//Adventures of Steven Glansberg//

//When you love something so much it is hard to realize how much is at stake until you are tied to it and burning//

[iseethesmokeandmirrors]

[circa-style]

1/2 

Bird Sounds (EQ)   

“I hope you have a good place to hide” 

SHOP - Portion of Proceeds go to bird and wildlife conservations. 

[tradedmyfriendsforyou-blog]

I fell apart in your arms for the last time. And I felt free to do what I want because of the things you told me.

I Felt Free // Circa Survive (via tradedmyfriendsforyou)

[spitxglitterxalice]

[adventuresofstevenglansberg]

[adventuresofstevenglansberg]

//now a days i spend a good portion of my nights rifling through cabinets, turning burners, bleeding tongue to wooden spoon, trying to create a flavor worthy of a palet. i have brazed my own flesh, and yours too, seasoned with salt mined in the deepest part of my chest. for my darling, i pray you never go hungry. i have seen what hunger does to an empty belly. how a moment can suffice even an appetite for forever, convince one to survive on scraps. and still, there are mornings, when i have emptied the garden and pantry only to find you continue to crave the taste of your past. for me it makes no difference, as long as you will sleep with a heart filled to the brim. as long as you continue to smile, i will keep a warm stove and a knife sharp. yes i know. i have a tendency to stir the pot, but in this way, i know i will never settle//

[adventuresofstevenglansberg]

4/42014

3/30 last night I slept in a graveyard, not for the thrill, or on a dare but to be in the presence of truth. wondered if god still blessed the bodies when the sprit of things began to wear. it's funny how we keep our dead. nice neat rows six feet under. boxed up like things we plan to return to, left overs, jewelry, old dusty photos. I guess things left in the open have a tendency to spoil, rust and fade. you see, hollow ground is finite, blunt, honest, there is no question as to what lies beneath the well manicured surface. we are reminded of life. what it takes. what it leaves behind. and like most sacred spaces, we are only visitors, we are only temporary. a days work and a nights dream.

[adventuresofstevenglansberg]

gemini moon

//i am confident that eventually you will know you will master these limbs with your eyes closed make music with a body something that sounds like love never in tune like lust bleeding but for now, boy let us feel spit in your palm run your hands on every surface willing to be within arms reach on places forgotten the table’s belly the orchid’s stem spaces opened between the lovers and the loved the crack in the floorboards make these places sacred think of nothing but god and glory for you are the guillotine as you already know write pray heal flow fuck let them circle the corpse the open wound the hollow bone caught in a basket the head of a lover whisper her heaven as she begins to drift you were never really alive in the first place take anything warm for truth and anything promised a lie you will reach the bottom soon enough no need to bolster the weight of the dead and the dying for you carry a shovel not a cross you are an echoing requiem in a cavity she often fills with eulogy long after you are gone she will continue to move her body to your cadence and hum your melody in the ear of every subsequent lover//

[adventuresofstevenglansberg]

Finals weak

//again i find myself here. whispering over the crackle of her record player. just before the sun, she hands me the remote. says 

 "you pick the color of today's conversation" 

 so i point it at the lamp. pause. squeeze. and in an instant the room becomes a graveyard. 

 "why green?" she asks 

 suddenly, i feel you in my chest. hesitate…as your name claws its way up my throat. fills my mouth like a basin in a desert's first storm. thirsty. and before it reaches my teeth, she notices. crawls to me. presses her lips against mine as if to suck out the poison. mouths her favorite prayer. leaves a blessing on my tongue. wipes her mouth. smiles. says 

 "it’s not important" 

 and i am reminded of a different kind of magic. one that feels more home than hideaway. 

she laughs and tells me she is learning to read palms on the internet and asks for my hand. i speak of the room too frigid. and of the coffee mug, baring a purple rose, too warm to leave. a reminder that all things beautiful eventually run cold. she grabs it anyway. places it on her thigh. crosses her legs. squeezes. and we sit in a decade of silence till the room becomes thawed

when finally released, it is numb. empty of blood. warm. she holds the hand with both of hers. opens it’s belly to the sky. runs her fingers along the folds. stares with a wrinkled brow. puzzled. again, lips. again, a prayer. this time placed in the palm. i watch as she origamis each finger into a fist, holds it to her chest. hands it back. says 

 “boy, there is nothing there to read” 

 and i am relieved to know that i have hidden you places not even the purest magic can find//

[adventuresofstevenglansberg]

Parks and wreck

//it was here at this park, twenty-some-odd years ago that i first saw god in the clouds. cradled in the arms of tree, feet dangling and untied shoes. a time closer to you than me and i can see it in your face. i am no stranger to the handshakes and bloodshot eyes living amongst these benches. quite honestly, our presence makes them less visible, less obvious, more comfortable. and i fell for the way you looked at them. wide eyed. a mouth full questions in a moment of silence.

so we carved out a church in the grass. a prayer clenched between finger tips. remembered how they came. how they were drawn to us. the man with the sculpture half hung in the window. the grandmother who tucked a lock of your hair behind your right ear. the couple falling in love all over again. you the bloom and i the catalyst. how the world seemed to move as we became magic. when we were effortless. may this serve as an almanac buried amongst the promised, unwilling and confused. for in time, i will have nothing left but this park, these clouds, and if i’m lucky, a mouth full of questions in a moment of silence//

[adventuresofstevenglansberg]

[adventuresofstevenglansberg]

//i remember listening to my father play "For No One" after my mother left. how beautiful the sound would move in a house more empty now. how he filled it with memories and how he wrapped himself in ballads. I remember how he watched the ash of his cigarette fall from a glowing ember they once called love. allowed it to linger on his lap. allowed it to breath. before brushing it away. how he stared out the half cracked door in a smoke filled garage. his elbow never leaving the table. i wondered if he found it worth it. to feed the wolf and starve the forest. wondered how it felt. wondered if i would one day do the same//

[adventuresofstevenglansberg]

[adventuresofstevenglansberg]

[adventuresofstevenglansberg]

[adventuresofstevenglansberg]

[adventuresofstevenglansberg]