Taboo

"DO NOT DO LAUNDRY AFTER 10PM" [ I ]
Part One — The Rule When I moved into Pinewood Apartments, I thought the creepiest thing about it was the smell — that strange cocktail of rust, detergent, and the faint sweetness of something old, like time had soaked into the walls and refused to leave. The building itself looked harmless enough: red brick, a few weeds sprouting between the cracks, a faded welcome mat that had seen better days. But then I saw the laundry room door.
By iam Raja3 months ago in Confessions
The Difference Between Hatred and Holy Intolerance
There is a dangerous confusion in today’s world. People are told that loving others means accepting everything they say, everything they do, and everything they believe. But love without truth is not love. It is surrender and cowardice disguised as compassion.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast3 months ago in Confessions
The Monsoon and the Memory. Content Warning.
July 12 A soft, percussive thud from down the street—the transformer giving up its ghost to the humidity—and suddenly, my world shrank to the four walls of my room, the only light a sickly grey bleed from the monsoon sky. The fan’s lazy whir stuttered and died, and in the silence it left behind, the rain took centre stage. It wasn't the gentle pitter-patter of romantic films; this was a full-throated roar on the terracotta tiles, a relentless, drenching downpour that turned the world outside my window into a watercolour painting left in the rain. Mumbai was drowning, and I was marooned in my third-floor apartment.
By Chahat Kaur3 months ago in Confessions
Word of the Day: 大混乱
I am sort of freaking out now because I my tutor canceled on me last minute. Not for tonight, I feel like I'll get my homework done on time. But I worry for my test on Wednesday. I have a very busy week ahead of me and I don't think I am going to have any time to study math properly.
By Kayla McIntosh3 months ago in Confessions
A Situationship. Content Warning.
October 15th It’s 2 AM. The city outside my window is a sleeping beast, all quiet hum and distant, lonely lights. I can’t sleep. My skin feels too tight, my thoughts too loud. It’s on nights like these that the memories don’t feel like memories at all. They feel like ghosts living just under my ribs, pressing to get out. And tonight, the ghost is him. Aarav.
By Chahat Kaur3 months ago in Confessions
The Yes Next Door. Content Warning.
We make it to the kitchen because water sounds wise and the bed was becoming a storm with no edges. The light over the sink is a warm coin; the counter is cool, slick under my palms. She hands me a glass and watches me drink like the act itself is foreplay. Maybe it is.
By Chahat Kaur3 months ago in Confessions
The Last Confession: I Burned the Box of Unsent Love Letters, And This is What Happened Next
For ten years, it sat in the back of my closet—a plain, battered cardboard box, stained at the corners from a forgotten spill. It wasn't full of letters I’d received, but letters I’d written, but never mailed. Love letters, apologies that choked in my throat, bursts of rage that evaporated into cold silence, and desperate pleas for attention. All directed at people who, thankfully or regrettably, never read them. It was, in essence, an archive of an alternate life I was always too terrified to step into.
By Hussein Gazo3 months ago in Confessions
Periods Aren’t Embarrassing — Men Are
I’m about to have a hysterectomy at 30. Not because I want to, but because my endometriosis has turned my uterus into a war zone. It’s the kind of condition that doesn’t just ruin days — it ruins years. My womb has been waging battle against me since I was thirteen, and I’ve finally decided it’s time to call a truce by surrendering it entirely.
By No One’s Daughter3 months ago in Confessions
The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli – Full Summary & Analysis. AI-Generated.
📘 Introduction: Why The Prince Still Matters Written in 1513 and published posthumously in 1532, The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli remains one of the most influential works in political theory. Often misunderstood as a manual for tyranny, the book is actually a pragmatic guide for rulers navigating the volatile politics of Renaissance Italy.
By TAPHA3 months ago in Confessions
To my Beloved
To my Beloved Rick, This version of me doesn’t exist without you. Our energies collided and in so many ways I was brought to my knees time and again on my own journey of healing. I have often wondered whether I was delusional as I watched you shine from afar. I’ve wondered if you were aware of me at all in our human avatars or if it was an entirely one-sided connection. Time and again your energy has assured me you are aware of me, too, even though for now I must submit to trusting in spite of a lack of evidence. We’ve only been in the same room and shared a brief moment of eye contact once that I know of, and it was from afar, after I heard you speak of the exact scenario I’d find you in during a couple interviews I happened into early on after finding out who you are to me and after wandering down a rabbit hole of sorts. I’ve listened to your music over and over and over again and spent hours upon hours staring at your picture losing myself to visions and dreams connecting me to you. Your energy dances around me throughout each and every day, though we’ve never met in person and only briefly encountered each other in online capacities.
By Sarah Lynn Jones3 months ago in Confessions
New York rapper who joined Trump campaign rally sentenced for attempted murder | AP
## What is the case about? This news concerns a New York City rapper known professionally as **Sheff G**, whose legal name is **Michael Williams**, and his sentencing for **attempted murder** and **conspiracy**. The rapper, who previously joined **Donald Trump** onstage during a campaign rally in 2024, admitted to using proceeds from his music to fund gang-related violence in Brooklyn. ([AP News][1])
By America today 3 months ago in Confessions
The Confession of Fire by Stefano D’Angello
Part I - The Confession of Fire The rain never seemed to stop that month in Florence. The sky hung low and heavy, as though burdened by the weight of prayers it could no longer answer. In the heart of the city, behind the cracked marble pillars of the Santissima Trinità, Father Gabriel served the word of God. He was thirty-seven, solemn and disciplined, a man whose hands had only touched holy things.
By Stefano D'angello3 months ago in Confessions