Gold in Fifty

(via delayprocrastinate) let us have hope.

Wed, 20 May 2009 10:00:00 -0700

(via delayprocrastinate) let us have hope.

Miss Taken

Tue, 19 May 2009 10:26:00 -0700

Goodbye is not allways. Patching jeans with some careless seams; stuffing pockets—too full with fruit of unions loom. Sometimes she spins bicycles, creating needs for the fork into the gold rung worn path perpetually tread. Pared fruits, parting kisses, jarred honey drips for dipping the long road’s broken token bread; wrapped and kercheifed—rod to tow. Rage thumb-wars with heaven s(p)ent apple seeds fo(u)r (or more(or less)) eyes.

Be low.

"One of the great fallacies of our time is that the Nazis rose to power because they imposed order on..."

Mon, 18 May 2009 03:33:00 -0700

“One of the great fallacies of our time is that the Nazis rose to power because they imposed order on chaos. Precisely the opposite is true - they were successful because they tore up the commandments, they denied the super-ego, what you will. They said, “You may persecute the minority, you may kill, you may torture, you may couple and breed without love.” They offered humanity all its greatest temptations. Nothing is true, everything is permitted.”

- The Magus—John Fowles. (via lets-play)

dear god, (or science if the word offends you)

Fri, 15 May 2009 07:30:00 -0700

i know you remember me, the one you breathe this life into. i write to say that i’m not mad you keep secrets regarding your palm, face and intention. i don’t judge your brutish animale force or softer subordinal ways. rather, embracing your need to exist which brings forward all kings and queens, all of us; facets of inspired reflections. dying to be

truly, ourself

perpetuatingthewheel:gin-boots: I truly wish things had been...

Fri, 01 May 2009 03:33:00 -0700

perpetuatingthewheel:gin-boots: I truly wish things had been different.

Can’t erase the deeds of the past
Try as we might
Paper-like trails
Build up
Behind and below

Cease fire treaties thouroughly enforced
One way, or another

We decide the terms
Upon which we exist

Once to continue on
Choices made and dealing in consequences

The sharks lay cards upon the table
Like Tarot
To be
Read

A rain of shower
Loud as flames
Pour of haloed steam upon the head

Isis meet Assisi
In mind

Find peace

Wait for nothing

Walk with memory
Cards in stores
Falling off the shelf
Signed in ink

Condolence

We all have

To have, hold and keep
To let go, and keep going

apropos.

Fri, 10 Apr 2009 10:07:52 -0700

honelix:pilarelizabethv:

A perfect cup of coffee, an equally apropos mug;
Push their scent up swirling towards an infinite form
Of horizon, these lines we make up with eyes,
Make sense of all these angles, perspectives
Pulsing and crossing, swing like Tarzan
On ropes of binding
Particles from see
To shining sea.

Not Looking to Imaginary Figments.

Thu, 09 Apr 2009 10:09:00 -0700

You with that 1” thick (not Armani) elastic statement, taught and squeezing hold of eyes. You, with the downward punching picket sign BANG!-BOOM!!-PLAZOW!!! when she finally leaves Quack’s table; the one who saves lives. You, the one I thought into existence. Yet, I am the one that is always wrong.

Prim Rose Laced.

Thu, 19 Mar 2009 11:48:08 -0700

The warm blanket, a feeling that wasn’t too often. Jackson overwrote her as a mistake; failing to realize that friendship: forbears, with the ability to cause growth. Jackson points his finger from his fast little car, turns his face. Rose could do nothing for him, she sits in silence choosing to be—or not to be, his friend.

Violet Rain.

Wed, 18 Mar 2009 12:01:00 -0700

honelix:

She wasn’t one to cheat on a lover. When that time came the act was replaced by difficult conversation, which ended in puddles of love even deeper, or a new friend. Her path wasn’t paved in fame nor fortune; infamous among mice and men. Violet didn’t mind, her path was precisely: hers.

Photo

Tue, 17 Mar 2009 12:59:00 -0700

Lalot.

Tue, 17 Mar 2009 12:47:00 -0700

Lalot was last seen tossing foot-shaped cobblestones into the oceans’ bed of sand. She appeared to be constructing a foot path. The legend reads that we all must build a doorway for the secret lover, a way to find each other at the end. Tracks fall off into caves and valleys, ring circles, crossing themselves again. Her tracks weave a net, to catch her falling star. The unknown one, destined to be more, than friend.

Keep tossing.

(via pilarsmilk)

Fri, 13 Mar 2009 09:18:59 -0700

(via pilarsmilk)

The Milk Bank.

Fri, 13 Mar 2009 08:26:22 -0700

Reality strikes, struck, striking
like palms electrocuting
executions of cheek.

The days air buzz—denser than our world.
Threatening to asphyxiate, but never here.
Where dreams be,
come,
master,
pieces.

Pooled reflections of what we are, beyond
sweet milk of deception. At the ebbing banks of day
unveil,
and become.

Nothing & (N)evermore.Now know what’s always,...

Thu, 12 Mar 2009 13:12:00 -0700

Nothing & (N)evermore.

Now know what’s always, known—our worth and whom to invite in. But then: Yvette oughtn’t requested Editor, knowledge of this Age(les)’s War or friend. Birthday wishes oughtn’t be spent upon coupling Ouroboros’ partner. Naught girl need wear that amulet. Torn from cover of that ancient text, with no end.

painting.

Wed, 11 Mar 2009 07:27:00 -0700

Mycenae wades in a warm pool of honeyed milk and rose. Weeping willows lap whirling upon the steaming surface’s aroma. Sweep and swish of tree wind dancers; she prances with, feet of milken mirrorose, toes of emerald. Skin tainted by the iced caress of dawn—all watercolor shades of gold.

tiny-poemadoes:ak47:(via kovacsi)

Wed, 11 Mar 2009 07:14:00 -0700

tiny-poemadoes:ak47:(via kovacsi)

To Be, or Not.

Tue, 10 Mar 2009 19:09:19 -0700

perpetuatingthewheel:

My Bitches and Nigga-g’s. I reference me,
not thee. With a joke:

What do you get when a WASP hits a bar
and says hey there bitch,
get my drink!?

…The irrevocable schmuck of the bar.

Now, when a female walks in with her pack of bitches
and black widow hoe’s, they have earned rights
to their goldin embroidered Satin Bombers and name;
by path. One morsel other’s tend to take, and bash,
poke and pry with self-indulgent fantasy.

We can call ourself that because:

History has been a struggle.

And to you, whom tamper the footprint:
the monument you build leans its way to Fall. In leaves
and small pox bundles, overwritten Holiday’s, Dear Columbus,
I’m not talking to you, but I hear your fleet flapping sails
in the wind and I’ve seen the pictures they have painted of me
to send home. I am not that savage one. I never will be
—even stripped of my fields and bulbs, my toiled fruits
—I’ve seen the unedited text,
and I hear thoughts from the horizon.

I am not the wind at your back,
the wind is we.

babypanda:kazukij: dirty windows way above melbourne (via sesame...

Tue, 10 Mar 2009 14:36:26 -0700

babypanda:kazukij: dirty windows way above melbourne (via sesame ellis)

"provide for those who grieve in Zion— bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of..."

Tue, 10 Mar 2009 14:27:55 -0700

“provide for those who grieve in Zion—
bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.”

- isaiah 61. (via titlepage)

potterhead:soulgarden: I feel like this, sometimes.

Tue, 10 Mar 2009 14:23:54 -0700

potterhead:soulgarden: I feel like this, sometimes.