What Is It Called When Certain Moments Of Intense Stress Or Panic Cause You To Fixate On A Certain Aspect

cym as fav lyrics

Aaaaaaa anon you must forgive me for being so late about it, I had one hell of a ride choosing song lyrics *pants as if I'd been running*

But eeee it will be a long post-

• @shecriesalonemp3

"Listen close and don't be stoned

I'll be here in the morning

'Cause I'm just floating

Your cigarette still burns

Your messed up world will thrill me

...

Alison, I'll drink your wine

And wear your clothes when we're both high

Alison, I said we're sinking

But she laughs and tells me it's just fine

I guess she's out there somewhere"

- Alison (Slowdive)

• @its-toasted

"Take everything you have in front of you

Make every movement, do it to the groove

You will not be happy for long if you're working

And what would be the point if it did ever surface?

...

Wake up to the rhythm of the city and I try to remember

Even my brothers have some trouble with

Each other since since those things fell apart

It's the way that things are

It's the way that it is

...

Even when you split me up, groovin' to the sound of the laughter

And if I listen to it closely I can

Still hear all the love in his heart

Every time I take a look at the skyline it makes me feel better

'Cause I just miss you down here where the other people try to move on"

- Blue Coupe (Twin Peaks)

• @deviocat

"Oh, you can't hear me 'cause I sing to a different age

And you should fear me 'cause I believe in a different age

But I live in the city that lives in a different age

Oh, I live in a city that lives in a different age

Where all the poets are writing memoirs

And I'm still singing songs

Oh, all the poets are writing memoirs

And I'm still singing songs"

- A Different Age (Current Joys)

• @lacexleaves

"I used to think of ferris wheel light sounds

The Friday hum of neons and blue

But now they're like circular cages

Of grated tin and rusted wind

Hey, now, who really cares?

Hey, won't somebody listen

Let me say what's been on my mind

Can I bring it out to you

I need someone to talk to

And no one else will spare me the time"

- Hey, Who Really Cares? (Linda Perhacs)

• @francesco-bernoulli-gang

"Angels smoking cigarettes on rooftops in fishnets in the morning with the

Moon still glowing

And here comes Jesus in an Astrovan rolling down the strip again

He's stoned while Jerry plays

Life ain't ever what it seems

These dreams are more than paper things

And it's alright mama you're afraid

I'll be poor along the way

I don't wanna see those tears again

You know, Jesus drives an Astrovan

Yes, he does (I say woo)"

- Astrovan (Mt. Joy)

• @pani-puri

"Pulling up, getting down

This whole place is crazy town

Music bumping and the lights gone down

Never felt at home in any place I found

Oh, I live in a cold, white wind

And I feel the chill coming over me again"

- Butterfly (Adrianne Lenker)

• @anjo-umbra

"Put your hands on the wheel

Let the golden age begin

Let the window down

Feel the moonlight on your skin

Let the desert wind

Cool your aching head

Let the weight of the world

Drift away instead

These day I barely get by

I don't even try

It's a treacherous road

With a desolated view

There's distant lights

But here they're far and few

And the sun don't shine

Even when its day

You gotta drive all night

Just to feel like you're ok"

- The Golden Age (Beck)

• @roseusnoctua

"Satellite, headlines read

Someone's secrets you've seen

Eyes and ears have been

Satellite dish in my yard

Tell me more, tell me more

Who's the king of your satellite castle?

Winter's cold spring erases

And the calm away by the storm is chasing

Everything good needs replacing

Look up, look down all around, hey satellite

Rest high above the clouds no restrictions

Television we bounce 'round the world

And while I spend these hours

Five senses reeling

I laugh about this weatherman's satellite eyes"

- Satellite (Dave Matthews Band)

• @sidereusimber

"And though I may be getting older

Know that I'm going with you

Know that I'm hanging on

to the things that you said

The things that you said

...

I've felt my soul

Rise up from my body when

I look into your blue eyes

...

If cosmic force

Is real at all

It's come between you and I"

- Some Things Cosmic (Angel Olsen)

---

The limitations of language - sounds and symbols that encapsulate that which is fundamentally incommunicable - perception, first hand experience

Lilac blooms upon the fading windowsill,

Quiet is the evening and despaired is the night.

Past death and past life must haunt dread

the man in the doorway, for he has dared

let wither the choicest blossom of the maidens gift.

Silence, ever faithful brooks no gentle rhythm

but draws on her loom of blue mist to weave

harsh discord into the spirit of the forthcoming dusk.

The loom hath shattered, but of what

concern is it in the light of the man’s grief?

Nightfall, hushed and frozen stood the world on its tiptoes,

As the earth and sky together cajole to sleep the

little baby in the dark house, all lonesome and weeping,

Swaying on a broken cradle, has the house god

found a way to stop the sunrise yet? He watches the baby

rise and fall, the house empty and his heart emptier,

The creaks of a cradle fall on a headless ear,

The shrieks of the baby pierce through a stiller air,

The tree top will bend to the wind and

down will come baby, cradle and all.

---

"The sky can wait…"

---

“Perhaps dawn is lovelier than twilight, allusive of the light that arises from darkness, the peaceful assurance that night does not last forever. Or the cold drawing away of the veil, the assertion that disturbance always mars the idyllic dream of nightfall.”

---

Me: wants to start a conversation with someone

Me: thinks about all the potential things that could go wrong and have gone wrong in the past

Me: keeps thinking about this for twenty days

Me: gathers enough courage to open the chat

Me: sees the last text message

Me: becomes extremely paranoid and reads hostility into the ‘ok’ that was received

Me: just fucking gives up trying to make friends

I am blankness and emptiness personified. Everything falls, flows, into the empty recesses of the soul and shapes and wears it away with its continuous current. ‘I talk to god but the sky is empty’. Blue, beautiful melancholy. The overhead lamp casting shadows of disarrayed hair on the page I write upon. I stretch my hand outwards and upwards, and I grasp solitude with a clenched fist. 

---

Finalities

My hands have grown tired of writing about you Though the scars long since have faded into skin Smooth, edge-less, no longer promising red, A mother's daughter through out and through in.

Sleep is less tiresome, and all my work once done Leaves me fiddling with spare hours at the table, Twisting them in and out of a ring that shines on My fourth finger - chipped from the old fable Where the kindest doves would nip down at the Lover who wore your shoes, and drive her out Barefoot into the night - where you only yesterday Curled up under, melting tears into silent clout.

But there, it is a fable other hands have written, An embrace where other shoulders found shelter, And many others yet found tranquilled lethe. Mine is not a story foretold, perhaps for the better.

It has been very long.

Perhaps the lack of a proper Farewell kept me from exiting the scene definitely, so here I am, properly clad in mourning white, clutching at a handkerchief and a bouquet of marigolds. Marigolds in our country are worn in the hair and as necklaces by the bride. Who am I being given away to? From where I stand, it looks like a pyre, where one is burnt with her dead lover. I began to write for you, dearest, and so I shall stop for you, for you are gone. Other fingers now are exploring the crook in your smile, the scar on your hip. Other hands hold yours as you gaze into the deathly moon on quiet summer nights. Other songs nest in your head, ones you and her share.

And here, here I am. Pinning myself to every chord you ever sang to me, but never will once again.

I shall not love again.