Writers Know 50 Different Ways To Say A Sentence But Are Still Speechless When Someone Asks Them What

stories that are a matryoshka of unreliable narrators. you can't trust the person telling you the story. but then you realise that they don't even have much of a choice in the matter; the information they're operating on was told to them by an unreliable narrator. and when you interrogate their story, you realise that the lies go back even further. the tunnel goes deeper. how far are you willing to go to uncover the truth? how far will you actually get before you lose sight of what you came for in the first place?

some people write poetry solely so that fragments of it can be used on aesthetic posts on the average dark academia tumblr and it shows. good poetry, genuinely good lyricism like that of margaret atwood, imtiaz dharker, agha shahid ali and ocean vuong needs heart, needs actual sincerity. but nowadays we have any random person writing "oranges persimmons girlhood is a disease cannibalism is love I am my mother's shadow soup love witchcraft" and they are promoted like the second coming of christ. love being a hater of such poems. hollow, insincere fake deep imagery does nothing for me.

Returning to writing after a break is like having the old Windows startup sound playing on a loop in your head.

someone: can i be a character in your book??

me: sure! right here i have an opening for *squints at doc* insignificant side character who exists only for plot purposes

(by AlThorStormblessed)

people are really out here saying "yeah, i could survive in a fantasy world" when they can't even k*ll a spider without help

dystopias are getting too real and utopias feel too improbable. i propose a third kind of escape: a world that’s just okay