I fucking hate Christmas.
-AllÄna
Blog
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“un-lotused”
I’ve never been one to meditate on regrets
of paths not taken, universes unexplored,
for my regrets are few –
when I want something, I show up for it,
I find a way to it or I make one
and the primrose path to success builds upon itself
I would far rather meditate on failures,
iterations where everything when wrong
and then I made something beautiful from the
ashes, lotus petals unraveling, daring to ask if he
loves me or he loves me or loves me not,
than the zest of life left unnoticed-AllÄna 11/2/2025
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I found this gem from 9/20/2022 in our Google Drive.
I am longing for longing’s sake
I’ve struggled to let my heart want
what it wants for so long that I’m going to
let whatever haunts it haunt me.
And fuck, I want so much.Ā
there’s a man back east
mysterious and strange
fascinated by everything
I think he may have been thirteen the
first time I met Death
I want nothing less than his mind
but I want nothing more
and I think I’m fine with that.
There’s a woman in a hypothetical west
with slender hands and tapering fingers
come here? I ask her
and she walks through rooms older
than both of us combined
she walks home, despite the fear
through the years
she walks home
to me
I want afternoons and gold dust evenings
I want to let the world enchant me again
one song at a time
I want to be enthralled with what I have
and what I will have
and what I will lose
The world is not a dead place.
It is not made up of stark black and white.
I may be tired but Death has yet to find me
again
Until then, I make my way home
I will do what the man in the east did
what the woman in the west will do
And become fascinated with everything
again.-Castor
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“paper mind” – written 12 march 2018 by AllÄna
write something
anything
thereās cerebral spinal fluid
where some of my
brain used to be
and itās one of the many
possible scapegoats
to blame
for why i am like this
humor me for a moment
picture a house with a single
flap for receiving letters
one letter enters
you donāt want the letter
you set it on fire
(but theyāre like a hydra)
(the more letters you burn)
(the more come pouring in)
so you get more letters
and burn them
until you are suffocating
in them
my brain did that a decade ago
i remember the very first thought
it found a girl beautiful
and the panic set in
the letters poured in
and i drowned in thoughts like paper
the mind full of paper has become
the paper mind
people and places like wind
blow through it and blow it open
write something
anything
do not burn this paper mind
though you can do so quickly
quickly
quicklyĀ Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā still
-AllÄna
Fediverse reactions
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“haunted tape” by Eight, 10/10/2021
you may want me dead
and sundered into pieces
smaller than grains of sand
but you’ll never tell
and I will never know
such is the punishment for twenty hours
of touch that is torture in hindsight
such is the punishment for
shattering a fragile peace
and believe me, if I could destroy
myself that utterly
don’t you think I would have
already?
surely you also know the hell I’ve
seen?
is it strange that I can still
see her face in nearly perfect detail
square jaw and blue hazel eyes
I rewind the tape again
and again –
how do you not get what you want
when it is offered freely
before you even ask?
before you even consider
what it is you want?
you only wanted security
and safety
and the comfort of routine
I wanted her
and I wanted you, too, once or twice –
now I hold in the pain you
wish you could see.
someday you might get your
wish. someday I might
be broken into
twenty six billion pieces
just like I did to my
dreams
like you did to my trust
and faith in a found home
and I will go my fate
head unbowed
still wondering if I
deserved it
but still I carry on
intact on the outside
I find my strength in
brokenness
do I leave a piece of me
in everything I leave behind?-AllÄna
Fediverse reactions
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Well, I finally got over my odd fear of performing anything from Field Notes last night at Poet’s Monday.
I performed “samson” and “rehoboth” (not shown).
The fundraiser mentioned in the video and caption is here.
-AllÄna
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“answer”
I could ask my body
what will I do when it has fallen
and regardless of which side I try and
coax, pry, cajole, or beat an answer from –
the deaf side or the silent one,
the answer is always the same:
it already has.
sixteen percent of my brain died before I was
a year old, I fought tooth and nail to keep
my own heart. (I was finally removed from
the transplant list when I was 12)
I’ve had to re-learn how to walk twice,
I spent this past july remembering
how to talk again
after nearly dying for the nineteenth
time. I couldn’t form a coherent sentence for
a month after a seizure episode approximately
twenty five minutes long
I’ve been everything short of shot
and sometimes I wish I had been
just to get the dying over with
because āwhat doesn’t kill you makes you
strongerā is a goddamn myth
sometimes what doesn’t kill you makes you
wish you were dead
the deaf side of my body and the silent side
are asymmetrical, imperfect mirrors of each other
an invisible remnant of the stroke in ā98
I can feel the right side but it doesn’t often
tell me anything anymore because where it shouldāve been able to talk my mother screamed
over it and told me I was faking my pain
and my sadness, my fear, that I was just
looking for attention, and it was beaten into
listening to her instead (she had a knack for
going for the face)
it took 24 years to fully break free and by that time
my mind had shattered as well
so, what will I do now that my body has fallen?
same thing I’ve done since I was a child.
rest, get up, do the damn thing again
and try to listen for better whispers
-AllÄna 10/27/2025
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We did blackout poetry in workshop today. This is what I came up with:
I got this from an essay on Shakespeare’s King Lear. -AllÄna
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“quizĆ”s // unmaking” – 17 April 2023
maybe I’ll write about the things
I want nobody else to know about
in code
long after I get home –
or maybe
time will burn the pages of my diary
make me ozymandias,
and sand and hate will clear my name
from everything and everyone I made
to make way for birch trees and the wheat
field behind your house
and open skies when we drive
I haven’t decided if I want to remember us
or if I want the fire that robes these mountains
or the brandy on your mouth
to wipe my mind clean and absolve me –
maybe death is a metaphor here
either way
maybe I want you to kill me
as much or as little as you’d like-AllÄna