archedhands:

i’m not positive on what’s expected of me today.
all i know is
i feel most comfortable following in these
sunken
footsteps of mine.

in habit of my yearly ritual,
i greet the graveyard of our earliest days
— intertwined as the beach by the pier still wonder how you’re doing,
and who makes you…

Biting my tongue with freshly self-kicked heels, I finally set out to visit my grandfather, Gary, for the first time since the days of shoes with little blinking lights. The train ride itself took half the day, and by the time I had arrived, the family dinner had been set and my tardiness would quickly be forgotten as the sight of family seemed to warm the apartment’s atmosphere almost immediately. Before I could get in a proper form of greeting, the father of my mother would have me wrapped in an endearing vice grip of weathered arms and even more weathered Old Spice aftershave that, for some reason, seems to be cloaked on most elderly men. 

The occasion for all of the following taking place was due to the landlord of my house redecorating my room, which apparently I couldn’t witness and so I needed a place to kill time for the next few portions of the day. 

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Makeshift Crowns.

In haste of sleeker days, flowers serve as monetary
no more will a suit make the modern man a parody
of the human family. Nature and beings of purity
must serve their desires and no title of authority
shall ever alter the minds of the noble minority.
Liars won’t be punished, they’ll be given therapy
in the form of acceptance and the goal apparently,
will be to answer every missing poster. Heraldry
serves as something of a landmark in tyranny.
We will respect all of those shielded by obscurity
and we will endure the cold and it’s courtesy,
not letting the wind-chill shiver us incoherently.
Ages will be null and names won’t prolong legacy,
living for dreary man-made concepts in barbarity
shall make the future specimen keel over in hilarity.
Makeshift crowns will idolize inner peculiarity,
due to a common lack of interest in regularity
which the media (another spec of future’s rarity),
propagated ways one could promote “impurity”
no longer will a blade desecrate a wrist. Forestry
will serve as the backdrop of younger irony,
for their parents were once soldiers, (voluntarily)
of a vastly technological unit. Broken warranty
all marching one by one, the earnest urgency
of the minds of those who sobbed at greenery,
shed blood in Germany, clicked heels with Dorothy
in hopes they could just go home. Most assuredly,
my friends, we will find home. Our polarity
will guide us through hearts beating transparently,
the conspiracy of motion control, though similarly
imitate us – the human family, ever-present majority
will disconnect from the glistening wireless heresy.
Soak your eyes and untie your boots, let us warily
scrub ourselves with wax and ring around merrily.
The elliptical shaped crater drizzled extraordinary.

--Jesse Hutton, 2013

Perhaps it was the day you came in that I began to grow fond of you. Your parents had a tendency to go wild whenever being near each other and thus, you were born along with a bunch of others like you. Note how I didn’t use the word, ‘identical’. I feel as if since you were a rabbit (a species not like most), you don’t deserve to be clumped in with the sense of seeming like another one of your kind to the detail. You were different, you were lively, and you had a tendency to poop fairly often. 

Three days ago, you passed away in your sleep. I found you that morning, inside of your cage. You looked as graceful as ever, with your fur in pristine condition and your eyes shut. They say that the notion of a family adopting a pet comes from a life lesson most don’t know how to, despite their roles as Mother and Father. The life lesson that we call, ‘Morality’. But I don’t think that was your role in this household, Buttercup.

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i was sent to bed at around 9pm in the hopes that i’d eventually fall into a brief stint of slumber. however, this would never be the case, just like most years. instead, i would end up tossing and turning all night long, stare at the window, and intentionally drink gallons upon gallons of tap-water so i’d have to pee and get the chance to nonchalantly walk by the washroom, passing the tree.

they were aware of my conniving little plan and quite honestly, i’m surprised they didn’t restrict my H2O privileges every December 24th. then again, they were keen to spoil me rotten so it would only make sense they’d let me feel tiny snippets of the joy that is the sight of a hardwood floor crowded with wrapped presents.

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paying mind to the maze of the pews, i walk,
through the candlelit church. whilst deities
hang in my field of vision, i ponder
as to where my own deity sits. 

if i were to ever meet G-d, if he were to exist,
would i become one of those who would learn
if all those words were really written by him?
would he damn with hatred, damn with morals
or simply abstain from damning entirely?

in the after-life, would i roam over clouds or coal?
with an outfit of the most aryan shades, a 
fig and nothing else to my name or the type of
garb i tend to costume myself within?

of all the possible entities you could pray to,
would such a G-d turn a particular interest
to a specific one?

inside the hearts and minds of those who
celebrate a certain mid-winter holiday, would
G-d prefer it if you were to choose a certain
one? if he were to exist, that is? 

G-d wouldn’t give our lives any meaning, would he?
how could one be so cruel, if they were a supposed G-d.
most would take a solemn comfort in knowing that,

their lives weren’t some interminable doomsday clock,
but rather a means of a slice of a species to embellish in
days, nights, the jaded serpents, the neutral endings.
would the longevity of our skin remain immortal in
the ruins of life after any eternal conclusion?

as a race, would we end up scolded for questioning
the ways of biblical scriptures? if it were to exist,
would the seven layers said to dwell below resemble
that of a totalitarian world? 

each level from top to bottom, more worse than the last?
the orbs of the ones who chose to go out the easy way,
would they all wind up punished for their longing of
the other side?

from birth, i’ve been one terribly petrified of the concept of
G-d, the idea of a man holier-than-thou to create ones
reminiscent of his shape, his bones, his languages
would we have picked up his traits, his values along
with his vices?

if G-d were to exist, would such a deity really be
one big illusion, an amalgamation of our tolerance,
and our intolerance as a species? 

St. Peter wouldn’t
have enough vacancy for all the right in the world —
does that mean he’d shelter the right in with some
of the wrong within ill-mentioned layers of the damned?

on weakened knee, i would surely find myself
(pleading for G-d to simply let me linger in the soil
disintegrating like the rest) with only a most morbid
hue to dance within my sunken eye-sockets.

nary a care on Earth, for the after-life, or within the layers
but rather one with the plants, in the dirt. the orphan’s
solution of donating his corpse to science for the sake of 
a human’s wrongdoings.  

i had sat down with my freshly-bought copy of Alan Moore’s ‘V for Vendetta’, and i was ready to become enveloped with the story. unlike most occasions in where i would at least research the literature before i’d begin digesting it — i had plunged into this book completely blind. it was in the midst of a season where leaves lay rotting on the sidewalks and everything seemed crisp, and i had just made the mistake of bringing books into class to read during our assigned periods of leisure. 

the reason why this would eventually become a huge mistake, is due to the fact that everything around me tends to stick whenever i think about reading whatever i’ve picked up at the time. this would mean that  the overwhelming amounts of cheap perfume the girl beside me  had just basked in, would forever remain imprinted in my senses. the alarming amounts of maps that clung by thumbtacks on each of the four walls surrounding would also become less of a daily sight and turn into a fond backdrop of the memories of this experience. 

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earlier this week, i was asked by an anonymous entity to go into detail about the inner turmoil i’ve come into contact with, that is my neurosis.  in hindsight, i imagined me answering it half-heartedly and pushing it aside with a few reblogged photographs of sights i found to be pretty but i decided to just delete it and let it slip out of memory entirely. i have had discussions about the matter with doctors, pharmacists and therapists way back when my anxiety was a steadily growing mental ailment but i’ve never really talked about it much with friends or the general public.

the reason for this being that, out of all the intense parts of life itself - it felt silly for me to label this seemingly minor problem of mine as what it truly was — a setback. in many instances, it’s rid me of opportunities, seemingly fun events and get-togethers and for each of those instances - i spoon-fed myself excuses to feel better about my sporadically-jumpy nerves.

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a phrase repeated thrice
is to wax poetic
a phase repeated thrice
supposedly runs genetic

the ends often plague minds by positivity
where they should blind brains of festivity

for it isn’t adoration we should place spite
rather the immaturity of those who might

for a while there, i was convinced solely
that each and every story
i painted
each person stalked
more harmful
for the sake of my walks
less scornful

the ticks on our calendars
stopped coinciding
occupation of a scavenger
of happy endings, no longer minding

cameos within pithy dreams
mutual disdain of sports teams
droopy skin stitched under eyes
now roll themselves amongst your guise

palpitations are no longer frequent
this is what beings call, “coping”
a soppy metaphor all dreck and disappointing
in session with others for my treatment

a glance towards the notaries
patrol for the progress of forgetting
merely a multitude of ovaries
shipping sons to their possible weddings

to be honest, i really liked seeing how the movie handled all the stuff i thought the book would’ve made it hard to bring to a wider audience. i wouldn’t wish to spoil any of the pivotal moments of both the book and the movie but there are a few taboo subjects that come up and i felt that Stephen Chbosky (as author and director) really brought a good film out of his original visions. 

Logan Lerman really portrayed Charlie as well as anyone could have and by god — i adored every scene with Ezra as Patrick just due to the fact that Ezra Miller is a terrific actor (anyone whose seen We Need to Talk About Kevin knows exactly what i mean). this all brings me to Emma Watson who plays Sam and judging by how well her character has genuine chemistry - for all to see - with both Ezra and Logan, really makes me proud of the casting choices. everyone in this movie brings their best chops to the table - and does it ever show wonderfully. 

anyone who knows me knows how much i cherish the director’s ideology of a perfect score for their craft and the soundtrack along with the score does a good job in spotlighting each romantic and emotional moment to the surface. even though the movie seems like it’s trying to pass as something modern - the book was, indeed, written for a story happening in the 90’s which explains the (thankfully) scarce amount of modern tracks to the soundtrack. (the moment i heard Pavement’s ‘Here’ playing in the scene where Ezra proposes a toast to Charlie, i knew that i would run home afterwards and pick up the soundtrack.)

in terms of how the movie starts, proceeds and ends - it was a blast going along with the freshman path with Charlie in both the literary sense and the theatrical sense. the hour and the half was a quick ride and all of the themes that the book itself had brought to the mainstream (quite controversially for it’s time, surprisingly), the movie had brought each thing Stephen Chbosky had set out to do….make dejected readers (and now, viewers) feel like they belong and maybe one day…even feel infinite?

in the course of 18 months, i have been a frequent visitor of Tumblr. in a way, i’m extremely grateful of the time i’ve spent here and all of the friends i’ve made. not a lot of people realize how much can happen within the span of a measly 18 months but for me - it’s been quite a strange little ride that i’m glad i was able to hop aboard.

since this post right here will be my 15,000th - i felt like splurging a little and cutting out a bit of time within my studying for homework to tell you guys, my followers, as to how important you’ve all been to me. if you were to go about checking the archives of this blog - you’d see the cheesiest posts ever dating back to my first few days spent on this site. 

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sometimes, the sun takes sabbaticals as well. it isn’t a lonely task nor is it a bothersome task but it’s just tiresome always radiating with the brightest of glow up there in the sky. most wouldn’t recognize it but out of all the blue emanating above, the rays of that sweltering star are the only difference of hues. school children would translate this into layman’s terms by saying that the sun is the boss of mother nature and whenever the greenery become thirsty - they all nervously huddle together in building up dignity to ask the sun for a day with rain instead of shine. almost every time, the sun politely complies. 

people are similar (albeit in more ways). whenever we become dizzy with exhaustion - we resign into a state of leisure and those around us understand that our need to rest is a right most understand without any confusion. i believe that in some way, this is why dreary eyelids seek refuge for days with the drearily grey-tinged atmosphere. rest tends to deliver itself easier for hours spent with gloomier landscapes. 

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