If you are a Surrealist writer on Tumblr, please tag your poems or prose pieces "surrealist ave", and support modern surrealism
Hello, my friends and fellow writers,
my obsession with Surrealism has deepened in hue. It’s obvious that I like things almost disconnected from conscious reality. I appreciate reading words that transport me to an unfamiliar place. So I want to find a way for the Surrealists of Tumblr to communicate and share experiences outside of the obvious tags . If I get enough reblogs and notes on this post, not to mention a stream of posts tagged “surrealist ave”, I will start a new blog for submissions. A blog that will be dedicated to Tumblr writers that have a dream-like style and approach to modern art. If any editors can shake on this idea, please feature this so that more writers can hear about it.
Thank you, Ellery
Teenagers and 20-somethings
tend to refuse to admit their humanity
except for the parts that help them feel
justifiably doomed.
Nevermind that humans aren’t usually depressed meatsacks
and that we aren’t meant to stare at a glowy thing
three to half one foot in front of our faces.
Anxiety is usually the result of feelings of worthlessness:
When I spend all day watching other lonely people
pretending to be happy (or worse, actually happy)
I feel pretty worthless, too.
Nevermind that we aren’t meant to have exhaust in our lungs,
noise in our ears,
lights in our eyes,
shit in our stomachs,
seeing people but not touching them,
nonstop.
Yes, once upon a time lions weren’t my favorite animal
but a terrifying godbeast, king of the savannah
(because lions don’t actually live in the jungle),
still so for some distant tribes.
Once you were ovum, sperm, and blood
in deep ancestors, from strength and wilderness:
your humanity is not in loneliness,
thumb-twiddling,
mouth breathing and sighing.
You are a tiny god
who has not stretched their limbs
in a long time.
I hate to be shallow, but I don't know how to swim
I hate to be shallow, but I don’t know how to swim
My father never taught me
He was always too busy building me a boat.
Always too busy hiding treasures
Burying his dream so that I can one day find it and call it my own.
My mother never taught me, she’s afraid of the cold
I was a baby thrown in water that had to be saved
Because I had a soul that wanted to drown
And a heart as heavy as an anchor.
Instead I learnt to stay near the shore where the waves can wash my foot prints but never fill my lungs.
Counselor,
At the closing of the gates, all I could hear was Atlantic sounds
I tried to rescue the remaining salt, but a purple wind blew
until every ocean was turned into turbid ice.
Forgotten tribes were offering lotus flowers to the sun
which made the heat nearly unbearable
Extinct languages returned from the dead,
and sang journeys of heroes before the invention of violence,
hurting my ears and giving me a sense of consternation.
I made my best efforts to save the women and children
but as quickly as they approached me, they melted.
Fight the Nightmares
Darling, fight the nightmares
The ones that haunt your sleep
As from this distance so far
I pray your heart to keep
Love, please fight the nightmares
The ones that meet your waking eyes
In a world I’ve never had to see
Where skirmishes light the skies
Baby, fight the nightmares
The ones deep in your heart
That crawl in on the wings of doubt
And tear your strength apart
Oh my love, fight the nightmares
The ones that wake me from my sleep
Stay safe my love while out there
And please come home to me
Take me,
make me
into a little doll,
a plaything
holding pretty plastic bouquets
staring ahead with a drawn on smile and pale blue unseeing glass eyes.
Place me on the shelf until there’s dust covering my hair
until the glass cracks and I’m left broken and useless,
don’t bother to repair me
throw me away.
