fragile memories

Fragile as ash
a memory stirs
and the past comes back.

It could be
another person
you now see, stepping between

the torn-
paper leaves
of the trees, and moving down

to the dry creek.
There are birds
in the underbrush

—finches, you assume—
and a plume of smoke
rising beyond

that distant ridge.
One single breath
returned this world

a single breath
can make it
crackle and burn.

Gary Catalano, “Breath,” Slow Tennis: Poems 1980-83 (University of Queensland Press, 1985)

Memory Item #9: TV

There was always something about the TV that I liked. At least, there was something about the TV I had growing up that I liked. It was the old kind, where it takes a while for the monitor to show anything. Sometimes, the TV would be on some static-y channel, too. It’s funny that many people hate the sound of the static buzzing loudly, but for me, I actually like it… Or maybe I like it because sometimes I would stand right by the TV as it’s turning on, and my hair would start floating up because of the static. Either way, I really really liked it for some reason. No one else did.

I felt weird when I heard many people say they hated it; I even thought maybe I was the weird one. Then as a child, I would go around telling everyone that I wasn’t human at all — in fact, I was actually a robot. I even went so far as to imitate being a robot! How funny were the way kids think…

But thinking about it, perhaps I have grown to be more like what my child self wanted to be. If I wasn’t a robot then, I seem more like one now. I guess my child self would be so excited to be a robot, but now, everything’s just so hollow. Constantly waiting on orders or tasks. A routine simply programmed into my memories to follow with ease. Everything that I do is for another. There’s no longer room for anything else but for the things that must be accomplished.

Even now, as I sit by this TV, do I think I’m a mere robot. Maybe now I’m moreso like this tiny, old television, waiting to do its job just by a mere switch.

But this television is not able to work anymore as time passed on. All it can do now is show a screen of black and white static scrambling about.

I wonder… will I truly wind up like this television? Just doing what it’s supposed to do until it’s too old to do anything anymore?

Or maybe… I’m already on my way to being just like it.  

The Weeping Willow - Theo Raeken

Listen to the video for about 30 seconds (until the first ‘can’t help falling in love’) and then switch to the song. Trust me.

This was inspired by this amazingness

Here you go, please don’t cry, even though I almost did bc i wrote it with some very sad music (for personal reasons) so yeah, don’t kill me, thanks. I put it under the cut bc it may get confusing idk and if you’re not up for some sadness don’t read it okay? If you wanna be happy right now, this is probably not for you.

Drabble. Italics are memories [in case you get confused]

Keep reading


A prompt for each day in January. Use the prompt to write a short drabble or draw a doodle. Tag it #JediPrompts for a reblog! You can also use the January 2016 list.

  1. Door
  2. Transition
  3. Wolf
  4. Bread
  5. Jewels
  6. Pink
  7. Hot tea
  8. Fresh start
  9. Interpreter
  10. Gala
  11. Worried
  12. Unidentified
  13. Busy cantina
  14. Memorial
  15. Nudge
  16. Fragile
  17. Wicked
  18. Clouds
  19. White lie
  20. Left behind
  21. Waving
  22. Passenger
  23. Favor
  24. Hollow
  25. Lightspeed
  26. Accidental meeting
  27. Bright
  28. Launch
  29. Familiar
  30. Handshake
  31. Perfect
She watched the rain, each drop following the trail of another, down the window pane.
Her fingers retained the warmth of his touch.
Mouth could still taste his kiss.
Ears held the echo of his voice.
Eyes saw his face, so close she could see each detail, every line.
And in her mind, she replayed their last meeting over and again.
The world outside the window carried on, and she was invisible.
Afraid to condemn her love story to something so transient, so fragile, as memories.
Maybe I had miscalculated what was left of my life. Maybe it wasn’t loose change. Or, actually, the whole thing was loose change, from start to finish - many, many little moments, each holiday, each Valentine, each year unbearably repetitive and yet somehow always new. You could never buy anything with it, you could never cash it in for something more valuable or more whole. It was just all these days, held together only by the fragile memory of one person - or, if you were lucky, two. And because of this, this lack of inherent meaning or value, it was stunning. Like the most intricate, valuable piece of art, the kind of art I was always trying to make. It dared to mean nothing and so demanded everything of you.
—  Miranda July, from It Chooses You
Ꮧ Homesick Ֆong

|| @xintrean ||

The time was endless. After the chilling events that wounded Dettlaff’s mind, the vampire left the territory that kept reminding him of his foolishness.  Every passing stranger, every animal, and every flower reminded him of Syanna and her betrayal.  He still remembers her cold eyes after his deadly claws formed a bloody hole in her delicate torso that he enjoyed wrapping his arms around back when his head was drowned in fog. 

Now, after those long years of isolation outside of Toussaint, the wounds turned into scars, his anger into indifference, and it was time to go back. Of course, once he stepped onto the fields he once walked fearlessly, a shudder paralyzed him for a fragile second. The memories of the past fled back into his head as if it all happened a day ago, and yet here he was, back home. 

The soft breeze picked up the edges of his frock as well as the thin locks of his black hair that dared to break loose. The birds played around with their tunes as the vampire made his way through the thick forest, watching the sun rays desperately try to break through the wall of endless leaves. A first sign of a nameless grave that perhaps already served a century of its memory made it obvious that he had arrived at the cemetery where Regis lived. Just the thought of seeing the old friend after all this time refused to settle into der Eretein’s head.  It all felt rushed even though he had time to think and gather up his shattered emotions. 

With a soft touch against the door that led into the depth of a morgue, Dettlaff let it slide open on it own while calling the name of the other vampire a few times as he descended down the dust covered steps. The dim light of the candles exposed an empty room that seemed to be abandoned by the owner.  Regis wasn’t home.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Dettlaff felt a relief.  Perhaps it wasn’t time to make any contact yet. The man sat down on the nearby chair and took a deep breath.  The silence around him was soothing and once more reminded him of that isolation he forced upon himself after leaving Beauclair.

when a heart breaks, it doesn’t just break right in half and fall into the arms of the one you love.
it shatters.
it completely and utterly shatters.
each piece represents of some fragile memory, big or small.
when you had your first kiss.
that time you went out at four in the morning to get ice cream because you were craving it.
last month when you got sick and they kissed you anyway because they missed the taste of your lips.
memories like that break off separately.
each one of the million little pieces fall away into the past, never fully retrievable.
that is why when your lover comes back into your life, its never the same as before.
you can never love them as hard.
you can never see them the same.
you can never bring back all of the fragile memories and piece them back together because they only bring one piece of your heart back.
the rest
is long

May the invisible man stay young forever…in memory of the person TOP is today”

This was the header you chose for FROM TOP. You seem to be obsessed about marking ages and stages, and with you there is respect of change and fragility of memory, and you make us explicitly aware of this. Everytime you get interviewed about taking on projects, you always give a reason for choosing it something to the extent that, your best could only be so given the strengths of your certain age now. Your favorite piece from the exhibition showed clearly that you know how in the future you keep moving on towards a variety of selves, some you will never know. And yet you celebrate this uncertainty with courage and excitement by having it framed. There is something touching about this image of your future as a variety of selves, in contrast with the you who is looking and the tension between them, which we know you respect and appreciate. As you say:

“I sometimes get presented as more than I am, fancier than I am.  But really, there’s nothing to me and trying to come to my senses in all that confusion, I think that’s the truth inside me. I’m always new to myself,  and I am part of the world where I have to feel that way.”

We can’t profess to understand you at all, or sometimes even make you intelligible,  because you seem to be always doing things that are beyond us fans, and your mind and interests inhabit a different world which is foreign to most of us. I think that is one of the things that is so addicting about you, the thrill and delight of surprises we can expect from you that comes from this huge gap of understanding. We know that you insist upon your sense of “naturalness”, in which you only do things when they feel authentic and genuine to you. This would entail some disadvantages as an artist, but you stand your ground, and it makes you more admirable, to us, and to people around you.

You are strong and firm, and you have professed yourself a coward–you have, several times. But that can only happen if you  recognize and face up to opportunities and situations where you need to be strong and exercise courage.  We know you have gone through a lot of these. As you say, “like most people, everyday is a challenge for  me.” We can only get glimpses of how strong your soul is, and how openhearted you are but what we see leaves us in awe and a deeper admiration of what you are as a person.

I’ve seen people use the euphemism “not the sharpest tool in the shed” for you several times. They don’t seem to think that your intelligence is exceptional like we do, and how unexpectedly and delightfully intelligent you are. You have bodily intelligence since the way you move across space can never be paralleled by anyone, it is only peculiar to you. And yet you can never be judged normatively a good dancer. But it is such a delight to watch you move in such a unique way, so different from the others, in a way which you totally own. You are interpersonally intelligent, as you just seem to charm people around you and interest them in many ways . You try to make others laugh so much and they appreciate that about you. Even as fans, in the rare opportunities you’ve talked to us, we know how charming and endearing you could be. As much as your jokes are lame, we can recognise that you are quick and witty and have a knack for humor. You’re really funny (sometimes). You are existentially intelligent. You have so much depth in you and you recognise how precious and fragile life is. You stay quiet but when we read your interviews, we know how much you think about your life and reflect upon yourself. You always seem to be thinking ahead. Moreover, you have such a respect for emotion that is admirable together with your respect for deep and serious thought (which you don’t take lightly), and we can sometimes sense how much emotional energy is within you, moreso than most of us people usually have.You seem to value curiosity, dignity, authenticity and openmindedness as virtues you try to develop throughout your life. Even to us fans, you are so mind-boggling, what else to other people who don’t even take the chance to appreciate you and understand you? They dismiss your intelligence as beneath them because  you are so different and they can’t understand you.

There is still so so much to appreciate about you. As something which is always true about people who you feel close to and whom you love—if I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. Happy Birthday Choi Seunghyun.