ink money

The Self-fulfilling Art of Escapism

Screen, silent
A rush of sticky-warm ice
Wake up with stardust
Shoved up your nose
Hit the earth
Like a feather-falling rock

Gravity pulls up, but
Shackled ankles weigh
And half-brain soars
Through thick, windy mud
Dividing each organ
In meager portions

Paper can’t glue
Your pieces
You aren’t found
In another’s
Torn-open skin

Stop trying to escape
To run away, to break
Your epidermic grave

The sun doesn’t rise
It’s always been a lie
You can
Stand still
Twist towards
The sun

Or you’ll bake
Your body into
A cage

a journey that we’re all on voluntarily or not. and the one common thing that we all have burrowed in our story is that we’re born and we die.
different in every other way like the way we take a shower or how we feel about god
or the colour of our toothbrushes and what we do in the middle. the content. the body. chapter two to fin. we’re all catapulted into our lives with no warning and honestly if you step back and really look life is filled with perpetual emptiness and reaching and searching and then it stops being that forever and maybe you didn’t ask for that either. we’re flying. not gracefully not romantically. just flying sort of floating stumbling and when we hit the ground it’s over. and I just feel like fuck it, if I’m flying I want to do some flips.
I want to do some stunts. I want to enjoy this. I want to eat brownies way after suppe time. I want to leave and leave from where I’ve left.
To worship wherever I can and be grateful for loss. I just want to be.
I am going to hit the ground one day. You are going to die.
Maybe you believe in eternal life maybe you believe that you soak the soil and grow trees from your bones.
But the end is the end. Know that.
Whether you hoarded your money or stood at a robot. I’m not talking about how we affect anybody else or the responsibility we have to our family or the many many obligations we have just because. Im talking about You. Me.
How I live for myself. I want to do all I can and all I want to in the little or infinite time I have. I want to be present in my memories.
I want to consider myself before anybody else. Not in a morbid lonely way. Maybe a little selfishly. Because honestly there is not a point to any of this.
heaven is heaven and hell is whatever you fear but you exist right now at this moment and that is both remarkable and insignificant.
And your life doesn’t matter when you’re not alive anymore homie.

And so I ask: is regret necessary?

—  amyymoney (via instagram)
Small things

It’s the small things in life that you gotta enjoy. An inside joke. A Sunday brunch. A day out with friends. The cute new guy in your class. A flirty text message. Neon socks. Coffee. A smile on your parents’ face. Fireworks. Chicken. Tom and jerry and Mickey mouse. Special episodes of favourite shows. That extra hidden money in your pockets. Old journals. Old school magazines,with whom memories come back flooding. A basketball going perfectly through the hoop. A sudden rush of adrenaline. Unexpected rain. A summery, happy day. A chocolate. Late night conversations. An old dusty photograph buried under your enormous pile of clothes. A simple ‘i love you’ from your best friend, not boyfriend. Long walks. Short sprints. Music. Listening to a song after what seems like decades. Meeting or talking to an old friend after what seems like years. Seeing a smile break out on a face after what seems like days. It’s all worth it. The small things in life make you elated. Even if just for a few seconds. They make your day memorable. And that’s what life is, isn’t it? A collection of memories strung together to make a collage which you take with you, which no one can ever snatch from you. And don’t let anyone do it, because these memories make you go the distance in those times you think you can’t get through.