It seems a shadow of misfortune follows me. I've come to expect it: a fleeting moment of light is always chased away by a familiar storm, pulling me back under with brutal force.

What truly unnerves me is the silence within. The emotional echo of these disasters has faded to nothing. I am a dry well—events that should summon a flood of tears now barely register. Is this resilience, or is it erosion? My psyche, to save itself, seems to have severed the wires, leaving me feeling like an spectator in my own tragicomedy, muttering, 'This can't be real.'

I observe my life as through a thick, silent pane of glass. The impact is muted, the meaning distant. I am a curious stranger to my own apathy, asking, 'What happens when you simply have nothing left to feel?'

Is this emptiness making me stronger, or is it the void before the collapse? I built these walls stone by stone for protection, but now they encircle me. They keep the world's anguish out. The question is no longer about weathering the storm, but whether I am fortified within a sanctuary, or entombed within a cell of my own making.

So i get an n word pass. Im a super light skin black male.

i was sittin on a lovely bench last night
looked to my right
a couple of guys
and one ems wife
all drinkin smokin cigarettes
on the saturday night
i was thinkin
about how i had nothing but
a light
one em walked over to the trashcan
next to me and dropped his half beer in and gave me a grin
well it wasnt a grin but it was some kind of look
as i looked at the beer i would have gladly took
fall down
just no consideration
man down man down

as he walked back
he mumbled something about how "its just a beer, cant even throw a beer away, """"

i thought maybe he assumed i was an environmental nut
scoffing at a bottle not being
recycled

i had had enough
time to move on
i get up and they are blocking my way

i judge the go around
no fucking way
i got all night but not all day


i move to walk through
the group of three
two men standing
much bigger than me
the woman sitting alone laughing
on the bench made for three

the man in the middle stops laughing and looks at me
i gesture because i just want to walk by
and he asks me
"do you got a problem?"
all my problems surface in my mind and i sigh
as i know ill tell him
every goddamn one

and i realize this is just an alpha thing and these alphas are drunk
they want to fight someone
but me seriously
do they think
that i think
im bruce fucking lee

i just hold up the crumpled cigarette i had found on the ground
and ask if i could have one of theres they had been passing around

the man says to the woman on the bench
oh he just needs a light
although he heard me wrong
it sounded for a second
we might get along
and she looks over and sees the lighter in my other hand
and tells the man
he has a light
and he looks at me
and i clarify
for my habit justice and peace

as all three take a moment looking at me
i notice the pause
and the man says no
and like someone pressed play
the woman took her hand out of her purse
and they all stayed quiet
looking at me

the end
and not the end

happy birthday

i stg if ya dont wish Yahor a happy birthday im lightin houses up!

#Eastern_Veil_Nebula #nebula #Space #Deep_Space #Space_Exploration #alien #alien_earth

Eastern Veil Nebula - 1,470 light years from Earth

The Pulse That Outlives Me

Since I was small,
my hands have itched
for the weight of something new,
the warm breath of an idea
still wet from birth.

While others chased nights
strung with music and lights,
I chased the hum beneath my ribs—
that low, holy vibration
that says: Make. Make. Make.

I am not afraid of death—
only of silence,
of the stillness that comes
when the last word dries,
when the last color fades
from my palette.

Some people fear missing the party.
I fear missing the next
perfect shiver of creation,
the one that seizes my spine
like lightning,
the one that says:
Here. This is yours. Make it real
before it slips away forever.

Even as a child,
I knew my bones would be dust one day.
But a poem—
a song,
a shadow on film,
a brushstroke on canvas—
that could outlive me.
That could keep my voice
whispering in the ears of strangers
long after my name is forgotten.

So I make.
I bleed ink.
I sweat pigment.
I dream in shapes and sounds.
Every piece is a fragment
of the monument I am building
to outlast my pulse.

And when I am gone,
let them find my works
scattered like constellations—
each one a flare I sent into the dark,
each one still burning,
still warm,
still breathing my name.


https://www.blogger.com/u/7/blog/post/edit/7919007891465025240/49843031849199149

I just caught a UFO on camera, now and then a bright light hangs in the sky. Its the brightest thing in the sky. Twice before when I have looked away or to get a camera and they just disappear. They don't wizz away, you just don't them leave. This time it has changed; I was able to look at it, look away and get a camera and take a picture and video When I went away to get my food out of the Air Frier it had gone.