constant decay

Mum: I am going to have to go grate some cheese for this

Me: you don’t have to do anything.
You don’t have to grate cheese.
You don’t have to eat tonight.
You don’t HAVE to breathe.
You don’t HAVE to keep fighting the ever marching beat of time.
You dont’ HAVE to struggle against the constant but steady decay of your body

Mum: are…. you ok…?

Me: i have got to slow down on the night vale podcasts

Think Again

The air too full of sorrow
A constant sense, these days decay

A flurry of locust words of hate
We shut the doors, stamping our feet
To brush the crawling fear from legs

The sky seems dark with winged power
Clouding views of anything else
Think again, we say, of simple days
- As if they ever were! -
Huddle in minds for fantasies stored

The Luther Kings, the Tubmans
The B. Anthonys, the Steinems
The rebels who signed their name
They stood in storms, refused to turn
And we rose from their love, we stand,
We have, because of them

Our story not hate, division
Our lives not cut into perfect lines
We are still one! if they forgot that
It’s time to stand again, remind them
Who we really are and what we’ve done
Whine to British about playing fair
We have rebel cores, let who falls fall

@katrinnac

Northern Virginia Gothic

-Often times on the unlit roads, strange reflections of driver’s headlights shine back at you. Residents know to stop and let it pass, others drive on and pay the grave diggers twice.

-The city bustles around you, with the comforting buzz of traffic and pedestrians. You drive on when the light turns green, crossing the intersection, and the buildings and people are replaced with a lonely wilderness. 

-Concussive thuds like a giant displaying its dominion can be heard at any time. Residents ignore it, visitors grow anxious, and investigators disappear. 

-A wind carries in the aroma of the ocean, a mix of saltwater and crab. But it is only a wind, and soon you are reminded once more of the constant stench of death, decay, and rot.

-Your home is a target. You are a target. No one is sure whose sights are trained upon us. No one is sure when they will strike. But we are sure we are a target. We try our best not to mention it.

-You’re not sure which is scarier: seeing them watch you or not.

-In the summer even the very air will sweat, and it will do you no favors.

-The worst part of the car crash is not being thrown through your windshield and onto the pavement, nor is it having to watch the EMTs drag the passenger’s body away, but rather the cursory glances of thousands of eyes as they try to tell your blood from everyone else’s. 

-It is best to memorize the roads during the day. The night is not so forgiving.

Overwatch Reader-Insert: Your s/o feeling self-conscious about their body

And another one with the reader as the comforter rather than the comfortee. 
Note: Requests are open and I will happily do any and all characters from the game. If you request more than three characters at once, though, each individual snippet might be on the shorter side.


Featuring Reaper, Lúcio, and Genji

Keep reading

In the Flower Garden - I

It is where flowers of all colours bloom on gently sloping plains. A forest can be clearly seen in the far distance, enveloped by the overlooking sky; the view is evenly divided between the sky and the earth. Here no fence nor house crafted by human beings exist. No walls nor castles - there is no such thing as a country here.

Daytime is filled with spring’s sunshine and the smell of summer; night is wrapped in the autumn air and stars of winter. On earth there are countless flowers and bugs; in the forest there is water and green, and ethereally beautiful fairies lurk in the pond. The paradise people imagine is only an imitation of this place. Here, in this untrodden place, the bounds of a tabooed land* serve as the ends of the island. It is a small world that was called the Land of the Eternal Spring and the Island of Apples in mythology. It is a Utopia that may not be granted to beasts which possess wisdom, one that may never be reached. It is a world cut off from the constant decay and destruction of the surface of the planet and, although it is nestled in human history, has no connection to other lands at all.

The name of this place is Avalon. The star of the inland sea - the soul of the planet called Earth is another name for this shed.

“No, that too may not be a correct expression. Here lies inside as well as outside after all. Located in the exact same coordinates and takes up the same space, certainly, but a phase misaligned with multi-dimensions is what it ought to be called.”

In the flower garden there is one whose form resembles that of humans. A man wearing a robe woven with the finest fabrics, though he still looks modest, his long hair appearing in colours of the rainbow under sunlight. His eyes are uneager along with his attitude, and they gaze into far off distances.

The man is walking through the flower garden while talking to flowers as if they are his friends, and humming. Without confusion, without hesitation, without hurting the flowers that fill the earth.

The man is the very image of a wandering sage who’d stumbled into a foreign land. Even if he doesn’t know his way back, he has no destination to go in any case. If he were to be told that this is the world after death, indeed, he may even agree. He does not harbour a sense of danger despite that, as he is in essence a thing of a foreign land himself. Living humans may be barred from entering paradise, but in that he didn’t mean that all humans look like humans anyway.

To the man paradise and the material world have no difference - “other people’s home”, as it goes. Neither is his dwelling place, and he does not fit into only one or the other.

In the first place, the man’s values don’t depend on humans or the paradise, and neither adheres to his.

Anyway - and so, thinking “that cold-mannered woman has been trying to murder me, better go hide in the Other Side of the World for a bit”, he’d crossed the boundary and stumbled into a foreign land.

“But this is quite cruel. The density of magic here is too strong. This place is pretty much the same as a vacuum; simply breathing is enough to end up dead. In one breath a human of the current age would burst from inside out. This shouldn’t be called a paradise - isn’t it better utilized as a weapon instead?”

The man voiced his suggestion as he continued his walk through the garden.
He has come from the current era, that is, from the outside world. He alone has found himself in paradise, leaving behind an island of a certain people that would soon fall, in the fifth century. He is a non-human - though also the magician of a certain King - who has left the King before the last battle and to extremely private women problems, and has taken refuge in paradise.

“Ah, I figured as much. Mordred’s uprising was with the agreement of the lords who had admonished the King, demanding liability for the days of relentless winter, and so began the treachery against the King who embodied the Stone’s ideals.”

The man continued his walk at a steady pace. As he went further, the flowers that seemed to have no care of whether they would be trampled upon began to diminish in number.

Though the island has no end, it seems to change like any other land. Further into the island the land turns barren, similar to Britain.

The man continued to walk through the barren land, holding a staff and humming to himself. Without the use of Magecraft or a mystery, wherever he walked, flowers that would never bloom in that barren soil began to bloom.

He was not particularly bothered by the fact that the land was barren even in paradise, although he did think it was a good reason to decorate it with flowers.

This living thing scatters flowers as he breathes.

A flower in soil. A dream to people. The future to history - are all the very essence of this man.

The name of the Magician of Flowers is Merlin.

He has become the summit of countless myths and of the great mages who appeared in legends.

A half-blood born from the union of a human and an incubus, he possesses the proof of the Highest Mage - the Eyes Which See through the World.

“Well, although one may call me the most supreme, about all I can do is to sow seeds. My sight certainly makes a better story than most, but even that is unsatisfactory when compared to others.”

Clairvoyance. Eyes able to see beyond while the person stands in place. From time immemorial, it is the power entrusted to lands by the gods and the power shamans needed to guard lives.

However profound and capable of performing the strongest forms of Magecraft one’s magic circuits may be, a mage who does not possess these "Eyes” shall not be given the title of the most supreme.

This man…The clairvoyance Merlin possesses is “the Eyes Which See through the World”.

whenever anyone talks about advance developing AI to me in a serious capacity I can only think of them in terms of. more bodies men are going to want to fuck. and more competition for me. now i have to be prettier than the robots who already have an upper hand because they are built by men and not just sociologically but literally built by men and i start thinking about divorces in 2050 where husbands leave their families for a younger model but she’s metal and will never age and someday we’ll talk about how ok so now it’s not even ok for women to be stuck in a constant state of decay confined by flesh now she has to be bionic. 

  • me: i hate mondays
  • also me: listen, fool, time doesn't exist. mondays are an arrogant and desperate attempt of mankind to recreate the concept of passing time as cyclical and reoccurring in order to subvert mortality and mechanize inevitable progression that is our decay and constant present.
We are born into a realm of constant change. Everything is decaying. We are continually losing all that we come in contact with. Our tendency to get attached to impermanent experiences causes sorrow, lamentation and grief, because eventually we are separated from everything and everyone we love. Our lack of acceptance and understanding of this fact makes life unsatisfactory.
—  Noah Levine, Against the Stream: A Buddhist Manual for Spiritual Revolutionaries
Happy birthday to...

The seiyuu

The company boss

The model XD

The mama (and papa? XD)

The rockband frontman

And many other zillion cool things but above all…

Happy birthday to the kid at heart Morikawa Toshiyuki XD

Photography, for me, isn’t just a way to highlight the beautiful things that the human eyes are used to catching, but a way to preserve the little moments that would otherwise be forgotten; moments that mold me into who I am today. In my eyes, photography is the unique art of stillness and preservation in a world that is in a constant cycle of decay and renewal.

“The Colors of Night” San Francisco, California.

Austin Taylor

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NO ZODIAC “Constant Decay" 

ERASE, THE HUMAN RACE

The Sheriff’s Secret Police gave a great cheer in honor of constant decay, and the inevitability of abandonment.

Listeners, accumulating objects is just a way, we hope, to turn back the grim specter of death. Thank you for your participation in this auction, and for your hope that making a certain purchase – all-clad cooking ware, a candelabra, a comic book, a community radio show host – would render you anything more than mortal.

I go now to find myself, or to find who has myself, or to find someone that might make me feel better about what has happened today.

I’d take that last one, honestly. I’d take that honest, last one.

— 

Welcome to Night Vale

Episode 37 - The Auction