uncoiling

I get this feeling where I can’t wait to be in bed. With the covers over me under complete darkness alone. Your mind starts to uncoil itself. Like a snake that’s been in a tense ball all day. Just hiding under the rock of long hours and tiresome conversations never seeming to go anywhere. Waiting until no one is around. So that you can really, truly, be yourself. And there you find parts of yourself start to come back to you. Like stars in the sky. Just a few bright thoughts at first. Then soon enough. You’re staring into a whole galaxy. The wonderful parts of you. The parts you almost for got exist.

uncoiling replied to your post: How do you know hes stupid? Have you ever held a conversation with him? I think youre just basing your opinions from what you see on Tumblr. Im sure if everyone on this site loved him you would too.

what woman rights? men also have to deal with not marring other men, they dont call it male rights? the only female rights he would be depriving you of is using abortion as a form of birth control. unless youre apart of the minority who is incest?

My right to get an abortion is a right, regardless of how it would be used. It’s my body and it should never be up to the government to decide what I’ll do with it. And if you looked closely I listed marriage as a human right. Now gtfo you romney lover.

I met BB King when I was a teen. Me and my pal, a blues freak, splurged and bought tickets to see him. Back then he played two shows a day. For the first one, we camped outside and pressed our ears against the wall to hear him play. A lot of musicians get their roadies to tune their guitars. Not BB King’s band. They took the stage, uncoiled cords and tuned up till they were ready. Then BB entered with his beloved guitar Lucille. He played soaring passages, with soul and sweat. When we asked him to sign our posters, he saw we were skinny, and invited us backstage to eat the food from his rider. What a wonderful man.
Currently in Stag

Nathair whipped around towards the trespassers, mouth open revealing rows of switchback teeth nestled in gray and black gums. His crimson eyes flared like garnets in the orange firelight before the serpent struck without warning, black body banded with red rings uncoiling like a chambered spring. Nathair was power, he was death, he was the lord of the Underdark but his blow meant little, rebounded by a searing blast of magic that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere are once. The trio physically felt the blow and fought to steady themselves as the platform they stood on rocked violently, Kristoff going to his knees as magic tore through him. Teeth gritted, he weathered the burn and kept his eyes on the sisters, ready to throw them out of the way should the barrier stones he’d woven into their necklaces fail.

Elsa and Anna were almost blown back by the second strike, the concussive eruption of two equally powerful and unyielding forces meeting and leaving them both breathless. Crouching out of instinct, they watched the barrier flash around them, erratic ripples of green and gold light racing away from wherever Nathair struck, giving them a glimpse of the seven foot domed silhouette providing protection. Anna touched the glowing stones resting warmly against her chest, her gaze locking with Elsa’s before both women looked back at Kristoff in awed wonder. He gave them a tight, knowing nod, hiding his pain as best he could. The snake struck three more times, the concussion shaking the chamber and jarring unstable cobblestones loose from above, and three more times the barrier stones repelled the attack and kept them safe. Nathair was no closer to reaching the humans or even denting the magic protecting them.

Part of the enduring fascination has to do with the sheer improbability of Lawrence’s tale, of an unassuming young Briton who found himself the champion of a downtrodden people, thrust into events that changed the course of history. Added to this is the poignancy of his journey, so masterfully rendered in David Lean’s 1962 film, Lawrence of Arabia, of a man trapped by divided loyalties, torn between serving the empire whose uniform he wore and being true to those fighting and dying alongside him. It is this struggle that raises the Lawrence saga to the level of Shakespearean tragedy, as it ultimately ended badly for all concerned: for Lawrence, for the Arabs, for Britain, in the slow uncoiling of history, for the Western world at large. Loosely cloaked about the figure of T.E. Lawrence there lingers the wistful specter of what might have been if only he had been listened to.
—  Scott Anderson, Lawrence’s Arabia; Smithsonian, July-August 2014

I have been having that uncontrollable tenseness lately, where I seize up about a thing and even after I have proven without a doubt to myself that everything is fine and I am safe (physically/emotionally) I still can’t uncoil my body. I forget to breathe. I’m stuck like that, unable to relax or focus. It’s a thing that only benzos can treat, and I don’t have any, and I can’t seem to convince any doctors that I deserve to be prescribed medicine that will actually treat my symptoms and improve my quality of life. I can just take a blood pressure pill and lay weakly in bed without moving, no longer tense but still incapable of being productive. I’m so distressed. I hate being poor and crazy. I just want to feel ok.

It took years for my low back to get as straight as this in #padahastasana . One day a few years ago, in #paschimottanasana I just felt an unraveling in my lower spine, an energy #shakti uncoiling, that caused my spine to lengthen and my low back to slowly cease rounding off. It was as if I was watching, I was not the doer, I did nothing. Everything is done by pure energy #shakti & I am more than the 5 #koshas

#yoga #yogamen #yogi #yogibros #manasaaddicts #manasayoga #asana #yogadudes #vietnam #vacation

2

Huh? What? Ace Visibility Day? Well, OK then! 

Here is my face! Not such a rare and invisible unicorn now, am I? Nah, just a nerdy hobbit in a forest glen somewhere who doesn’t desire to do the do with you or you or you or even you. 

Doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re absolutely groovy! C’mon, give me a hug! Can we still go out for ice cream? Yes, let’s go get ice cream and discover together that friendship can be just as deep and meaningful as a sexual relationship. 

Also, have a bracken fern uncoiling. No reason. It’s just a pretty picture I took. 

Oxygen

There is two kinds of self hating

Passive and active

Passive.

You may not see it at first but you will feel it

with all it’s weight

light enough to make you disregard it

but heavy enough to make that inner voice go

uh oh

here comes a tought as destructive

as a bullet train out if its way

and as I press mosquitoes

against the light of my screen I kill my own

insecurities

Just to watch them reappear in the uncertainty

of the boy that stared for a bit too long

the girl whose laugh was a bit too fake

the reflection’s smile that seemed uncoiled

Suddenly,

the outside world won’t seem as blue

the dinner table not as cheerful

your bed a bit too comfortable

and your limbs too heavy to be moved

 -daydreaming

you’ll make excuses,

say you are tired,

school is killing you

right?

It is school who kills you slowly,

not the pressure you put onto youtself

or your parents or the money or

not the necessity of reaching an

arbitrary number that will prove

that you are worthy of something

that someone wants you

even though that someone is an institution

known for turning brains into a magical device

and shutting down some others in the way

What they don’t tell you is that those brains

those brains were already brilliant and yours

yours is too but you’ll keep turning your

fingers around the keyboard trying to type

the exact phrase that will make you advance

Active.

Your tongue seems to have swallowed all the nice words

you had for yourself

that arbitrary number now isn’t enough and you know that

somewhere deep inside your throat,

perhaps hidden in your lungs there is

a scream trying to reach the surface

but your brain is too focused in

the alveoli exchanging co2 and oxygen

in the oxyhaemoglobin carriers

too determined in keeping you breathing

to notice that books lie and

oxygen is not the fuel for living

It is just the fuel for existing

Because you, my dear,

you are just existing

you are not living anymore

you are roaming, floating

wondering, surviving

No one told you that “uh oh” implied a warning

no one warned you that life is not school

that no one is going to stop the train

that a number is not your value

and that passive can lead to active and

active can lead to nothing

There are 2 ways of hating yourself

but there are multiple ways of loving yourself

and one day,

you are going to find that the way your eyelashes

cast a shadow on your cheek is more important

than differentiating the equation of their curve

and that day,

you’ll realise that it was not the school

nor the pressure

nor the number

it was just you

what mattered was just you

and it will always be you,

so throw away the active and the passive

and start looking for ways to love

because it is a long way from here

and oxygen

oxygen is not going to be enough.

~~~

Li Po Chun UWC

I’m drowning in the worst kind of sea,
in the very worst parts of me,
it’s a sickness and I’m sorry,
crack open my ribs
and empty the caves hidden behind them
that’s where you’ll find my spine,
it’s yours to uncoil,
it’s yours to unwind,
show me your scalpels
and knock me out cold,
and don’t bring me back
‘til I’m better,
don’t bring me back,
‘til I’m well

abdelhalim hafez wants to see other people

so i choose another
i choose        blue music     blue hookah smoke uncoiling from our mouths           i want him
to know i am not lonely                 i have my ghosts i have my illnesses     i have a mouthful
of half-languages    & blood thick with medication      doctors line up to hear my crooked heart
some weekends i dance         sometimes i go missing      i fry eggplant      i listen to his stories
that are my stories dead boys     burned cities          an ache older than our bodies
our homes that are not our homes      (most days i feel i am walking through water
most days i forget the sound of my own voice)

- Safia Elhillo

The soft black talc blew through the streets like squid ink uncoiling along a sea floor and the cold crept down and the dark came early and the scavengers passing down the steep canyons with their torches trod silky holes in the drifted ash that closed behind them silently as eyes. Out on the roads the pilgrims sank down and fell over and died and the bleak and shrouded earth went trundling past the sun and returned again as trackless and as unremarked as the path of any nameless sisterworld in the ancient dark beyond.
—  The Road, Cormac McCarthy
Heart On Fire II

I cry out to my mother:

my heart’s on fire! I

love him so, and she empties

the bucket of suds she has

been dowsing the windows with

and fills it afresh and

gently bathes my heart in

the cooling water and kisses

it better. I love him so!

I cry, and she sits, arms

to her sides and cat on

her weighed-down

lap, and listens and

she is still when I talk

of my mounting love for him,

and she gently uncoils my

heart-tendrils and asks

me for why? and when?

and how do you know

love this is? and I

cry out to her, salted

tears in my eyes, I cry

out that I’ve never loved

like this before and never

will again, no matter how

long my life and how much

I see and whoever I meet

will not be a bean compared

to him, and my heart starts

smoking again with the telling

of it all, and she dowses

it again and we drink

our coffee and muse on it

a while, my lovely mother

and I, we muse on

my heart and its weather.

Each of us is a story-event unfolding through time, drifting in the gravity of other temporal strands, entwining, entangling, and then - transfigured - uncoiling ourselves to veer off in new mysterious directions within the void we call life.
—  Syncretic Tendencies