myriad dreams

smoking a blunt with Sylvia Plath
  • me: this is some good weed huh Sylvia
  • Sylvia Plath: [hits blunt] black blood dances around the witch's hut. i dream of myriad deaths ensconced in poppies. i am the witch. i am the blood. i am sweet death in all its forms.
  • me: ...alright
Myriad of Dreams

contains spoilers for the new chapter. you have been warned. 

“Natsu!” Lucy cried, reaching out her damaged arm despite barely being able to hold it up.

He was gone.


Heaving a breath, she fell into Gray’s arms. Gray’s tears fell silently as not to distract Lucy, but he was grieving too. He was aware of Lucy’s pain, but his was also hard to bear. Wrapping his arms around her, they cried together.

Lucy was unable to stop the wracking cries that caused her chest to rise and fall quickly. Sobs couldn’t even come close to describing how hard she was crying. Her emotional coil was already stretched thin, but now it was nearly snapping. Natsu had left once and it had almost, almost broken her. But this time?

It damn near killed her.

Lucy wanted so much to run into his arms and tell him she loved him. She had harbored those feelings for so long that it was almost painful, and now she suffered because of it. Her dreams had shattered for the second time in two years, and she despised that the world had turned on her once more. It seemed to never want her happiness; her sorrow was the only thing it desired.

And the world got what it wanted: Natsu being stopped from telling Lucy that he loved her and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

trainspotting was early enough in Ewan’s career that it’s pretty easy for a freak like me to believe that every role after he played renton is renton’s drug fueled hallucinations i.e obi wan was just renton imagining himself as a fine ass jedi, christian is just renton imagining himself as a bohemian bum in love with nicole kidman, Lumiere is just renton when he gets high and watches beauty and the beast, like all of Ewan’s roles is just renton’s myriad of saturated pipe dreams but either way Ewan is always hot and talented and saves any shit film he’s in and that’s really the point I’m making


Today was a sad day….I went for a walk to my favourite place (an abandoned warehouse) to find a load of diggers outside, starting the conversion of it into an industrial building. I managed to sneak round the back and get into it for one last time without the builders noticing.

I have a lot of profound memories in this place and have dedicated an insane amount of time trying to research the use of it; originally it was a buffer food depot in the Second World War on the site of what used to be a train station. After that it has been abandoned for half a century, allegedly home to some ‘junkies’ in the 2000s (hence the graffiti), with little record of it’s use in between. This has been the inspiration for a lot of my personal prose. In fact, I have spent the past 18 months romanticising it’s open-ended history. For some reason it’s cropped up in a myriad of my dreams and I just see it as being a special place, a realm of shadows and echoes. It will be missed.

Drunk on insomnia,
My heart flutters a little
At the mention of your name.

I revisit that day we met
Over several glasses of red wine,
And my ever-dissecting mind for company.

That handshake, those eyes twinkling,
Surely, I couldn’t have been more wrong
In my assessment of us.

I conjure up impossibilities
Out of thin air
An achievement, considering how we haven’t spoken at all.

I dream up myriad ways
Of saying clever things
So that you’d fall for my sense of humor.

I visualize the perfection
That would have been us
Had I not been confined to the chattering of my mind.

But that’s all you’re ever going to be
A mirage in the barren
Emptiness of my mind;

For flashes so bright,
Aren’t ever long-lasting enough
To start a fire that consumed me in entirety.

Though how desperately I wish,
You were the forest fire
That ran wild and ravaged my soul, untamed.

- Forest Fires || poetonwanderlust