sewn to the sky

Red days are when the wolves howl all night and in the morning the birds return with torn out feathers. The days are filled with ambulance sirens. My hair is on fire. Everything moves in slow motion. The flames, the heat, my body soaked in kerosene. The screams in the distance. The monster in the corner, gawking. The stripped birds. And then: the wolves. 

Blue days are heavy and I spend them speaking in spiderwebs. My reflection is clouded and the air is always too humid. The world does anything it can to make my bones weigh me down. My hands, a noose. My head, a haunted house. My heart, turned into a stress ball for when you needed it most.

Green days are spent wondering if it was painful when the sky had stars sewn into it. Wondering if the pain was worth it. Cactus spines stuck underneath skin when you try to drink the water. I am walking the precipice, one foot in the real world and one stuck in dreams. I am an inventor these days, writing fables for a childhood I can’t remember.

Purple days are murky and the owls have dangerous omens. I am on the tightrope. I am living out my childhood dream of being a ballerina. I am the circus act. I am the caged bird. I am spinning on my axis. The bystanders hold a collective breath. They are, after all, just paying for a pretty show. They don’t care about what comes after the fall.

Yellow days are a safe haze, coating my hands in syrup. My blood stays on the inside of my body. My skin actually does its job. Everything is safe and sultry. There is lemonade without sugar. There is your messy mouth again. Everything moves in reverse. There is my candy necklace. There are the sunflowers. There is the sunset we named after us.

Pink days are sunrises and fairy floss. I write about flowers and paint my face in watercolors. There are sugar angels on the counters. The spice containers are overfilling. I am happy and whole. I am kinetic energy and the explosion that comes with. I am rosy cheeked, and roses growing from my wrists. There is no pain. There is only the beauty I’ve torn myself apart to create. I am on the edge of a cliff. I have my wings. When I jump, I am a bird set free.
—  COLOR COORDINATED DAYS, angelea l.

anonymous asked:

BTS reaction to y/n having an obsession with sewing her skin?

💌 — I did some research on skin sewing and I think it looks really relaxing if you know what you’re doing! Here’s some information for anyone who is curious to know exactly what this is. (Please be safe, sterile, and do your research before trying at home!) Thank you for requesting and enjoy!

Seokjin walks back from the kitchen to the living room, sighing as he sits down on the couch next to you without giving you an initial glance. He’s skimming through the list of shows playing when he notices you humming absentmindedly beside him. “Do you have something to say, honey?,” he teases as he turns to face you, his eyes widening instantly when he notices you expertly weaving a needle in and out of your skin as if it’s nothing. Jin tries to stop himself from yelling so loudly, but that doesn’t last long before he’s shouting, “Y/N! What the hell are you doing to yourself?” You glance up at him and motion to the star sewn into your skin as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m bored and I had some extra thread lying around, so I figured I’d start sewing again.” You’ll definitely need to pause your artwork for a few minutes to assure Jin that you’re not completely insane and that it’s perfectly safe to do. But after some reassurance that you’re not going to lose your hand via sewing and you’ll keep the needle away from him, Jin will find it to be just another odd quirk of yours.

Yoongi is very apologetic to the fact that he doesn’t have many opportunities to spend time with you one-on-one. However, he enjoys the fact that you both are quiet souls together. With that fact in mind, he often invites you to stay in the studio with him on nights when he knows he won’t make it back home. A lot of that time is spent enjoying each other’s silent company, Yoongi busy producing on his computer and you watching movies on your phone or scrolling through your Tumblr feed. Tonight, however, you decided to pick up some sewing thread on your way to the studio since you were running low and wanted to do something different for a change. You give Yoongi a quick kiss after you arrive and make your way to your designated seat on the plush couch in the corner of the room. You fix the needle soon after and slowly start sewing meaningless lines into your hands, no clear pattern in mind. A half hour passes and you hear Yoongi groan as he stretches out of his seat. “I’m gonna go get something to drink. Do you wa-,” Yoongi pauses in the middle of his sentence and you look up to find him concentrated on the needle sticking between your fingers. “Um, would you care to explain what you’re doing?” You laugh at his confused expression and explain the concept to him, his only response being a short “hmm, okay then,” before he leaves you to finish what you started.

Hoseok is hard to keep up with sometimes. He isn’t necessarily bothersome - but he has a lot of energy that you can’t always compete with. And sometimes he needs to tire himself out before he can even think about curling up on the couch and relaxing with you. It’s times like this when you pull out your little sewing kit hidden beneath your bed and start to doodle into your delicate skin, little stars and hearts - and smiley faces when you miss Hoseok too much - taking up the space of your palm. You’re in the midst of switching out the thread with a different color when you hear your boyfriend walking through the bedroom door. “Hey babe,” you murmur out to him, hands still busy searching for the color that seems to have disappeared from your kit. Hoseok’s feet approach you slowly and you look up to see him holding the roll of thread in front of your face, eyes warily glancing down at the thread sewn into your skin. “Um… are you looking for this, babe?” You smile up at his worried face and take the thread from his hands, thanking him and explaining to him what you’re doing since he seems too nervous to ask himself. He reaches out to take your hand in his, facing your palm upwards and chuckling as he points at the brightly colored sun while saying, “Hey, this one looks like me!”

Namjoon enjoys learning new things and venturing into different hobbies that other people may avoid for whatever reason. So when he comes home to find you concentrated intensely on the multiple loose-ended threads hanging from your skin, he doesn’t freak out like you may have expected others too. He sets down his things and walks over to your seat, head quirking to the side as he examines the unfinished portrait of a night sky sewn beautifully into your arm. He notices the way your eyebrows are scrunched up in frustration, huffing in annoyance and sending a few stray hairs flying away from your face. “Ah, don’t get so upset, baby,” he whispers soothingly while leaning down to kiss your puffed out cheeks. “I think you should add some magenta to this side,” he notes while gently pointing and careful to not mess up what you’ve already done, “and fade it out to blue over to this side.” He purses his lips as he holds up the different colors, though his face instantly relaxes when you smile at him in agreement and finally return his kiss from earlier. “I think you’re right,” you answer before going back to trim the loose strings and begin threading another needle. Namjoon sighs and shrugs nonchalantly, “When am I not?”  

Jimin quite nearly drops his phone when he walks into your room and sees you poking at your skin without a single care in the world. The choked noise he makes and the way he knocks into different things trying to catch his phone before it shatters brings you out of your concentration immediately. You look at him bewildered and he returns the same expression to you for a completely different reason. “What are you doing?,” you both ask at the same time, pausing for a moment until Jimin decides his question deserves an answer a bit more urgently. “Why are you stabbing yourself like that?,” he asks like it’s the most horrific thing he’s ever seen. You roll your eyes at him and giggle at his reaction while telling him, “I’m not stabbing myself, silly. It’s called skin sewing. It’s totally safe.” You hold up your palm to him and have to fight back another laugh when he slowly approaches you like you have a bomb in your hand. He glances down at your palm, up at your face, then back down to your palm again before muttering out, “Well, I guess it kinda looks cool.”

Taehyung doesn’t know whether to be fascinated or terrified when he comes over for a surprise visit and finds you going to town on your hand with a needle and thread. You don’t seem to be in pain as you casually greet him with a simple “Hey babe” before focusing back on your work. However, everything in his mind is telling him that he should be panicking right now. Cautiously, he walks over and slowly sits down next to you on the couch, staring at your face until you direct your attention his way and sigh in defeat. You were hoping that you could finish the design you were working on without interuption, but Taehyung’s surprise arrival and heavy stare immediately shoots down that idea. “It’s called skin sewing,” you inform him before he can ask - his jaw closing shut as you interrupt him mid-question. “It’s completely harmless. Look, no blood involved,” you insist as you hold your hand up close to Tae’s face, his eyes widening in shock for a few moments as he admires the thread woven through the thin upper layer of your skin. However, he sees that you’re right about it not hurting you and he slowly pushes your hand down. It takes him a couple of moments to find his voice again, but once he does he smiles shyly and holds his hand out towards you as he asks, “Will you try it on me next?”

Jungkook is a simple boy. A simple boy who is going to be extremely bewildered when he comes home to see his very adorable girlfriend sticking a needle and thread through her skin while she watches her favorite drama as if it’s just a regular pastime. You don’t notice his presence for a few moments because he’s been shocked into silence. However, he’ll soon find his own voice and relearn how to walk and quickly approach you with a million questions on his mind. “Um, hello. This morning I left my very normal and not crazy girlfriend here and I wanted to know if you could help me find her?,” he blabbers to you while motioning to what you’re doing as if that’s proof of your insanity. You glare up at him jokingly and wave the needle in his face as if threatening to get to him next. He quickly dodges your swipe and stares at you wide-eyed and bunny gazed. You decide to stop teasing the poor boy and quickly inform him that your sanity is still there and what you’re doing is completely normal. He’ll definitely continue to tease you throughout the night and takes jabs at you every time he can, but he’ll quickly shut up every time you threaten to start sewing him next - at least for a couple minutes.

“Did you ever love him?”

“Of course,” she replies easily, eyes to the sky, a twisted smile sewn on her lips, “but our love wasn’t two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that could perfectly fit together, and our patience wasn’t a strong enough glue to keep us from falling apart.”

—  hanavmaki

He talked about her like she held the moon in her hands. She alone had sewn the stars into the sky.

I watched as he mumbled, staring not at me, but through me, and I felt the enormity of my loneliness – bone-crushing since the moment I saw his truck pulling away from my doorstep, headlights vanishing into the horizon.

He said her name like a prayer; it was heavy with silence and hushed, a confession from which he needed to be absolved.

He held onto her name the same way I held onto us. He recalled his pain the same way I remembered how it felt to snap a door shut behind another person’s retreating back – like waving a white flag, like falling apart.

It made me wonder how – even after all of the years we spent together, running in circles, running out of breath, chasing some elusive sense that we were meant for more – I have still managed to care about him more than he could care about me.

—  After that, I was too drunk to ask the questions I should have (I hate myself)
2

For chiapeto​ with all my love and thank you on behalf of everyone who squees over your route posts and appreciates all the translations and things you do for the fandom.  I really hope I didn’t murder your husband (Nomura Tadanobu from Metro PD) too badly, I didn’t have and couldn’t find a lilac as pale as his shirt and well…  he caused me to mutter a few obscenities!  I hope the little story makes you smile.

It was dark, rain pounded the pavement  and the window as the Dolly Maker threw the door open to her secret cave causing her cape to billow in the back draft.  Sitting down heavily flipping the light on and casting a small pool of light onto the desk, “Oh, she shall pay for this,” the Dolly Maker muttered darkly as she wiped the blood away from her nose.  The mental images Chia had implanted into her head only too vivid and lucid of Eisuke in handcuffs and being all big brother over Rion…  Suddenly she knew what to do, swishing her cape out behind the chair she called out to her little dolly helpers who had been hiding the corner, “Fetch me,” she paused for dramatic effect possibly too long as the dollies exchanged looks with each other as one tried to shrug his little dolly shoulders, “my tools!”

“Yes master!” the little dolls shouted and toddled about collecting her materials, paper, threads and needles

Thunder and lightening suddenly crashed out from the sky as the Dolly Maker threw her head back and laughed manically as she began to feverishly sew.

“Revenge they say, is a dish best served cold…  I say, it’s best sewn.” yet more lightening burst from the sky as the little dollies wondered if the Dolly Maker was making her own, “BEHOLD MY PRECIOUS, DOLLY NOM NOM!” she stood up and held him up into the light.

Trying to think of a logical reason of why Pitchfork gave Sewn To The Sky by Smog an 8.0, since that album seems pure noise, it’s almost unlistenable, too much lo-fi.. TOO much lo-fi. Anyway, if you are a fan of experimental music and your favorite Beck album is Mellow Gold and your favorite Sigur Rós album is Von, then you’ll probably like this. There are some songs which are listenable, but others that don’t  even have a melody. Still, I’m glad I am listening to it, since it shows clearly how much Smog’s music has developed throughout the years. Oh, and also because I finally finished listening to the eight albums Smog released in the 90’s! Who releases eight album in only ten years?!

“melanin is memory.
is the blue weight of the ocean. sewn into the red dusk of sky. living in the soil of your body.
it is alive.
leaping and sweeping you. against. into the sun.
your skin was the first astronaut. the first in space.
you touch. and talk. are intimate with the sun. everyday. and do not perish.

melanin.
is the world. before this world.
before the word. slave.
during the word. slave.
after the word. slave.
it is the books. written into yourself.
wild math in the pads of your feet.
soft science in your hair.
language down your back. invention in your mouth.

melanin is why you are still alive after. the torching.
it is a second lung. the next heart. and the next heart. and the next.
a never ending. regenerative. breathing thing.
a ceremony of life. while you are asleep.
a cosmos. in conversation.

melanin is a wisdom that knew.
hate would be the anti-light come to devour. defile.
a wisdom that did not flinch.
a wisdom that is not bothered by such things.
melanin is memory.
your memory.”


nayyirah waheed (via @nayyirahwaheed)

photo by: me

happy valentine’s day, loves.

Gabriel stands in front of the mirror, frowning at his reflection. His hair’s a little messy and he’s nicked himself while shaving, but overall, he thinks he looks nice in his black suit. 

He’s not used to the feeling of the taut fabric; it feels like it’s creasing as he fixes his tie and as he picks up the bouquet of red roses. Gabriel knows that he could just transport himself to the spot, but it doesn’t feel right–he wants to do this the human way. The way Sam always did.

So, he walks outside and gets in the car–a turquoise Beetle; it’s a cute little number, which is why he chose it–shoving the key in the ignition as he sets the flowers in the passenger seat. The Beetle lets out a little huff as the engine starts up, as if reluctantly waking from a deep sleep. 

The drive takes around twenty minutes; by the time Gabriel arrives at the base of the little hill, the sun has already dipped below the horizon.

Gabriel pauses a moment to admire the scene when he gets out the car: the entire hill itself looks ethereal, washed in silvery starlight. The moon is bright enough that he can see miles into the distance with ease as he trudges up the hill. 

Once he reaches the top, he slowly lowers himself down to sit cross-legged on the ground. He fiddles with the bouquet for a bit before setting it in front of himself, where Sam would’ve sat. Gabriel shuts his eyes for a moment before lifting his gaze to admire the French-knot stars sewn into the deep indigo sky.

“So, Samsquatch,” he starts quietly after a minute. “Been almost a decade now. I dunno how, but the years’ve gone by quickly and slowly at the same time. I guess it’s an archangel thing. Centuries going by in a blink, and all that.” Gabriel has to pause for a couple moments, steadying the wobble in his voice. “I still miss you, you know. I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing you. And, hell, if you hadn’t asked me not to, I would’ve brought you back ages ago." 

Gabriel leans back, lying on the tufty grass with his arms folded behind his head. "So. What can I tell you that’s new? Dean and Cas’ little girl got married a while ago. The kid she tied the knot with is decent. I like him. Hey, if you get the chance, d'you mind trying to sneak into Dean’s Heaven to tell him how beautiful she grew up? I know she’s adopted, but she reminds me of him. And you, too, Sammy. You would’ve liked her." 

There’s a hot prickling behind Gabriel’s eyes; his vision’s blurring. He swallows dryly, reaching up to wipe his cheek. "I should probably get the point, now, huh? Right. Always had a problem with rambling, didn’t I.”  Gabriel laughs quietly. “I remember it used to drive you nuts, though you still put up with it… Anyway. Point is.” He sits up again, studying the sky for a moment. “Sammy, will you be my Valentine?" 

me, with my color coded sadness wrung across my neck, and how we have talk about dipping our toes in the sand-i called you ocean, and maybe you didn’t understand what that meant; all you ever do is smile, and all i ever did was to keep quiet. i am sorry i didn’t explain. i am sorry that i can’t; i’ve never had the words, or the understanding for this. i am broken world / shattered sky / the sun sewn into one; skin of a person. i am strong front / strong front / and more strong front- i am an uprooted palm tree- in a storm; drowning myself in seemingly unfamiliar waters, with the grittiness of salt in my teeth, and a pair of damaged lungs yet again. i could plead for you to save me, as the moon- but is that what we want, standing on the edge of a bridge ready to jump- with a harness and everything; this is how it feels to let go for the weak.