Monthly Archives: April 2020

Impossible Year: Petrichor

It had been hours since Ryan Ross began staring down the mustard-yellow walls of his living room, and since then he hadn’t stirred from his position but once to take a sip from his mug—only to realise in quiet disdain that his chai tea had already gone cold.

It was drizzling lightly and he was lazily lounging on the couch, wearing an embarrassingly fluffy blue jumper and sweatpants, having a nice warm (well, not so nice and warm now) drink, and hearing nothing but the comforting sounds of rain falling from the gloomy sky and gently kissing the rooftop and windows.

It was the perfect sweater weather, the one Ryan adored and wrote about more than any other season, more than he ever even cared to admit…but now, it just didn’t feel right. He didn’t really know why, exactly, but something felt anxiously off somehow.

Just what is it about today?

On most times like these, he would already be full-on dramatic poet mode, with his intent musings flowing past his relaxed mind and onto his chewed-up pen like…filthy drainpipe water flowing onto the open sewers? Seriously, out of all the beautiful ways to have possibly worded it, that’s the best metaphor he could come up with? Disgusting.

Ryan sighed, running a hand through his messy auburn hair in frustration. The situation was getting more dire by the minute, and nothing else he seemed to try was working.

Mental block is a bitch.

Maybe he was just forcing it too much. Maybe he’d been cooped up inside his suffocating house for too long. Maybe he needed to take a break.

He snorted derisively at the last thought. He definitely needed to take a break.

“George Ryan Ross III, you need to get the hell out of this damning place and pull yourself together!” He proclaimed to himself, his soft voice echoing throughout the empty rooms of his house.

Filled with a new fervour, Ryan resolutely headed to the door, but not before making sure to grab a heavy parka from his closet and a badly-bent umbrella leaning by his shoe rack. As soon as he stepped outside, the scene that greeted Ryan completely took his breath away.

It was a whole lot prettier than he imagined.

Careful not to trample on the newly-blossoming flowers, Ryan giddily spun and traipsed about for a bit before finally standing still in the middle of his front yard. He then breathed in deeply, taking in the fresh scent of lemongrass and rainwater painting the air in that sluggish April afternoon.

The initial rush of wind that blew by was rather strong, rustling the tree branches madly and making him lose his umbrella. The latter was sent careening out of his grasp and ended up tumbling away onto the puddle-soaked street, creating an awful screech as it went along, metal scraping against pavement until the abrasive sound slowly faded away into nothing.

But surprisingly, Ryan found that he didn’t mind it at all. The umbrella’s already old and half-broken, anyway. And the weather never gave a damn about me.

Hey, that kind of sounds like a good line…ladies and gentlemen, we finally have a breakthrough! A voice at the back of Ryan’s head announced victoriously. It was such a silly thought…but suddenly, he didn’t feel so exhausted anymore.

And for the very first time that day, Ryan smiled.

Ryan stayed out in the rain for a rather long time, shivering madly and humming melodies to himself until he was numb from the cold and drenched to the bone. He laughed until he cried, he cried until he laughed; until the tears were indistinguishable from the cloudburst, until the childish laughter was intertwined with the sweet reveries of spring.

And there he stayed, until the rainfall finally ceased and the drowsy sun slowly sank under the scarlet horizon; still cheering and singing along to the march of the clouds.

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pseudonym [10]

and by this time, you won’t exist, i swore

no, you won’t plague my mind forevermore

dread my old heart, douse my poor soul

yellow my pages nor haunt each dark corridor


catafalque cry, though i’ll crave you naught

iridescent make-believe, yet still left distraught

zealous catharsis, letters stored away to rot

eschars where you used to sleep and play god

keep not sacrificing common sense for a predictable plot.

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i’m so clumsy

i’m so full of

gasoline, and

stupider still as

i let you in

i let you win

and i let the

phosphate feel

like loving

when you sing

when you sting

i found it too


one more strike

before you begin

and you’re clumsy

oh, so clumsy

you’re so full of

broken things

and when i burned

i never knew

that i’d also become

a part of them.

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Oh, what they think about you?

Just a bit of a really quick take, while my whole family is out eating dinner so I have the house all to myself, and I’m waiting for the paint on my sketchbook to fully dry. Goodie Bag by Still Woozy has been stuck in my head like mad lately and it’s such a trip of a time to play and sing. This entire song is mostly barre chords sans the E—I very much preferred the original key as it’s actually all barre, which makes it more comfortable and a whole lot easier for me to switch between chords; but I had to take it half a step down because my g-danged voice just cannot for the life of me reach that high hahah—it could barely reach this one either like jfc that horrible falsetto could shatter ten windows and deafen a damn dog but y’all swear to geoff I tried. There was an Attempt. T’was a rather poor one, but an attempt nonetheless. Some parts aren’t even supposed to be high-note anyhow but hey, I like a good challenge. Still gotta work on the higher pitches and vocal blending though, my head and mixed voice sucks colossal dick lmao. Also heyyy, I finally got a haircut after a bajillion centuries of looking like Chewbacca and Bigfoot’s long-lost bastard child from an unspoken long night and got all that bitch shaved off for further convenience, and I’m not even kidding but my head feels at least 10 pounds lighter. I highkey look like a dumbass egg but at least I’m not an overheated dumbass egg, so ha-HA, fuck you summer! (> : D) Also thinking about getting what little hair I have left dyed some cool abrasive neon colour soon for extra punk points (as everyone in this household also keenly suggested to me, idk why but it’s an enticing idea nonetheless). Anyway, apologies for going off the rails a bit. I kinda keep switching between a flurry of random tasks and end up not finishing a good half of them (I really gotta finish reading Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter and catch up on Duolingo lessons and watch more Not Going Out but my fickle attention span refuses to let me, halp), but someone’s gotta make a decent creative downtime somehow, whittling away idle time and whatnot as it were. So this is one for the books, check and done. Jag är fånig, förlåt! ✌️

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there’s no

cruel in sunrise

no judgment

in nature


there’s no

pains in starlight

only longing

in rainfall.

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you know

how much

i adore you,

don’t you?


the way my

soft lungs pop

whenever you

see through me


a frail disillusion

when it bursts

cornflower eyes

pale significantly


and i just never

expect any of

your attention

to be mine, even


for just a second

for a transient hi

for a few infinities

i ask for your sign


every line on my

canvas, every fold

on my journal, every

fifth in your songs


odd dedications

and a sudden stop

i will never cease

making every wrong


though i could only

ever do so much

before it’s too late

and you find me out


but you will never

know how much

i simply adore you,

now won’t you?

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a little bit cookie with a lot of the crazy 🍪

This might end up to be a bit of a TL;DR post so apologies in advance, but I saw a random recipe while mindlessly scrolling on Instagram today and decided, on a total forking whim, to bake some chocolate chip cookies and cinnamon raisin oatmeal cookies (with just a tiny smidge of proper assistance from me actual baker mum of course eheheh :>). Nothing much more to say than I honestly had a hell-lot of fun with making it and may or may not have taken one too many photos and videos of the process, so here they all are:

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Foretelling the Hoax

A renegade dream

All burned up in sins

Fall against reason

Fight against rhyme


I could stay and wait

A little while longer

But it seems that I’m

Running out of time


Yet to spill apart this

Chest, and carve my

Second thoughts onto

Your creased brows


I’d gladly let you do

The same—if only our

Fatal circumstance

Shall ever mildly allow.

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first punch


let’s find out

how much damage

i can cause—

or better yet, find out

how much

damage i can take.

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