The Fine Arts Box

I found out how to delete blogs. Now there's this one, my Tumblr, and my Klaine blog.

I feel so much better.

Although, if they were human children, I would have just committed murder.

I think this is how murderers feel.

I fear for my mental well being.

Speaking of my mental well being, I have a big stack of my old writing that I've put in my newly-made fine arts box.

You see, I have an interest in the fine arts: music, writing, and, well... art. Therefore, the fine arts box was a necessity. It currently sits just a few feet away in a crevice between the television stand and the wall, a music stand and a red parasol propped against it.

As I said, I've a stack of old writing in that box. Among the writing is, quite possibly, one of the most beautiful things I've ever written.

And, yes, this does mean I'm going to post another stupid poem to add to the collection.

I'll Hold Your Beating Chambers Until They Beat No More

I'll hear the clock ticking 

until it ticks no more.

I will hear you breathe 

until you draw your final breath.

I'll endure all the pain in the world

until it doesn't hurt anymore.

I'll sit here and live my life

until I don't want to live anymore.

I'll hear every word you have to say

until I can't hear anymore.

I'll count every star in the sky

until they shine no more.

I'll take the full-front of all your pain
until there's no more to take.
I'll find you every flower in the world
until there is not one I have not found.
I'll share with you my every emotion
until my emotions are spent.
I'll breathe in only your scent
until the scent has long faded.
I'll protect from all harm
until the day I die,
and I'll hold your beating chambers
until they beat no more.

I was eleven when that was written, and it was written because of this:

 Recognize the fictional gay couple?

It's my OTP. The OTP I've shipped since I was ten.

Fandoms ruin lives, kids.
-Narwhal Sandkurt

Blog Children

As everybody knows, this blog is now over a year old  - which means, if there was a human form of my blog, it would be close to its first words, and its first steps, if it hasn't already. It would have enough hair to put in little bows, although I can't see why I'd really want to do that.

So, let's assume it's a bit advanced - already potty trained, can say a few words, can walk for a couple steps before falling. Now would be the time when it would start eating some solid foods while still eating the mashed ones.

To clear it all up: it's 14 months old. A year and two months, plus a few days. As I said, a bit advanced. Could probably eat the stuff inside McDonald's fries - fry guts, my mother called them. A gateway to cannibalism, I call it.

If the blog is any indication, it likes the soft, calming kinds of music. Also show tunes.

Lots and lots of show tunes.

Its name? Its sex? Its appearance? All left to those who imagine it. Think about its appearance. Not put it in a giraffe costume. Fucking adorable.

Why do I call it an it?

Because it's a thought, not a real thing.

If all my blogs were children, I'd cry. The oldest would be 16 months old. There would three 16 month old children. Where am I getting all these children. Help me.

There is one blog younger than WiTMS. The only one younger still is my Tumblr. Why did I make all these blogs. I have too many blog children. I don't know how to delete blogs. Dear God, it's a living nightmare.
-Narwhal Sandkurt

Girly Dave Strider

I still want to be a boy.

But I don't want to be a boy.

I want the short hair, and the flat chest, but I also want to wear doll make-up and flower crowns and smell like watermelon.

I don't mean these wants conflict - no, they coincide. I want to have short hair and perfect eyeliner and a chest binder and aviators all while smelling like watermelon and wearing a flower crown.

You see, change was long coming. It took me a while to realise what I really wanted - and now I know. The best part is, I'll still be in a position where I can switch back and forth between being a girly Dave Strider to being punk rock.

This is what I envision. Please pretend I finished colouring the disc on the shirt.
-Narwhal Sandkurt