fingertips dripping of soul and honey, of the sun you always miss the most between snow and thick trees marking shadows, and all the space of faded light in between,
and suddenly the word home feels so good on your skin, and you’re breathing it, and you never knew, no, you never knew, that such a feeling could be a caress, a kiss that reaches your soul, a heart finally feeling warmth placed in the right hands, and you stand, and your legs shake and fingers slip against rusted porcelain, but you still stand, catching gravity within your bones, and your feet move, just one step at a time
and you feel everything shift slowly into new structures, you’re not whole, there will always be scars on those fragile veins, bruises on broken bones next to your core, darker parts of you that cry just the same as those embraced in soft light, but you’re standing, and there is a beating sound under your ribs, and a peaceful brightness withing that soul of yours that always searched for a home
and you inhale, and you’re here, and you exist,
you are here, and somehow, you survived, stronger than before, even when there are days when all you feel is weak, damaged, chewed roots mixing with the strongest lights of moonlit love and you
and now child...
I dare you to breathe
Brainstorming “Save the World, Change for the Better”
So the other day I wrote a piece of fiction and posted it here called "Save the World, Change for the Better", and it kinda took my brain lots of places as a potential novel idea. So I guess I'm just gonna write down the ideas I had for it? Because I love to brain storm when I'm inspired. This probably won't make a lot of sense, it's like one in the morning and only getting later... I'm open to input by the way. I don't know if I'd actually write this as a novel or something but who knows.
I thought about Della potentially being a supernatural being like an angel, maybe? I wasn't really sure how I was feeling about that, but I just know she knows more about Wyatt than Wyatt knows about her. I'm not sure how they met or how long ago it was from the first scene... at first I thought this was their first meeting, but he lets her into his apartment without much of a fight, so I don't think it is. I think it's more that Della has some gifts and is just human.
Della means "noble" and "noble" means "having or showing fine personal qualities or high moral principles and ideals." I like to think about the meaning of names for my characters because I really dont like naming characters. While it may be accurate to her, and her parents thought a lot about it when they named her, I think it'd be neat to explore how she is not noble in every way. She falls short, her name isn't always an accurate description. I think it's definitely how she views herself, and it's a little prideful so she might have to get humbled.
Wyatt means "little warrior", which is kinda what I was thinking. I think when I originally looked up names I got the meaning "brave warrior". I'm finding a lot of conflicting info, it seems to depend on origin and website and mood. I wasn't sure exactly how he was saving the world when I wrote the piece, just that I knew he was going to save it. I would say it's not an accurate name to his life. I think his parents called him that, hoping he might not make their same mistakes in life. You know, of not answering their calling.
The details on his family are unclear to me. On one hand, I'm thinking the story could be about overthrowing the government (because corrupt governments should be overthrown but self control you know... but if my FBI agent is looking this is just fiction and I literally don't know how to overthrow the government). And his family is basically lines of people working in government. He might even still have a great grandparent or two who is well enough to keep being in office... you know those high salaries can make for that health care yo. This story takes place in America.
But Wyatt is estranged from his family, for he didn't want to continue in the family line and he probably has some siblings who are willing. Maybe they are willing to continue with the family's generational curse of selfishness and complacency and willful ignorance to reality. I just think they're a part of the problem either by inaction toward the evil or they are the evil they're not fighting. I'm not sure how it equates to the world ending unless it's more like "world as we know it" ending. So like the world currently.
I feel like Della would be part of an underground operation who has been planning this for years, and probably had a few failed attempts that were kept under the rug (aka media covered it the heck up). Somehow the underground operation find out about Wyatt, maybe Della stumbled across him by accident and realized he resembles some of the people in office. I don't know anything about the operation, and I'm debating if Wyatt would stay with them or if he would try to live as normal. I feel like a few days before the end of the world as they know it, he would get kidnapped, so he's kind of out of the picture for some extra drama. I mean, he'll get out and save the world in time. Or will he? Who are these people planning this? How many are there? What am I gonna name them?
I used to write so much fanfiction (that's all I wrote for about eight years) that it's hard to not want to write Della and Wyatt as a ship if I wrote this, but currently, I couldn't imagine them being together since they're two totally different people. Maybe they don't end up together, just two lives who came together to save the world, with some others to help. Maybe I would only figure it out if I wrote the story. Maybe they wouldn't when they first met, but as they got to know each other and grow, they might? But like, is that lame if they didn't end up together?
Also I feel like I need to figure out who they are as people and their personalities and likes and dislikes and stuff. I want their voices to sound unique from each other, since that's something I struggle with. I feel like everybody talks the same in my head. What I liked about fanfiction was that I could write two already existing characters and their distinct personalities as I understood them from the media, and it's hard. Do I try to write those dynamics but with my own characters? Or do I try to make my own? Decisions, decisions.
I think that's everything I thought of? I'm tired and need to get up in like six hours or so, so... goodnight.
To anyone who actually read all this, you're rad. Thanks for reading. :)
Space IS The Place
The two enormous vessels sat nose to nose a few thousand meters apart in the vacuum of space in a region where the closest stars were so far away, that the light from them had yet to seep into it. In space like this it is darker than the darkest blackness imaginable. The tiny pinpoints of the ships lights were suffocated by the all encompassing and oppressive void like it just sucked the photons right out of existence.
On the bridge of the human ship, the captain studied the contours of the craft opposite them made visible by the ship's instruments. He appreciated its lines and its size and wondered about its occupants. Were they shaped like him? Were they larger or smaller in stature? These questions among others permeated his thoughts. Chief among these thoughts was were they hostile? The captain looked to the strange, tall, thin, absurdly dressed man next to him. He was still not sure how this man had gotten aboard his ship or where, in fact, he had even come from but found himself unable to not trust him. The man was possessed of an intoxicating type of madness, curiosity and energy that the captain could just not refuse.
"Do you think they're hostile?" he said to the man.
The stranger looked at at the other ship on the bridge's huge view screen and replied in an accent the captain had never heard before but loved to imitate.
"It has been, in my experience, that cultures advanced enough to master inter-galactic space travel have also been enlightened enough to not be openly hostile or war-like, but rather just as curious and seekers of knowledge as you lot."
"So…" the captain turned back to studying the alien craft. "We're safe then." he concluded with a relaxed smile.
The tall stranger looked sideways at the captain, arching an eyebrow over an almost luminous eye.
"Well, not 'openly hostile', I said." He then added snidely, "And you guys have made it this far?" he chuckled and shook his head.
The captain let the remark slide and instead was more concerned with how they were going to communicate with the beings on the other ship.
"I hope our computers are going to be able to interpret their language." As he knew that this is a crucial and delicate factor when dealing with such matters as contact with an entirely new culture.
"I got that covered." the thin stranger said, digging into one of the pockets of his bizarrely tailored jacket. After a moment or two of searching, he came up with a small yellow fish floating in water, contained in a securely tied plastic bag. He held it up to the captain.
"Here. Just stick this fish in your ear."
The captain looked at him incredulously.
"What?" the captain said and poked the bag. The fish swam in tight, lazy circles in the small bag and examined where the finger had poked. He looked at the man again.
"How did you do that? How could you have possibly had this in your pocket?"
The man chuckled again and placed the bag containing the fish back into a different pocket, gazing up and down at the captain's form fitting, pocketless jump suit.
"Never mind the fish. Just an old joke. Anyway, these are my space pockets. They're bigger on the inside."
The captain, astonished as fish and bag disappeared, met the man's amused gaze.
"Who are you?" he said partly with wonder but mostly with irritation at this bizarre stow-away.
"I'm no one." he said. "Right now I think you should concentrate on who that is." As he said this the giant view screen at the front of the bridge suddenly revealed the image of a woman. Her features were humanoid. Her skin, a pale shade of blue. Black, glossy hair framed a narrow face with high cheek bones and dark red lips. Her features were sharp and icily beautiful. Inquisitive, lemon yellow eyes took in the scene on the captain's bridge, the astonished crew, banks of computers and finally came to rest on the captain and his improbable companion.
"Hello." she said. "It sure is dark out here, huh?"