Parking lot wisdom
Every empty shell of a thought
scratches a groove in the place it finds to die.
YOU ARE THE REASON
sheepfilms
DEAR READER
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Keni
Jules of Nature
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
occasionally subtle

#extradirty

if i look back, i am lost
todays bird

Janaina Medeiros

shark vs the universe

Product Placement
Claire Keane
Stranger Things
cherry valley forever

Love Begins

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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

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@apgrdn-blog
Parking lot wisdom
Every empty shell of a thought
scratches a groove in the place it finds to die.
Bad taste
Bad taste is everywhere. It oozes from everything we touch and breathe. It must be integral part of all foundation, of any great thing that transcends the mediocre. All great works grow from the ground up like saplings in the new sunlight beside a fallen tree.
In the spectacle of our existence, we cannot avoid the museum we are born into. Rare are the wonders that can come of age in-vitro.
I spit on the sidewalk when my lungs put up a fight. I also put my money on the mundane, where my mouth is.
Pace
It’s been a while since my flurry of initial posts, which tumbled out together in the space of about a week and what I have I learned? Pace yourself.
Titre writes itself ohne lexis
like a dial modem up modem up dial modem 56kbps and the dial up (phone is off the hook in the kitchen and you, raging in the office) like a dial tone you could hear it telling you the problem if you could hear it telling you the problem up modem like
Galvanise.
synonyms:jolt, shock, startle, impel, stir, spur, prod, urge, motivate, stimulate, electrify, excite, rouse, arouse, awaken, invigorate, fire, fuel, animate, vitalize, energize, exhilarate, thrill, dynamize, inspire; (More)
It doesn’t have to matter. It has to matte
Self-critique or the metronome
Binary rhythm is too much for this weight the pendulum swings
the pendulum wins
each time it swings it covers its losses and wings the void
it spans the whole world
in a constant unfurling of movement deterred by nothing, see?
the inside of a box
What it’s like to like delete the post you wanted to write.
Tonight I sat down to write and a poem came. Like waves lapping the shore in a gentle storm, or the idea of a woman in some near-eternal orgasm (every orgasm in the moment feels eternal) it just came and came and kept on coming. Sexism. I am. I wish that could be me. Perhaps no woman can even go there. But I would see my body turn its insides to the out if somehow a pump could even simulate the experience. True story. Long before I made it even one fifth of the way my body would be washed back to sea and extinguished. Let the female form stand tall as bastion of what the human can. Sing the praises of the strength that brings us alive and breathing into being. Pray. Towering above the peak of what it is for us to truly be. (That place our dreams and fantasy lead us, the tunnel where maybe most of all art goes to charge.) Let us hinge the switches we keep inside and swing the hinges around where we can, so we can squarely see and let the deep mind fathom that really in the end of it all when the cards are down its the woman in man that each man longs to see in himself.
A non-number of things
1.
We have such an obsessive relation to things, objects, stuff, that it is almost impossible to conceptualise anything (the word itself is a giveaway) without thinking in reductionist terms that bring whatever the thing is into a framework of understanding that heavily relies on the objective, tangible presence of something we can touch, hold, draw a line around (if conceptual), and put in a (metaphorical) box. It is hard to conceptualise any thing, in other words, that is not a thing. It seems that grasping a thing’s thingness helps us be more comfortable with the world, and maybe sleep better at night too.
One more way of looking at a black bird
The unfortunate one, this. Working backwards,
Something about the glare perhaps, a blue sky
Where the window was, but solid upon impact. A starling
It was, and black only between the leaves, perched and ready
To leave the pear tree and return to native grey.
In Medias Res
1.
No techniques on display, not particularly. No reason to begin in the middle, save that it all is already underway and to continue searching for the beginning is a lost cause really. You give up the right of starting at the beginning once you rise up from all fours and decide to leg it as a bipedal going forward.
2.
I do like a certain amount of order but it’s an internal struggle every time I start to accumulate bits and pieces of writing (or anything for that matter). Ideally, life happens and it gets lost. This has its drawbacks, but at least you don’t have to live through the subtle, creeping, and all of a sudden overwhelmingly invasive accumulation of what Philip K Dick called kipple, the Universe’s fatal entropy and ultimate laugh. Man is submerged by stuff. The end.