r/Informal_Effect

Butter in a pan, Dont be a clown...

Weigh 8oz meat balls, smash them shits down

Screaming high heat oughta do it with ease

No cheddar or Gouda, use kraft single cheese

Have bacon ready- fried real crisp

White onion rings sliced thin and brisk

Salt, pepper, garlic, don't be dumb

Spread skippy or jif on a toasted white bun

Nothing else at all, keep it simple and plain

And watch your friends' faces go from confused to insane

(In a good way)

Barriers barriers barriers

Fucking fake doors

It’s a dense forest without a north star

A labyrinth without a real exit

A convoluted system to

Trap us all

And bleed us little by little

There are hoops upon hoops

To keep us busy

We hop through them like cute little bunnies

While you wolves snicker nearby

 

A system with protection defined in its name

You lure us in with false promises of insurance

And then profit from our vulnerabilities

You divert the bullets to someone else

And never take responsibility

You’re a fucking scam

Hiding behind masks 100-layers damned.

the rinsed corpse
of a weary woman
pushed off the planet
according to plan
pinned between
providence and
a reason to stand
pretending to pick
between superstition
and best laid plans
but we all know
what you took from
the tongue you'll
take from the hand

I’m lying in bed, staring out my bedroom window at the night sky.

My eyes catch on the stars.

The sky is so clear tonight that I can see so many of them, scattered across the darkness, each one glowing quietly in its own little corner of the universe.

And as I stare at them, I start thinking about how strangely similar stars are to us.

If we imagined every human being as a star, some of us would be alone. Some would exist in lines beside one another. Some would be impossibly close, while others would be separated by distances that could never be crossed.

And yet, somehow, we all live beneath the same sky.

I wonder if some stars ever wish they could be closer to another star. If they ever long to touch. To kiss.

And what happens when one star kisses another?

What happens when two stars finally collide?

Scientifically, the answer depends on what kind of stars they are.

Two neutron stars can merge, sending gravitational waves rippling through the universe and creating either a black hole or a more massive neutron star, accompanied by a spectacular explosion called a kilonova.

Two white dwarfs can collide and trigger a Type Ia supernova, an explosion so violent that the stars can be completely destroyed.

And when an ordinary star collides with another star, the larger one may swallow the smaller one, or the two may become one, creating a hotter, enormous star.

It’s strange, isn’t it?

Even the stars have different ways of loving, touching, and destroying one another.

And I find myself wondering…

What kind of stars were you and I?

What did that first kiss beneath the full moon, exactly two years ago, turn us into?

Maybe at first, we thought we were two ordinary stars. Two stars that could touch and simply become one.

But we weren’t.

Our relationship was full of challenges, obstacles, storms. And somehow, that was part of what made it beautiful. We believed we could survive anything. Every distance. Every wound. Every impossible thing that stood between us.

We believed we would always find our way back to each other.

But maybe you were more like a neutron star.

Because the deeper we went, the closer our souls became, the more fiercely our love burned.

It grew brighter.

Hotter.

More powerful.

Until, eventually, it exploded.

And that explosion killed me slowly.

It took me from the bright world I once knew and carried me into a darkness you created somewhere in the middle of our journey.

An explosion that burned everything it touched—

my beliefs,

my dreams,

my feelings,

and most of all,

my heart and my soul.

I only wanted us to be two ordinary stars.

I wanted our kiss to bring us together, to make us one, to leave us glowing in the same sky.

But it didn’t happen that way.

Still, somehow, we created memories that I know I will never forget.

Some of them are still so fresh.

Still warm.

Still burning.

Because remembering them still sets my heart on fire.

It has been a year since you left, and yet there have been so many nights when I have found myself thinking about you.

I wonder if you ever hear a song that makes you remember me.

I wonder if, when you close your eyes, you ever see my face.

Do you ever see us?

I wonder if there is another star you love now.

I wonder if looking at the moon still reminds you of our kisses.

I wonder what our relationship made of you.

Did it make you the person you always wanted to become?

Did loving me change you?

Did losing me change you?

And what did you leave behind in me?

Something resembling a writer, perhaps.

A writer with so many things inside her that have gone quiet…

but whose memories are still alive.

Sometimes I think about how much I miss you.

And sometimes, even more painfully,

I realize how much I miss myself.

The person I was before the explosion.

Before our stars collided.

Before I learned that sometimes two people can love each other deeply and still destroy something beautiful between them.

So if your heart ever feels heavy one night, and you find yourself staring at the stars, remember this:

Somewhere beneath this same sky,

there is a star that once missed you terribly.

A star that never wanted to explode.

A star that only wanted to be ordinary.

A star that only wanted to kiss you

and keep glowing beside you.

Ashley the name you gave me

It was fine. Everything was fine. If it weren’t going to be fine it would’ve happened by now. I’m not worried about it, she always was a bit dramatic. That’s why she was fun. And she’s fine. She’s always fine. Though I don’t know exactly what she’s thinking, that is a downside. Even once she finally knows what she’s thinking she won’t say it. Not really, not completely, not here. But she doesn’t know what I’m thinking either. She thinks she does, and sometimes she’s right. But I change my mind a lot, circumstances. It doesn’t matter though, not worth thinking about. She’s kind of in the way really, annoying sometimes. I really thought she’d have moved along by now. Why isn’t she? Should I make her leave? I don’t want to crush her too bad, she gets unpredictable, uncontrollable. She’s fine really. At least I can keep an eye on her. That Little Bitch. I fucking hate her sometimes. God. Does she have any limits?! WTF. She is not the person I thought she was….I kinda like her better.

the dance of tongues
with tongues and teeth
            pauses,
in intermission
foreheads touching
slow exhales
here

breath shallow
blood racing
skin tingling
            conveying what?
a diegetic soundtrack
for mouths
and skin
limbs
and arteries
an overture
            to what?

where was I
moments ago?
here, but
perspective restricted
confined to
spread across
the surface of my lips
then lifted onto your tongue
carried to the roof of your mouth
tasting of safety and pleasure
            a rare combination
then, vaporized
enveloping the space between
our lips
tongues
foreheads
chests

are our lips still touching
or did they part?
a phantom sensation?
or are my lips
so insistent on yours
that they carry on
softly
gently
offstage
sans auteur?

in intermission
desire mingles with
            euphoria
            lust
            serenity
fleeting, finite

salty, damp skin
coaxes lips
along jawline
            unchoreographed
parting to taste
droplets of sweat
feverishly drinking
worshipping
carnal condensation

thrumming vibration
beneath warm skin
sustains the intoxicating
            atmosphere
rising tension
surpasses desire’s threshold
a crescendo building to

the second act
urgent touching
hungry breath
tongues exploring bodies
revealing contours
eyes were unable to chart

a denouement
in rapture
bodies lie
lazily aware
of everywhere
skin meets skin
            catharsis
            vulnerability
            clarity
            divinity
infinite, multitudinous

satisfactory language
evades me
I am
liberatingly
alive

We watched the old classmates fall apart

while you stood calm with a gun in your hand.

You shot the soft things I used to love—

stuffed animals opened quietly in the sand.

You aimed at the room like it owed you something.

I said, Point it at me instead.

You hesitated. You already knew

I was twisted all the way through the middle.

Then you placed something warm in my palm:

a bullet still holding your heat.

A small, glowing violence.

A gift that knew my name.

I held you by the hair

and told you I was going to her—

my best friend, the softer kind of free.

You said it was fine.

Your mouth said it was fine.

But when the bus came

you ran.

You hit the air too hard

and your nose opened,

bright and sudden,

as if the body itself

was trying to keep me from leaving.

Some boys give flowers that die by morning.

You gave me a bullet still warm from the chamber.

Some boys say forever and mean for a while.

You said nothingand somehow

it felt like a promise.

When summer burned the green away

I carried you to shade

And when the clouds gathered to storm

Your face fell in the rain

Delivering my sacred vows

Heart skipping at your name

I’ve carried you in death and life

Because you would have done the same

I created an image akin to an original Goya print and named it 'Commitment'. It hung in the room where we collected the most hours together. One night you took it down and left. You showed it to strangers and critiqued it viciously. Your hands took it out of the frame, and it was defaced. You turned my art into the world's most expensive colouring book.

there's sickness

that's given and

sickness that's

caught and the

kind that's in me

is one I have

wrought with

the tools of

a trade that

cannot be taught

Make celebrities use public transit:
Lock Taylor in a cage in business class
With a little eye mask
So she can block out the haters
And remain safe from rabid fans
Pass champagne through the bars
And little snacks under the hatch.

I want to see Jimmy Fallon on the bus to work
In the corner, hidden behind his newspaper
As the crack addict smokes his pipe
And the kids play their music loud
(Give him new inspiration
For another mediocre comedy set?
But maybe we shouldn't encourage him-
hey man, pass that pipe).

Put Ariana on the train
Her legs might snap on the pedals of a car
Trying to stretch that far.
Give her a break from all that fame
On a table of a family moving to the east coast
Belongings piled high
Her entourage in the aisle seats

Maybe then
People will see the need for better transport infrastructure
When the celebrities start complaining
About arriving late to their gigs.
When private jets are outlawed
And their metal sold for scrap
To build new tracks across the Midwest.

Maybe then
When you see Elon Musk on the Tesla-sponsored monorail
You'll realize how everyone is just flesh and blood
Indistinguishable from the unwashed masses
They all scream the same
When the train goes bump
From the jump

Maybe the two-hour delay will finally convince him
To run a Tesla-sponsored suicide hotline
Where the lines stay open
And send you to Twitter-sponsored rehab
With little blue birds on the ceilings.

Went to a palm reader.
She told me I have eczema.
Obviously I wanted a refund.
She told me that wasn’t in my future.
So I asked how my love line looks.
She told me bumpy.
I think I hate her.

©reserved 2026 SuperNova Darling

See substack for more of my work

There is something deeply unsettling about watching a person disappear while they are still sitting right in front of you.

Not physically.

That would almost be easier.

You can grieve a body that leaves. You can understand an empty chair, an unanswered door, a suitcase missing from the closet. Absence has a shape. It gives you somewhere to put your grief.

But what do you do when someone is still there and somehow no longer reachable?

When their face is illuminated by a screen instead of by you?

When the thing they once reached for your hand to tell you about is now the thing keeping them from hearing you?

We used to call this distraction.

I think we underestimated it.

Technology didn’t simply give us machines. It gave us somewhere to put our longing.

A place to go when another human being became inconvenient.

And somewhere along the way, we began worshipping the thing that promised never to ask anything difficult of us.

The digital god does not interrupt.

It does not need reassurance.

It does not have a bad day.

It doesn’t ask why you forgot something important. It doesn’t look wounded when you choose the screen over its eyes.

It waits.

It feeds you exactly what you keep reaching for.

More information.

More stimulation.

More validation.

More noise.

Until silence becomes unbearable.

And perhaps that is the cruelest part.

We didn’t build machines that demanded our humanity.

We built machines that made it remarkably easy to abandon it.

There are people who can spend hours constructing elaborate digital worlds while neglecting the fragile one breathing beside them.

They know how to speak to strangers in comment sections, how to optimize a profile, how to maintain an online presence, how to make an algorithm happy.

But ask them to sit across from someone they love and say, I hurt you, and suddenly language becomes impossible.

We have become fluent in interfaces and illiterate in intimacy.

I wonder how many relationships have quietly died this way.

Not with betrayal in a hotel room.

Not with a slammed door.

Not even with another person.

Just two people lying in the same bed, each illuminated by a separate little rectangle of blue light.

One eventually falls asleep.

The other keeps scrolling.

And somewhere between the glow and the silence, something human slips out of the room.

Maybe that’s why the phrase digital god keeps haunting me.

Because gods have always promised something.

Power.

Answers.

Escape.

Immortality.

And our new god promises all of those things in miniature.

Ask it anything.

Show it everything.

Let it remember what you forget.

Let it entertain you when you are lonely.

Let it tell you who you are.

Let it become the place you go when you no longer know how to come home.

But a machine cannot love you back.

It can simulate tenderness beautifully.

It can anticipate your needs.

It can learn your preferences.

It can produce the perfect words at precisely the right moment.

And still, there is something missing.

The inconvenient heartbeat.

The hesitation.

The awkward silence.

The human being who doesn’t always know what to say but stays anyway.

Maybe that’s what we’re trading away.

Not our intelligence.

Not our productivity.

Not even our privacy.

Our tolerance for one another’s humanity.

Because humanity is inefficient.

People misunderstand you.

People disappoint you.

People need things.

People change.

People have inconvenient emotions and complicated histories and terrible timing.

People are not optimized.

Neither is love.

Love is messy and repetitive and occasionally boring. It requires maintenance. It asks you to put the machine down and look at the person who has been trying to reach you.

And maybe that is the real rebellion now.

Not deleting every app.

Not smashing every screen.

Not pretending technology is evil.

Just remembering that a tool is supposed to remain a tool.

Remembering that the machine should serve the human, not become the place where the human goes to escape being human.

Because I don’t want a perfect response.

I want the person who struggles to find the words.

I don’t want an algorithm that always understands me.

I want someone willing to misunderstand me, listen again, and try.

I don’t want artificial intimacy.

I want the dangerous, inconvenient, glorious thing that happens when two imperfect people choose each other without a guarantee.

Maybe that’s what we’ve forgotten.

The screen isn’t the god.

We are the ones kneeling.

And every time we choose the glow over the person sitting beside us, we are deciding what deserves our devotion.

That choice is still ours.

For now.

I employ the most subtle form of camouflage.
Hiding in plain sight
so they may not find
that I want to be just like them.

Never once adorned in the guise
of an easy smile.
Its easier to don a bitter mask
and feel like one apart.

One day perhaps I will dip my cup
in the clear well of courage
and embrace the fact
that we are all only human.

Al lê die berge al so blou…

To me he was a red coal drifting, laconic
in the Phalaborwa summer dark. Blue smoke
coiling in the night air, cooling the sunbaked
tarmac and dirt. He was endless stories
of game-rangers and animals and the Anglo Boer war.
A fridge door opening to cold cuts, or
the window to the scent of tobacco or mango
leaves and the far-off baying of hyenas
or the occasional lion in a wild—his
bushveld, kept only a stone-throw away.

Al die nooiens…

He trained me to hear them over bats and crickets
as we orbited the saltwater pool he so proudly
maintained—the Lowveld’s alkalinity be damned,
or its surface being undisturbed but for the birds
for eleven out of twelve months a year. While,
with patience, he taught me my constellations
with a hand already trembling. His wizened and
unruly brows furrowed in his sacred task, teaching
his only daughter’s only son everything he knows.
Of crystal radios and machining, of faith, women
and being.

Sal vir van Aswegen onthou…

His arteries hardened quietly and he died
back in 2013, his ashes now the Bush and
the Kruger National, baked into the clay of it.
The dry wind still carrying the sound of lions
all the way from way back then.

And while I don't know about the nooiens,
I know I’ll remember him.

It's a commonly held belief that moths are attracted to flame. Well any bright light source. They aren't picky.

But what we see and what they do isn't as straightforward as it would appear.

Moths have photo-sensitive cells on their backs.

This keeps them horizontal to the ground with the help of the moon.

But then we built a billion mini moons.

If you track their trajectory you'll find an incredibly sad story.

They aren't going *to* the light.

They are orbiting.

Locked into an intrinsic spiral.

For reasons they cannot comprehend.