• they/them

a cloud between the sky

and the earth

avatar by @SweetSidhe


neocities, my main home
oriananonexistent.neocities.org/
the cohost forum test project, and wherever it goes after
eggbugstestplace.jcink.net/index.php?showuser=2
the website league once it's ready. i'll be exactly who you think i am
websiteleague.org/

posts from @oriananonexistent tagged #Cohost Global Feed

also: ##The Cohost Global Feed, #The Cohost Global Feed, ###The Cohost Global Feed, #Global Cohost Feed, #The Global Cohost Feed, #global feed

i let the bathrobe drop to my feet as the airlock door opens. the great lukewarm bath of nothingness fills my lungs - space takes my hand and leads me to earth's orbit. my eyes are open, my body is stiller than a statue, my heart slows to a crawl, and i float. days and years and eons pass in the blink of an eyelid i can't close, galaxies and debris spiral around me in a dance of celestial worship, and every now and then i admire my naked body in the reflection of a satellite's warm solar panels.

i speed around you at a million miles a second. if you're quick and steady, you might catch me in the lens of a telescope. some days i shine bright enough to be seen with the naked eye, a comet that adores you too much to take its leave. if you do see me, i want you to make a wish and write it on your favorite part of me, whatever lingers in your fantasy.

once i finally grow bored of space, i will return to earth, floating through the ionosphere like a bluejay's feather. whoever catches me before i hit the dirt will get a lock of my hair.



i took another social media break

while i was gone, i:

  • watched 80 minutes of claude rains being a dick with a friend

  • entered into a feud with the 1970s

  • obtained a large quantity of fictional monsters

  • wrote a small bit of a story while a boy napped nearby

tell me about your past week



it snowed today and i got to walk around in it, so obligatory poetry post:

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

-The Snow Man, Wallace Stevens


 
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