MIKROKOSMOS

Dispatcher: 911, what's the location of your emergency? Caller: 4748, Franz Court Apartment 3 Dispatcher: 4748.. what's the street name? Caller: Franz F-R-A-N-Z Court  Dispatcher: And the apartment number? Caller: 3 Dispatcher: Is this police or medical? Caller: My boyfriend is dead.  *** On the 25th of January 2020, the Orange County Police received a rather bizarre 911 call from a 42-year-old woman named Sarah Boone. She claimed that she and her boyfriend Jorge Torres Jr., also 42, were playing hide and seek the night before while being allegedly tipsy, border lining on being drunk. She reportedly put her boyfriend inside a suitcase, went upstairs and passed out on the bed. Reportedly, she woke up to her phone ringing in the morning and went downstairs to find her boyfriend dead inside the suitcase, whereas then she called 911 and reported the incident to the police. "Uh my boyfriend and I were playing last night and.. I put him in a suitcase and we were playing" &q

 Hey little me, I remember being Ten very well. You've just started vocal lessons, you're learning to be a leader, have you figured out that math isn't that hard yet? Your teachers have high hopes on you, little one. So ambitious, responds well to her peers, GREAT at teamwork, enjoys singing and dancing, could reach much better heights if she paid more attention in class.. you've heard it all. You're going to get better at all that. You're going to be an excellent leader, make people proud of you. You're going to be your dad's biggest pride and mom's greatest joy. You're going to have it all.  But one thing you're not yet prepared for is the aftermath. There's going to be a time where you don't want to sing or dance anymore. People are going to put so much expectations on you that you will crumble under the pressure. You're going to get tired of being a social butterfly, but people won't understand that you now enjoy your own

My therapist said to me: "Write letters about life, then burn them down, Write them again, and read it once more" And that is the greatest piece of advice  I've been given this year, She says I need to get my life Back on track and straightened again, But with nightmares I don't chose to have, and  Monsters I can't help but hate, Self-care is a word I've come to loathe, The four walls of my room is all I have. I'm never hungry, almost always sad, My blinded eyes, a haunting past, Lengths of rope in my hand I yield, Control and chaos- I crave. So I started writing about everything I feel, Burnt them down, and started again. Took time to myself and got ignored for it- But pray tell me, how can I work when my head's a mess? Home doesn't feel like home anymore, But maybe that's just me, my wounded core, But just like my therapist told me that day, I'll keep on writing, and burning again.

  I vaguely remember A promise I made To the world, to all around To join heaven side  Sober as the day I came  But like everything else in life "Easier said than done" Watching everyone around  Seek peace in a pint I think to myself In childlike wonder What would it be like to let go for a day? Will my soul be mine, will it  be part of the devil I swore not to be? "A pint, or five, it doesn't matter anyway" As I seek peace in a source within To let go of moral Of life and of soul I'll be honest with you I'm not sober anymore Drunk in this ecstasy, I know That no man will ever love me like I do meself But is it really worth all this pain? I do not know Yet I pour Another little piece of heaven and hell  With me trapped under  That wickedly spell.  ~Chenu 

  In mirrors I see, A silence so deep, yet I hear The rippling of the surface In mirrors I hear,  Colours of bright, a rainbow of light, Yet RED: or white? In the loneliness of my head, And the quiet of my soul, I'm a walking contradiction,  A fiction within reality, but am I? On days I feel the most undeserving, To the walls I pray, A "strawberry lipstick state of mind" As I dip my soul in chocolate hues And harness it in gold. The solitude I gift myself, The Art Of Control, I see, I hear, And in mirrors I seek. 

 TO THE POET, DEATH IS BUT THE MOST EXCITING ADVENTURE.  Where the wild things grow and birdies call, The smell of Spring; wafting though the town, Pudgy footfalls across the hallway, Pitterpattering on unsteady feet- she's walking. The gentle sound of steps on stone, She just turned twelve, the Little Dove, She knows of life but not of death, A pirate of the seas? Or the heir to the throne? Sweet sixteen she is, the graceful little miss, Be a lady, they said.  The steady heartbeat as she runs up and down the track of sand Athletic she is, nineteen going on twenty. A marathon of a hundred, the end is at hand. "Dear, dear girl, sunshine she was" They say looking down on the gone woman's corpse Oh so young, yet so old No footprints on snow, for she has risen  Above all kin, A heart of gold. HER FOOTSTEPS WILL FOLLOW THROUGH SPRING AND WINTER, THROUGH THE GRASS AND SNOW, UNTIL SHE IS PRESENT- REBORN. ~Chenu 💓

  Today’s blog post is not for our dreamers, but more for our masterminds. In short, this is a crime case. A death that happened in 1982. On sight, an unfortunately successful suicide attempt, but is it? This is the case of Roberto Calvi, an Italian banker who was dubbed as ‘God’s banker’ by the people. He was the chairman of Banco Ambrosiano of Italy and shortly before his death, had had gone into major debt of 1.4 billion USD that caused him to go bankrupt. On June 17 th 1982, Calvi’s body was found suspended off the Blackfriars bridge. He had travelled to the UK with a fake passport a few days prior to his death. The first inquest of his death suggested a suicide, but Calvi’s family were adamant that the court was incorrect, and thus started a second inquest. After a deep forensics and pathology research, the hired team had some questions that seemingly did not have any answers. Pathology research revealed that there was no sign of drug usage or struggle at first glance. His

  Growing up, my favorite Disney princess was Cinderella. As a child, her shimmering blue dress caught my eye. I wanted to go for a ride on fairy godmother’s carriage. I wanted to watch her dance with the prince all night- As an adult, my idea of Cinder-Ella has changed. More questions have popped up. I’m questioning the ‘magic’ I grew up watching on screen. This is my rendition of the aftermath of the royal ball, my ideas and opinions and unrealistic Barbie magic that I no longer believe, but look back on fondly. As the clock struck midnight, Ella transformed back into her true self. She managed to escape Prince Charming, successfully hiding the fact that she was not a princess of the land, but the servant girl of her evil stepmother. Which brings us to our question. The fairy godmother’s spell was such that all of Cinderella’s magic belongings would turn into her own by the strike of midnight, and true to the spell, her clothes were once again turned into rags, her animals frie

CONTROVERSY [NOUN] pronounced /kon.tra.ver.si/  DICTIONARY DEFINTION: PROLONGED PUBLIC DISAGREEMENT OR HEATED DISCUSSION. Ahem. I hope all my lovely readers are having a wonderful day as amazing and brilliant as you are! Like the quote goes, "Say what you mean, but don't say it mean" Debating about controversial topics, having 'prolonged public disagreements' and 'heated discussions'  is a very fun pastime and can lead to a solid exchange of ideas and help to see the problem from different perspectives than to yours, unless you have serious anger issues 😂😂 Today's little post of MIKROKOSMOS features a couple of fun controversial ideas and topics of the modern world and personal opinions of the author. As always, constructive criticism is welcome in the comments! (Ya'll be nice to each other though *warning sign*) 1. CEREAL COMES FIRST, NOT MILK I am one of those weird human beings who start the day off with a strong coffee, and sometimes, a smoot

  I hope you wake up with a big smile on your face, like mine, whenever I think of you.   I hope your morning shower reminds you of dancing in warm summer rain .   I hope the smell of your first coffee makes you close your eyes for a moment, and inhale deeply.   I hope you look into the mirror and see just how wonderful you are.   I hope you give yourself many, many hugs, before leaving home, n ot because you have already achieved something big today, but simply because you love yourself as much as I love you.   I hope you choose the outfit that makes you feel most comfortable and gorgeous, rather than the one you think would be the most suitable.   I hope the sun warms your precious face, as you walk to work .    I hope you feel fulfilled by the work you're doing every day.    I hope your lunch tastes as good as all the food you cook for your family.   I hope you take little breaks throughout the day, just to sit back and admire yourself and ho

  You know what they say about 2am, it’s both the Devil’s hour and the Angel’s hour, and it makes sense that it is. 2am is when the insecurities come stumbling down on you, where you have no where to hide, unless you distract yourself on Instagram and chill with Netflix. “We’re sleeping on our problems like we solve them in our dreams; We wake up early morning and they’re still under the sheets” (Louis Tomlinson circa 2020) It’s when you think of everything and nothing all at once, where you wonder what you are doing with your life, where you mourn for your ex, where you wish your pillow was a little bit warmer and where you wish you had a midnight snack because all this unnecessary thinking had made you hungry. It’s when you realize the maybe, just maybe, it would be easier to let go and cry into your pillow, or blast on your favorite music on speakers and hope your family won’t wake up. It’s when you tell the stars what you miss the most in life, and where you make new dreams a

  Sleek polished wood, horse hair strings "brand spankin' new" my father said. This little toy would be my muse In the years yet not here, But did I know I had in hand my greatest escape? no.  Note to note I learnt, let my soul dance across the strings My fingers worn and torn in red Yet my heart refuses to surrender to- the distress I felt upon my frame It is nothing compared to the pure euphoria  That lights up my soul with joy as I play. Just so young, I was Had not yet seen the horrors of the world, but  to me, It felt so grown-up that I was writing tunes from what I called pain. Oh, how little I knew! A decade I step, A bold twenty I am and I have now seen what the world looks beyond my control I still dance with the notes, And play hide and seek with the tunes i built from my pain but- My hands run over the ivories of the eighty eight, While my muse lays forgotten in the dark. What a hike this has been.  ~Chenu 💗 Sing, my little violin. Sing in the dark. The captur