M. De Angelis
M. is 19 years old.
She is the Acoustic Guitarist of Angelis Obscura.
The whereabouts of M. are unknown.
M. likes to keep stealthy during off hours and is trying to compose music in order to get ahead professionally.
Cut my life into pieces.
This is my last resort.
[RP: Open]
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Unromantic |
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Normal |
| Game: Popmundo |
| Points: 535 |
| Days Active: 185 days |
Latest Blog Post
Eyes like a stormy brushstroke
My arm cleaves the icy water, a gesture repeated to the point of exhaustion against the tumultuous waves. My breath is ragged, snatched with difficulty between one towering wave and another that crashes with unheard-of violence. My gaze searches the chaotic horizon, desperately seeking a mirage: a coastline, a raft's dark hull, even a wretched wreck, a plank for residual hope.
But around me, only the fury of the elements. Livid mountains of water rise and plunge into frothy abysses, a perpetual and menacing motion. The roar is deafening, a constant wail that drowns out the frantic beating in my chest. Brackish drops lash my face, momentarily veiling the restless blue of my irises, a faithful mirror of this turbulent sea.
And in this aquatic pandemonium, reality is transfigured. There is no landing, no tangible salvation. It is like having plummeted into a canvas by Turner. A dramatic palette where light filters in gashes from a leaden, stormy sky, tinging the boiling foam with golden, unnatural reflections. Boundaries vanish: sky and sea become a blur of chromatic vortices, of blinding whites, deep greys, almost black blues.
Exhaustion and hypothermia creep in, making every stroke a titanic undertaking. And yet, a dissociated part of my consciousness cannot help but register this sublime horror, this terrible majesty. I am no longer a castaway fighting for survival; I am a desperate figure on an immense backdrop, a negligible detail in the element's fury, painted by Turner.
The hope of a concrete handhold flickers and dies out. I will find no wood, no land, no human presence. Around me exists only this magnificent and ruthless painting. Only dense, furious brushstrokes that capture the very essence of the storm exist. And I am a prisoner of it, a soul lost in the work, eyes having absorbed the violent, desperate colours of the canvas.
Posted 4/26/2025, 9:00 PM
All characters in Popmundo are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental.
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