I enjoy being the only one in the family who never gets annoyed by Grannie’s prodding. Mostly because I only respond with my own brand of surrealism, usually in complete monotone.

(Grannie: did you mean to leave the [pantry] door open?

Me: Yes. I leave all the doors open. As many as I can.

G: I can see that.

Me: Sometimes I pull out all the drawers too. It’s like having a party.

G: And there’s pate left on the side.

Me: That’s Margery. It’s my friend.

G: Oh you are difficult.)

A brief Haunting.

So Mum and I are in the kitchen, talking about bsg, watching the rain come down, when the doorbell starts to ring.

The rain is pretty heavy and we’re not expecting anyone, so we exchange confused looks. Mum goes to answer it. I follow, wanting to go upstairs and change.

The doorbell is shrill and unrelenting, like someone is pressing down on the button as hard as possible- not polite.

"Ugh." I say, behind Mum as she opens the door, half to make a point to our unwelcome guest. "Get them to stop."

Mum opens the door. The doorway is empty of everything but rain.

The doorbell is still ringing.

"No one’s there!" Mum exclaims.

The shrill ringing is piercing my ears. I grab the bell by the bannisters and it vibrates so violently under my under my hand that my whole arm shakes. I pull back and go to the door, then out onto the porch, to the outside door where the doorbell itself is. I look around. It’s still daylight. It makes the emptiness around me more stark. And the button isn’t stuck, or broken. It looks untouched.

"Press it. Press it again," Mum says.

It takes three goes before the ringing stops. We exchange glances. 

"I’m not going back in there. Fuck that."

I’d seen horror films. No thank you. 

"Come inside."

"Get me my shoes."

"Don’t be silly." Mum doesn’t watch horror films. How do I tell her that she is officially the white parent who thinks nothing is wrong? "Come on."

I go inside, glare up at the bannisters and bell and shout “Get the fuck out of my house!”

Mum laughs and wanders back inside.

I head upstairs. I’ve lived in this house for ten years. I know every creak of the floorboards, or squeak of the pipes, so don’t tell me it was that.

Because when I got up past the bannisters, something at my shoulder laughed.

I think true adulthood is when your reaction to your parents fighting goes from ‘omg this is the worst thing ever i can’t breathe’ to rolling your eyes like ‘honestly you are fucking children’.

multidimensional-being:

leslieseuffert:

Yukio Takano (Japan) Mushroom Light Lamps

good god

(Reblogged from puckling)

I just stole a new book off my mother by taking it from her and repeatedly going ‘my book. my book now. mine. mine. my book? mine. my book now’ until she gave up with that tired look she often gives me.

on the bright side: hey free book!

rrevolutionaries:

When I was six, they told me that
the sea ruled itself.
(I had believed in merkings and fishlike gods,
silver scaled monarchs on thrones of gold and pearl.)
Its independence bothered me,
a small red rash on the soft skin of my world view.

The sky has no angels, they told me next,
its only denizens clouds and rain and birds.
The fact of wings was a balm,
but not satisfying. I wanted trumpets, 
white dresses, bare feet on sunbeams and
hymns on high. 
They gave me weather and a “see me” in red
on the essay about God.

The last lesson was taught in a fearful whisper,
eyes quiet and cold.
“The monsters are inside of you,” they insisted,
voices low like disproved God was listening.
I caught my own eye in the mirror, and thought
that maybe I’d come to know that
a very long time ago.

(Source: asriels)

(Reblogged from thymoss)

lightrup:

maybe university isn’t a good idea

maybe becoming a tree is a good idea

(Source: baobao-senpai)

(Reblogged from feuillyons)
Like a magpie, I am a scavenger of shiny things: fairy tales, dead languages, weird folk beliefs, fascinating religions, and more.
Laini Taylor, Lips Touch: Three Times  (via talisman)

(Source: moriartysdance)

(Reblogged from punkdraco)

molotowcocktease:

marcoereus:

I’m so tired of people telling me German is an “ugly, angry” language. When my German teacher tells us jokes it’s the sweetest, happiest language in the world. When I teach my father the word for daughter he smiles, repeating “Tochter” to himself until he gets it right, and in that moment German sounds like pride. There’s nothing angry or ugly about a language that never says goodbye, only “until we meet again.”

Thank you for this

(Reblogged from snowingblackout)
(Reblogged from archangelruind)