the end is here.

poetry, songs, paintings, stories, stock and poke tattoos, recovery, and journey writing in general. "I wasn't born an anarchist, one day I just woke up that way."

[heatthief]

Collage #197

[dankmemecentral1]

Providing for the family

[heatthief]

“Real Housewives of the Cosmos, pt. 1”

In the name of some god, we beseech you. We are the by- products of countless generations worth of bad decisions, wasted sweat and swept away desires.

We are your spent and your broken; street musicians and birthday party entertainers; Art majors with careers as waitresses and bartenders; unemployed marine biologists and disgraced graphic artists; we are the desperate housewives of the cosmos, grinning skulls with all our best ideas scooped out.

We are the burning economy, the drowning rights of lovers kissing in parked cars, cans kicked down side streets, we are a billion different pronouns, shaken up and shook down for our drugs and our weapons, which have only ever been in our mouths all along.

[heatthief]

The place stank like cat piss and old ideas, like stale narcotics and unpaid court fees. This place was a tomb

And inside

hid the children who had grown their pain inward, like a toenail, infecting their lives with disappointment after disappointment,

With track marks and smashed windows, with supervised visitation on the weekends, maybe, if they could keep it together...

But who the fuck keeps it together?

And there was an ashtray on the kitchen table

And it said on it: Each Day Is New.

And everyone in that house knew that the ashtray's a liar, cause there ain't no coming back from certain places that you visit on vacation from your ordinary struggle and it seems safe but what is ever exactly how it seems

and the ugliness of surprise creeps up and taps you on the shoulder and you taste your heartbeat in your teeth and nothing ain't ever the same again.

[heatthief]

What the other half has

What the Other Half Has

--victor francis wiliams

It is dark. It is quiet. The neighborhood is as still as

It can ever be. The other half is sleeping.

It is morning. It is hectic. People rush like cocaine

Through the bloodstream of the morning commute.

The other half is stuck in traffic.

We are the half that sees the madness in the scramble

And yet bears witness to the beauty, too.

We are the half that may not sleep tonight, tortured into scribbling thoughts onto pages, ink onto canvas,

Following our hearts into dark and lonesome places.

The other half has a mood stabilizer that can last a lifetime. The other half has no concept of what it means to bleed out through your fingertips or fall into the ecstasy of the creative moment. They sleep easier.

All they have to trade away is their dreams.

[intelligentchristianlady]

This is not a “representative” government.

Confirm your registration or register to vote here.

[ryanthedemiguy]

Seriously, double and triple check that you’re registered. Lots of people have been getting booted off voter registries.

[localstarboy]

This video required Super Mario sound FX, not commentary…

[heatthief]

Fuck off Bob Dole

In the name of some god, we beseech you.

We are the by- products of countless generations worth

of bad decisions, wasted sweat and swept away desires.

We are your spent and your broken;

street musicians and birthday party entertainers;

Art majors with careers as waitresses and bartenders; unemployed marine biologists and disgraced graphic artists; we are the desperate

housewives of the cosmos, grinning skulls with all our best ideas scooped out.

We are the burning economy, the drowning rights of lovers kissing in parked cars, cans kicked down side streets,

we are a billion different pronouns, shaken up and shook down for our drugs and our weapons, which have only ever been in our mouths all along.

[hieronymouscock]

[heatthief]

“Real Housewives of the Cosmos, pt. 1”

In the name of some god, we beseech you. We are the by- products of countless generations worth of bad decisions, wasted sweat and swept away desires.

We are your spent and your broken; street musicians and birthday party entertainers; Art majors with careers as waitresses and bartenders; unemployed marine biologists and disgraced graphic artists; we are the desperate housewives of the cosmos, grinning skulls with all our best ideas scooped out.

We are the burning economy, the drowning rights of lovers kissing in parked cars, cans kicked down side streets, we are a billion different pronouns, shaken up and shook down for our drugs and our weapons, which have only ever been in our mouths all along.

[heatthief]

"... anyways, good sex is worth waiting for... Good sex to me is the moment that your eyes meet theirs in the bed and you see that you're both naked inside as well as outside and you reach into that person and scoop out a handful of their soul, like a fistful of fresh fallen snow-- and you watch as that snow bends and folds and eventually melts back into water from the warmth of your palm, and then, you know, you're not in the dark any more, even if all the lights are off, cuz all of a sudden you find that unspeakable, unteachable brightness, an illumination you been lookin for when you slept with all them other ones, and you forget their names and you forget your own name, you find IT, and you let it open you all the way up, skull to asshole, head to toe, to the point of splittin your ecstatic, babblin ass right in half, and it'd kill you dead and you know that it would, but god! what a way to go.. .. Ya know? "

[heatthief]

"Real Housewives of the Cosmos, pt. 1" In the name of some god, we beseech you. We are the by- products of countless generations worth of bad decisions, wasted sweat and swept away desires. We are your spent and your broken; street musicians and birthday party entertainers; Art majors with careers as waitresses and bartenders; unemployed marine biologists and disgraced graphic artists; we are the desperate housewives of the cosmos, grinning skulls with all our best ideas scooped out. We are the burning economy, the drowning rights of lovers kissing in parked cars, cans kicked down side streets, we are a billion different pronouns, shaken up and shook down for our drugs and our weapons, which have only ever been in our mouths all along.

[heatthief]

And this is how you'll know us. You'll see us stumbling down the streets at three a.m., bent over, yakking up sentences, wiping words from our mouths, a thin drool of commas and exclamation points dribbling down our chin. In the night, we are alone, though most at home, and we don't practice what comes next. Our stories speak themselves and we, We are simply the fork stuck in the light socket, coaxing madness and pure white crackling light into this dimension of drab, beige rain clouds.

[heatthief]

"Growing Pains" by Victor Francis Williams

[heatthief]

I want the mind of a child.

I want the dry erase board brain of an elderly woman.

Bring in the middle child, always uncomfortable, awkward

and shy.

I want the jaws of a great white,

I will maul my way through the fisherman’s net

Past the veil that keeps us apart.

[heatthief]

I want the mind of a child.

I want the dry erase board brain of an elderly woman.

Bring in the middle child, always uncomfortable, awkward

and shy.

I want the jaws of a great white,

I will maul my way through the fisherman's net

Past the veil that keeps us apart.

[heatthief]

Yesterday i called up fucking Robert Downey Jr Asked him for a ride to a meeting. 7:00 at the Unitarian church on Elm, a speaker meeting Some experience, strength, and hope. I am far from dreaming, imagining, piddling. I am wide awake. But the way gets wider and the dream! Oh, the dream That is a "normal" life, the life of my parents, the life of responsible, dead ancestors. We are moving to the new normal, and you must decide What side are you on?