SRFL


Kanal geosi va tili: Efiopiya, Inglizcha
Toifa: San’at


- Self-Proclaimed Philosopher
- @YouAreTheThingILoveMost
- Origin: @Serapiel

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Kanal geosi va tili
Efiopiya, Inglizcha
Statistika
Postlar filtri


Why do you deny yourself?

Why do you disallow yourself ...
from beauty? from love? from happiness?

I know, I know, It's corny and perhaps even unprofessional, but that's not why you still deny yourself from it, right?

You're scared that perhaps you will look stupid, and that would mean what you've always thought about yourself will come true.

The insecurities are no longer deep seated resentments that you're suspicious about but they become reality.

Perhaps you still persist and express yourself, with all the anxiety still stirring within you.

And all it takes is for someone to confess to you that they're going through the same thing, or maybe even you become the one to confess that and it all evaporates into non-existence, and you're left with a genuine expression of you, in the moment, no knees shaking, no eyes rolling, and the mind not wondering, the heart not anxious, and the soul washed of fear.

Just you in the moment. Also, with someone in the moment. Floating in a collective presence.


Do people still write?

How do you deal with your emotions if you don't tuck them away in papers, and notebooks? Do you talk about them with other people? Do you put them on canvases and hide the darkest ones under layers of paint? And when you do do you distort them so they sound, look, and feel better? Do you use pretty words to distract from the screams within? Do you use bright colors to hide the contrast of the shadows? Do you sing your traumas so they feel like daydreams instead?


“tough love is still toxic love”


“the weight on my shoulders is no longer just heavy, it’s also loud, and smelly …”


What's a Sunday Morning in Gibi Like? Chance The Rapper Inspired Writing Exercise #1

Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DrUUZYH0A4


Video oldindan ko‘rish uchun mavjud emas
Telegram'da ko‘rish


Cinemabreaker. dan repost
welcome to Cinemabreaker.


lyrics to a song i won't sing anytime soon.

There is so much else I can be talking off
But I just want to be in the room when you fall in love.
You let me wash and brush your hair once.
Ashes falling in your eyes from my burning blunts
Now I'm still buying the same shampoo.
Addicted to its flower scent like glue

do do do

I just want to trace your faded tattoos
Hear you talk about friends you hated too
Listen to all the innocent lies you tell
Bragging about how you're going to hell


Indie Hazel dan repost
Hello beautiful people
My name is Radical dude.
And I am one of the admins of this channel that been sharing the beautiful sounds of Indie for years and it's been a beautiful journey. And now Im about to share a music of my own.
I want you guys to listen to what I have made for you and hope you guys enjoy it🖤


For me, it's as if I become the angry man when there is none.


mallory dan repost
if you're raised with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house. you will find him even when he is not there. and if one day you find that there is no angry man in your house well, you will go find one and invite him.

@emotional_earthquake


Hawiian Penguin dan repost
The Wonder of Elias.

I hated you, for the very same reasons I hated myself. You were happy and content with what you had, subtly I felt insecure by your presence. your belief and hope in a better tomorrow blindsided me. You were so healthy that you radiated bliss and light.


I had non of what you were offering for free. Funny how deep down I was so sick and could not bear to see another person in another world opposite to mine.

it seems apparent to me now that I was in pain and wanted to disseminate my ideology of sorrow. it was unthinkable to think I could be wrong and be made better by your words. I laugh now as an old man who sees you for what you really are Elias. you truly were lucky, and I am glad I let my self get the help I needed to love my self as you once did.

Shocking it is to see just how we dig in our heels and resist better things, shocking it is how we would rather pull those who are better to the pits of hell we create, and all this just so they can see our pains and sorrow. All a desperate cry for help.

LOL it embarrasses me to see the rear view mirror to witness how I had been.


[Stop holding on, let go move on be better I know its hard but let go of the pain. you truly do deserve better whoever you are.]


LinkUp Addis dan repost
"There is a running joke my mother told me, about how people used to react to music of their time. people would go to the record store and ask the record keeper 'Give me anything good. So no Ayalew Mesfin'", writes Abel Sintayehu. He describes Ayalew Mesfin as a vibrant underdog of his time, underappreciated and unvalued.  Our newest contributor to the ListenUp section of our magazine beautifully encapsulates the 70's darkhorse. To read more on the subject head to
https://bit.ly/3RmEQKc
@linkupaddis


It's not necessarily a "forgot" but much rather some moments feel as if they can't be reflected with words that putting pen to paper could mean I have reaped everything I can out of it. But no! I haven't. Even when I try to write about it, I wished I could have been more of Surafel. Or when I try to write I feel as if I'm around more inspiring moments that I'm missing out on them. I guess, to write means to forfeit on these seemingly animated epochs of life, both current and past ones. So much so, I can't guilt myself for missing out on them or having not indulged in them more. A blank page is a blank page when the pen isn't on top of it. A blank page is a blank page when the pen is somewhere else. Out there. Amidst its friends, its work acquaintances, its love, its mistresses, its foes. It's out there writing on them, writing for them, writing with them. It's out everywhere except here, on these blank pages.

#Struggling


Remember how whenever we missed notes in class, we would jump a few pages ahead so we could copy whatever we hadn't written.
I do that in my journal sometimes. Instead of notes, I jump a few pages for moments I forgot to write.


To be mercilessly unhinged.


It is not that this presence is inexistent instead just indifferent.


I had been contemplating my faith in the universe. I believed that there was a higher power behind this magic trick of life, or at least a kind of benevolent presence that would not allow me to be harmed. But it was clear that I had been wrong like the watch.

Time is cruel and unyielding. It isn't cruel because it is wrong or because it is stuck but rather because it always progresses carelessly. Time does not care about a person's hopes, dreams, or aspirations. It merely marches on, leaving people to live with the consequences of their actions.


A woman came to my house today. She came to know me through the eyes and body, and lips of her. There was no furniture or artwork in the home to look at so her gaze was languid, calm, but with a longing that made me think she wanted to be here. In this room. With me. She had tried to find herself between the words in my poetry—she had once said that they made trauma feel like a daydream. She came close but still not as close as she could. However she was close enough to be in my hands, close enough so that all she has to do is lean a little further and she would fall into my void.

I tried but I could never let her be with the words I often pulled from crumpled papers.
I did not want to crumple her.
But I did.
Here she lies amidst the other crumpled papers.


I had worn my leather watch today. I was feeling somewhat pained by how undressed my wrist always looked. Its cuffs were ragged and the brown threads that held it together were even dangling when I found it. As unpleasant as it looked, it still did the job of cloaking the sunken scars.

Its luminous yellow clock had said 11:11 as it had since the last time I threw it away.  Perhaps I was wishing for something.  Maybe there was a time I had believed that the universe could be on my side. With a distinct pattern to instruct us of its brotherly wake. But still, we were helpless to its aid.

20 ta oxirgi post ko‘rsatilgan.