🌱 aya • 24 • they/them preferred, she/her if we’re close
🌱 writer & artist
content:
☘️ original writing posted intermittently & aesthetic reblogs on a very slow queue
☘️ my poetry • publications
elsewhere:
🍀 instagram: avolitorial
🍀 poetry i like: @coruscifer
emily, forgive me, can we make it up as we go along?
Gianni Dova (1925-1991) — Composizione Nucleare [oil and enamel on canvas, 1952]
On a lighter + adjacent note i love dis tweet + these QRTs of it ^_^... literally...
“I want to believe, walking those aimless nights, that I was praying. For what I’m still not sure. But I always felt it was just ahead of me. That if I walked far enough, long enough, I would find it—perhaps even hold it up, like a tongue at the end of its word.”
— Ocean Vuong, from On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous
ERNEST BIELER, Etude pour L'Eau mystérieuse Le bassin aux nénuphars.
garden of stars
summer haunts itself heart-pink, prey-pink, over and over. skin tells its own secrets. i learned long ago that i love things best at the brink of losing, so i practice on the flowers: look, in the garden soil there’s a blade plunged to rest, severing the calendula roots. we were buried too deep to find the light anyway, shadow-mine. i play the game where i’m kindling waiting for a spark that never comes. you play the game where you learn love like a foreign language.
the embers say we get to write a different ending
& i say but no one ever saved us
& the hearth says we can change, like everything else.
change like rot is too gentle for my hands. there was always light at the end of the tunnel, except the tunnel is on fire, except the light was always burning. i’m sorry about the garden. i’ll try tilling it next time. i’ll blunt the knife i sharpened for years because you asked me to. not for the wanting or for any righteousness. no one ever saved us.
in the haunted afternoon, i lie in the hot sheets and write my sins in the shadows on the ceiling. summer promises me a future i never wanted, but i’ll eat it like strawberry cake anyway. red and seed and sweet. red and seed and terrible sweet.
a.s.w. || @avolitorial
I’m always trying to figure out ways to be an adult and a child at the same time. I wanted to make a super-sized pillow fort and was given a beautiful space to execute it. This fort was 40ft tall and made out of quilts that I had created from all my close friends old clothing. I wanted everything to feel extra personal, so I used every bit of the love and adoration I have for my community in this piece. I hung a couch upside down, lit everything from the inside, and made a soft, cuddly place for secret pacts and plans for the future.
fragile
you watch videos of violinists breaking strings mid-symphony — the wounded snap, the shattered note. outside the window the ceiling is a swimming pool sky. the quiet taste of sunday afternoons and devotion strung to the point of fracture, pulling taut the neck, the body. don’t you know you only get melody from tension? hymns from the beat before severance, pressed like honey into your lungs. your body is only temporarily something undecayed, but it could make music. you could ruin it and trade it in.
the sky is a heartbreak of blue.
your mother says you need to go outside more, that the light will be welcome this time. you try to imagine shouting at her but your mouth won’t make that shape. some blasphemies remain elusive. your chest is a beehive of gold, thick and choking, a decay of sweetness you could reach in and eat from. you know inside you’re still just soil and sand. the music breaks and keeps breaking for a long time.
a.s.w. || @avolitorial
A truth window (or truth wall) is an opening in a wall surface, created to reveal the layers or components within the wall. In a strawbale house, a truth window is often used to show the walls are actually made from straw bales.
Juliette Lamarca - Je te vois
