Comments Posted By Aera
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“Do something productive, do something worthwhile.” For whom? I do and do for no one. Then, is it worth my while? Well…
» Posted By Aera On 08.07.2013 @ 4:42 pm
“Do something productive, do something worthwhile.” For whom? I do and do for no one. Then, is it worth my while? Well.
» Posted By Aera On 08.07.2013 @ 4:42 pm
I collect voices. The melodic ones suit my tastes best, but it’s the raspy quality that I find enrapturing. I sit and listen and the sounds float through the air and reach my eyes. I draw closer, closer, near, I hear, so I draw near, closer, and brush my fingertips across the owner’s throat. A delicate accident, they understand. In the morning, they are forever soundless, and my collection becomes ever more charming.
» Posted By Aera On 07.06.2013 @ 9:24 pm
Watercolor is one of the harder art forms, I always thought. Colors ever inconsistent and mercurial, patterns easily changed by a breath or a grain of salt. I never feel in control of my brush, as gently as I try to sweep it across the canvas. I’m constantly arguing with the paint, but that argument is what makes its delicate, stubbornly unique streaks more than stuff on paper. In those moments, I’m not just painting; I’m having a conversation.
» Posted By Aera On 07.05.2013 @ 8:46 pm
We blame the rain for our moods, bitter and cold, or perhaps suffocating and unbearably heated. What if, however, our moods can be blamed for the rain? When everything already appears hilariously terrible, it starts raining (could it get any worse?), but now the term cliche is moot. No poorly written drama guides the droplets to the ground. We call upon the rain ourselves, lords of the sky.
» Posted By Aera On 06.25.2013 @ 5:58 pm
He likes to make himself feel big. He drags himself up, some noble being cursed to live among the rest of us or some shit like that. Well, he’s fired insults my way too, tryin’ to cut me short. He starts real low and goes block by block. I wasn’t made of scrap metal, nah, something more solid. Not gonna lose sleep over my tallness or shortness and so what’s the fucking point in moving on thin wooden stilts just ’cause they’re high? A damn brush and he and his stilts clatter back on down. Not so big in the end.
» Posted By Aera On 06.23.2013 @ 4:40 pm
It’s just this damn code, you know? I can’t get it right and I’ve been working on it for hours, bent over, squinting. I can’t tell where it’s broken and every time I look at it, nonfunctional, I curse and look at it again. The result’s always the same, a disaster that I stare at and change and change and change. If I keep moving it around, I might find perfection, but right now it falls apart, becoming just letters. Just numbers. Just a mess. I am broken code that can’t be fixed and all I see is a confused combination that wastes away, rearranging itself until the pieces no longer make a complete whole.
» Posted By Aera On 06.21.2013 @ 8:47 pm
I kick the shells and a few of them crack, white shards scattering across the sand. So many and all alike too, why do people bother collecting them? Not worth my time, though at least I love their loud crunch beneath my feet. It makes me feel big, powerful.
» Posted By Aera On 06.19.2013 @ 10:46 pm
All the neon prints on dark skin, colors so blinding against a cool black. The girl, white and small, is littler and littler beside them in her greyscale socks, skirt, sweater – the ball of dust that is swept away from vibrant light, colorful and alive. The ones wearing neon exist loudly and the noise is beautiful.
» Posted By Aera On 05.30.2013 @ 8:23 am
I like white rooms. They feel larger and their clean walls begin to twist and play a little game as I stare at them. I like white rooms. They’re clean unless people enter them and smear their filth on the floor and ceiling. I like white rooms. I like white rooms. If only they would take me out of this white room and white jacket and there’s so much soapy clean white, oh how I like white rooms.
» Posted By Aera On 05.09.2013 @ 1:51 pm
What credibility have you to dictate how I hop? I’ve hopped all my life, through the fountain of spilled orange juice and past the pit of abandoned toast, and yet you still have such nerve to try to alter my beautiful bounds?! Well, hop away, sir. Hop away.
» Posted By Aera On 05.05.2013 @ 10:50 am
Now the crickets hide in the dark and the grass. Now candles on a cake falter and are blown out. Now someone runs with all their might, with no destination. Now the world stops for some, now it leaves us behind, now it forces us ahead.
» Posted By Aera On 12.26.2012 @ 11:32 pm
I measured the night by the slamming of doors and the smell of rain throwing itself all about, onto grass and trees, into and through windows.
» Posted By Aera On 11.14.2012 @ 11:35 pm
Go forth and conquer the world, they told him as he built his Lego palace. Go forth and overcome challenges, they exclaimed as he colored outside the lines of his coloring book. Go forth and succeed, they whispered in his ear as they bandaged his scraped knee. To his sister, all they said was be pretty, be delicate, be ladylike, and you’ll be the wife of a great man one day.
» Posted By Aera On 10.23.2012 @ 10:12 am
I sleep and I grind, grind, grind my teeth. My dreams might be of fairies or murder, it doesn’t seem to matter. I’ll always grind, grind, grind my teeth.
» Posted By Aera On 10.22.2012 @ 8:15 am
“Try to act civilized,” she said, straightening his bowtie and coat. With her hand on the small of his back, she guided her eight-year-old back into the wedding reception, praying that he wouldn’t pretend to be a fire engine while the groom broke the ceremonial glass under his foot.
» Posted By Aera On 10.16.2012 @ 1:15 pm
Very sorry to say that I buried the berries before I knew that you needed to eat. You played while I stayed to find some food, but we’re stuck, so as you played and I stayed I decided to save the portion I picked from the prickly bush.
» Posted By Aera On 10.15.2012 @ 11:25 am
The words are gone I am gone where has it gone the silence I miss it I miss it I miss think when did it where go I sleep need need gone it’s not here I’m not think not here I’m not here.
» Posted By Aera On 10.12.2012 @ 6:04 pm
I start to miss the rain sometimes. Getting caught in it, ruining a pair of leather shoes, letting it usher in sleep – it reminds me of people, coming and going as it wishes, and always leaving something behind, something as little as a dew-covered windowsill. This constant sunlight leaves within me a great thirst.
» Posted By Aera On 10.11.2012 @ 4:54 pm
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There were signs, but I couldn´t resist, and so fell victim to fate´s intricate designs.
» Posted By Aera On 10.02.2012 @ 11:11 am