i couldn’t title this

and here we are on the flip flop! hi friends. it’s 2018! this little space on the internet is turning five this year! life is weird.

anyway, today i got an idea for a maybe novel. that would be a bit funny, i think – me, writing a novel. i don’t have any of it to share with you, probably because it doesn’t and very well may never exist, but i do have dear june to share with you: prose i wrote for an obnoxiously good demo made by some of my favourite lads. here’s some of dear june, which really only makes good sense if you listen to the songs with it – this part goes with autumn – which probably makes it a shoddy piece of writing. i don’t have the energy to fight the part of me that was once proud of it. anyway. prose with music okay go!


Dear June,

I’ve found that people get warmer as the weather gets colder. Maybe it comes from a selfish evolutionary impulse to stay alive and with others, or maybe the falling of the leaves reminds us all of how fragile everything really is. Maybe closeness is a response to understanding.

In the fall we did things like consider futures where neither of us existed and I realized that I didn’t have her the same way she had me. We ran from the fear licking at our underbellies signaling the end, and loved it. I watched her do everything right and everything wrong, and anything at all, and loved it. It felt a bit like a funeral, really – understanding that what was, was really was coming to an end, and that we’d have to witness it. When we tumbled we blamed it on the weather, and dressed like we were waiting on the bliss of the summer that started it all to return.

She became nervous for the first time in all my knowing her that season, and I became overwhelmed. I didn’t know that you could float on an ocean of unspoken love for so long before you start to drown, or even that drowning could be bad. I faltered when I wanted to be plain with her and she withdrew, but I could never blame her. Not once; not ever.

When the last of the leaves hit the ground, I started to consider my reasoning. I knew she’d go, and I knew I wouldn’t survive it, but I continually found myself waiting for her, despite what she’d do. I never expected her to change, though. There’s little room for improvement when perfection is the standard one starts at.

With love,
Autumn


there it goes! there it be!

if you want to read the whole thing, it’s over here. talk to me about it on twitter if ya like! okay. i gotta zoom. there’s a bomb cyclone that’s preventing me from going outside and i need to be sulky about it somewhere.

love and light,
shalom xo

CHANCE

Can you tell me why? Can you try to explain why you’re here to me?

She’s new. She’s a dirt-brown haired newbie, who thinks that she’ll be the one. She’ll crack these girl and the four boys in our ward, and she’ll solve the pesky problem of eating disorders. She’s really trying quite hard: her arms are open – no barriers to communication; her notepad is in her lap, and she’s looking at me in the face. She’s smiling a tiny, closed-mouth mother-of-three smile, and she’s waiting.

I know you’ve heard it before, but I promise you, you can trust me. I just want to know how you’re doing so that we can be on the same page, okay?

I know her type. Two of the guys won’t speak to her because they know her type too. I cross one leg over the other, tilt my head upwards, remind myself to murmur, and say, “I’m doing fine. Thank you.” She’ll stop smiling, and then she’ll write something – ‘uncooperative’ or ‘unwilling to engage’ – and then look back up at me.

She doesn’t.

It says here that you don’t talk much. You once told a psychologist that you wanted to disappear entirely. Can you tell me why do you want to disappear?

It’s funny how you think you have any sort of privacy in this world. The ghosts of the past haunt us, and remind us of realities we seem to have forgotten. My ghosts swim in my lungs, and dance to my irregular heartbeat. They read the notes of the first woman I ever spoke to about Vanishing. They keep those notes forever, and give them to the the New Head Psychologist Woman, PhD.

I don’t know why I told the first one.

I size this one up again. New Psychologist: tall, brown hair, face like pale sand. Blue veins down her arm, like I always wanted. Family photo on the desk, like I always wanted. Tiny smile, like I never wanted. The chances are these: tell her, and have her question you; or don’t, and have her wonder, like the rest of them. 50/50. Moon or sun. Heads or tails.

Romeo and Juliet. Dead, and dead. 1oo. Both.

Part one: Moon. I tell her, “Do you know what it means to transcend everything? Everything that you know. To be apart from everything here, all of this trouble, all this stress? I know what it means. It means vanishing. It means leaving all of this behind, and still getting the grades and the girl and being the good daughter. It means that you say no to some things for a little while, you grow smaller and smaller, and in a little while, you’re closer to vanishing than you ever thought possible. You get to disappear, and live above all of this.”

What do you mean when you say, “live above all of this”?

Part two. I don’t tell her.

I am the sun.

-s.c.o


 

featured image from unidentifieduniverse.com

 

 

Lucky

Some disclaimers:

1. I am female.

2. I write from whatever perspective I want.

3. I am not actually a boy named Adam.


 

I’m very lucky. Her name is Jenifer and she uses strawberry scented shampoo.

I like to go on walks with her – she likes to walk. I usually hate being alone but I love being alone with her. I don’t know if that makes any sense – I tend to lose most of my sense when I’m with her. She’s like a drug, I guess. I feel like I’m on every drug in the solar system when I’m just standing next to her, and holding her hand usually sends me into a neighbouring universe. Heaven knows that she’s not out of this world, but she must be something special.

We’re both so ordinary, actually. I don’t know why. We both tried to be different at one stage; she got a piercing and I stopped wearing a belt on my jeans. It didn’t work, for me at least. She still has her piercing. It’s beautiful, like every other part of her. The whole of her is so, so beautiful.

They say that you don’t forget your first kiss. I think that’s a lie. I forgot mine. I think it was in a movie cinema and horrible. I do remember kissing her, though. She was holding my hand and I thought I was going to fly away. I liked her, and she liked me, and we both knew. We were sat on a carpet in her living room, and I couldn’t think clearly. It made sense. She was in front of me. Jenifer. What else was there to think of?

Between the skin on her hands and wrists and the voice that she had, I don’t know which was smoother. She looked at me very closely, and I thought I’d screwed up, but instead, she laughed. She laughed her beautiful Jenifer laugh, and tried to cover her face with the hand that was intertwined with mine. “I like you, Adam.” I forgot how to speak, as expected. She laughed more and I replied, “I know,”.

And then, it was like everything that I thought was good and right in the world was in front of me. I was taken by the smell of strawberries that wafted towards me, and the feel of her hair between my fingers. She laughed, and kissed me. By the time her lips touched mine, and I felt the muscles in her face work towards a small nervous smile, I was so far gone into a world where only her and I existed. Adam and Jenifer world. Full of kisses and strawberry shampoo and hand holding. I smiled, at a loss for words, and she giggled, and we both laughed more than we had in weeks. We lay on the carpet, close to the TV. There, with her head on my chest and my hand running through her hair, I asked myself why I was in the situation I was in, where she had come from, how she was so beautiful. I couldn’t answer myself. I figured I was lucky.

As my mom came around to pick me up, she skipped beside me as I walked to the car.

“I know, ” she whispered, as she kissed me on the cheek. I didn’t know how it could have happened. I didn’t get it. I couldn’t make sense of it. Then again, it may have just been a Jenifer effect.

“I like you, Jenifer,” I said. Then, I got into the car while she greeted my mom.

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips,

We should just kiss like real people do.

                                                 -Hozier


Love and light,
Shalom X

Dare – More Angst. (Really, Shalom?) (Yes.)

Hi! I’m feeling super angsty and I keep writing these break up posts even though I have absolutely zero break up experience. Hence the melodrama, I think. Here’s another. Yay!


How dare you come into my heart? How dare you claim ownership –falsely! – over the only thing that I truly own? How dare you come, fleetingly, and leave marks like foot prints in the sand, in your opinion? Let me assure you, my heart is a Persian rug and you were, are, wearing those caterpillar boots with soles laden with mud and heartbreak.

How dare you make me think that anything was for you? It was all for you at one point, all points! Everything – how dare you make me believe in me because of a couple “you’re beautiful”s? How dare you?

How dare you allow me to think that good things come from you and nowhere else? How dare you crush anything that was alive and call it “housekeeping”, who told you my heart needed to be kept? How dare you, you and your empty words and “no promises” mantra. How dare you leave when you thought you’d cleaned up enough?

My carpets are dirty and the curtains are hanging off the railings. How dare you.

To whoever dares come after, some words:

Stake a claim in my heart, or get the hell out.

Amanda Torrini


 

That’s all. I’ll be back soon, I hope.

All my love,

-Scoot xx

Choose- A piece about an angsty teenager and luuurve

Hello friends! So while I figured out why I was feeling all sap saps this week, I started my channel! Also, I wanted to write some angst about how I don’t have a Jackson Harries to fly halfway across the world to see me. Watch that video here, it’s great. In any case, here is the angst romance shmance pants!


 

I miss you.

I miss the stupid way I used to feel when we went out, the way it seemed like I was on drugs a little bit whenever I was with you. The way you used to – do you still? – bite on the corner of your top lip when you concentrate too hard. The way you used to know so little about so much.

I remember the way one day played out: when we walked for a long time, and I got tired, so we stopped. You sat and I sat after you and we made shapes with the clouds. You asked I was okay and I asked if you were happy, and you said, ‘yes, kind of’ and I said ‘yes’. I remember you leaning on my shoulder and asking why I was so tired and I told you that I was having a regular day. I told you that I was confused about choices and that I hated losing and that the world is a big place.

You asked what my choices were and I said, ‘a couple here and there’, and you asked what I wanted you to say. I didn’t know. I was quiet and then you were quiet and then we held hands. I keep drawing hands because I miss holding yours.

I remember you looking at me and touching my nose, watching my face scrunch up and the tension in my body disappear. I remember when you turned and propped me up onto my knees while you were on yours and you held me tightly. I remember you squeezing tight and asking if I was crying. I was crying.

You held my one hand, with the other still around my back. You looked at me, and said, ‘I choose you. I’ll always choose you,’.

It’s December, darling. You didn’t. I miss you.

Qui dit que tu m’amais? // Who said you loved me?

 


THUS ENDETH THE ANGST! I’m feeling a lot less teenagey-hormoney now, so I’ll probably be back to my usual crap talking…whenever I …ah, I can’t even keep my train of thought from being derailed.

Soonest,

Scoot X

Scoot on ~ straight and fast

 

Recently, and I mean four days ago recently, I found out that a book to film adaptation of Looking for Alaska would be made.

Reaction 1: oh

Reaction 2: OHHHH

Recation 3: WHAT EVEN IS THIS LIFE OHHHHHHHHHHH MAAHH GOSH JOHNNNNN

According to Mr. Green himself, he only agreed to the making of the film so that all of us would shut up about TFIOS. Confused? Well, I’m sorry. Google maybe? If, like the majority of the population fortunate enough to know what TFIOS is and what it’s about and have read the book and or seen the film – I’m talking to you!

So Looking for Alaska is p-r-etty amazing, and if the criers cried buckets in TFIOS and if the criers are real people, then every cinema that will show Looking for Alaska, as well as every household containing a human being who will read the book or watch the film should get a sudden supply of mops with the specific purpose to  mop up tears. I feel like that should have been written in code but I’m quite useless at that so NO! 😀

Anyway, one of the taglines for the movie is, “Straight and fast is the only way out.” If you haven’t read the book, I guess you’ll have to interpret that for yourself. If you have, I think you’ll thoroughly understand the intensity of this statement. My intention of this post isn’t entirely clear – not even to myself – so I’m just going with whatever crap  comes to mind. Sorry.

Alaska Young is, in part, the representation of most teenagers. Over 20 per cent of teenagers are depressed and or suffer some sort of mental disorder, with increasing numbers in sociopathic tendencies and eating disorders. Alaska Young? Clearly depressed. Also, clearly brilliant. She has a mind like none other, and a thought process like none other, and she’s brilliant. She thinks screws things up. She leaves the people she leaves behind in a state. She’s powerful beyond measure. She’s deeply hurt. She is, for lack of a more mainstream word, celestial.

She’s probably thinking that she screwed things up with her mom again. And she’s furious and she hates herself, and she
decides, ‘That’s it, I’m doing it,’ and she sees the cop car and there’s her chance and she just floors it.”

After all this time, it still seems to me that straight and fast is the only way out, but I chose the labyrinth. The labyrinth blows,but I choose it.

There’s a way out. Your choice – or at least you think it is.

Straight and fast. Straight. And. Fast. Straight and fast.

-Scoot xx


 

 

JOHN GREEN YOU SICK SICK MARVELOUS AWFUL BRILLIANT HUMAN BEING.

 

Scoot On ~ THE FAULT IN OUR {insert here}

I HAVE INSPIRATION FROM SOMEWHERE SO DON’T SLOW ME DOWN

Okay? Okay.

THE FAULT IN OUR MOTHER TRUCKING STARS

I don’t know if it’s a crisis that (a) I can’t say/think/read/see ‘okay’ without getting emotional, (b) I had a dream that John Green and the Yeti (his wife) and Henry (their son) were my godparents, and (c) #TFIOS COMES OUT ON FRIDAY IN SOUTH AFRICA AND I HAVE A HISTORY EXAM AND AN AFRIKAANS EXAM (!!!!!??!?!??!????)

It did just occur to me that I could possibly just go see the movie after my exam and be broke, and I’m fairly more relaxed now.

THE FAULT IN OUR MOTHER TRUCKING EXAMS

Exams! My mid year exams only(ha, only) begin on Friday June 13th (READ ABOVE IF YOU CANNOT UNDERSTAND THIS SIGNIFICANCE) but the panic has not truly set in yet, possibly because the studying has not truly (read “at all”) begun. I’m feeling strange about these exams, and I can only imagine the severity of the panic attacks that will come from them, but I have been in a “COME AT ME BRO” kind of mood for the past four hours, which has also been rather severe. I feel like that sentence made no sense.

THE FAULT IN OUR ENERGY SAVING TENDENCIES

At my house, we’ve switched over to prepaid electricity, where you buy electrical units and then only use what you have, rather than using and using and getting a bill at the end of the month. Sounds great, and it is, except in regular houses, all heat producing devices including the geyser don’t get turned off when the temperature drops to 3°C. Or maybe they do, I don’t really know anything about regular homes because most people don’t live in a five-child family.

THE FAULT IN OUR MOTIVATIONAL VIDEOS

If you are looking for a video to help you stop procrastinating: DO NOT WATCH ONE

If you are looking for motivation to study: DO NOT WATCH ONE

If you are looking for motivation to better yourself: DO NOT WATCH ONE!!!!

ALL THESE VIDEOS DO IS HELP YOU WASTE TIME WHEN YOU COULD BE STUDYING OR WORKING OUT OR PAINTING OR BAKING OR BETTERING YOURSELF

THE FAULT IN THE FAULT IN OUR STARS

n o n e

THE FAULT IN THESE PICTURES

I got them through laborious procrastination 🙂

TFIOSpast plans sail tumblr_mzn4ihiPRU1rx19nlo1_500 Turn-It-Around mat keys download

 

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,

but in ourselves.

 

-Scoot

 

Shining

Please note that I just had an idea spam and I haven’t written in a while because junior year. I will be back soon, sometime this week!

I’ve always liked my eyes better when I cried.

When I cried, they weren’t that mud-brown-almost-black that everyone said they were. They were different, shiny. Shiny? Yes, shiny. I suppose everybody’s eyes shine when they cry – it’s the tears. I just so happened to like mine.

“It’s here!” my mom called out. She was in the kitchen of our two-room apartment, and she had just gotten an email regarding the job she had applied for. I dragged as much of myself as I could into the kitchen with my fingers crossed.

“Okay, are you ready?” she asked, fingers waiting to open the document.

“Ready as ever,” I replied, trying to sound more enthusiastic than deadpan.

Don’t get me wrong, I wanted my mom to get this job more than anything. I wanted her to be happier, not to have to travel 40 kilometres every morning , not to be wary of the crazies she worked with.

I was just so used to disappointment, I couldn’t help but not get my hopes up.

She clicked the mouse- once, then again- and the screen was filled with text. And then I felt it. Hope.

I had the craziest hope that the letter would make my mom smile, and make her jump, and make her happy. I had the hope that something would have worked out. I had hope. Odd, since I hadn’t felt hope since That Night.

That Night was the night he left. He said he needed some cigarettes. He just didn’t come back. When he left, I was seven – innocent enough to be changed, but smart enough to see the truth. My mom had said, “Maybe he got lost, and right now he’s coming with a big present for you.Everything will be fine.” He got lost alright. Lost in a world where my mother, myself and him didn’t coexist. I guess he just decided to find a way out. Good for him, I suppose. Good for him. My mother didn’t lie to me again after That Night.

My mom started to read in her usual overly cheery voice: “Dear Mrs Tapenden, we regrettably inform you that the position has been filled.” Her tone didn’t change in the slightest as she continued. ” Your application has been unsuccessful. Your time is appreciated. Keith Roger, Design and Co.”

“Well, I guess it’s not time yet!” she said, voice thinning as she skipped towards the small excuse of a living room. I couldn’t believe it. I’d allowed myself to feel hope, and nothing had happened. But somehow, my mother kept her faith. I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t comprehend why she had to keep doing something. I felt the alien sting of tears in my eyes and began to think of something else. Math. Breakfast. Jude Law. Jack Frost. Selena Gomez.

Nothing was working.

So I cried. I let all 17 and a quarter years of myself cry.  I looked into the microwave, and saw my eyes. There, I saw my mother.

Let down. Beat up. Mud brown.

But shining. Still Shining.