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feeling hopeless in January, 2017

There is so much I will never do in this world.

I cannot fly

I can only be thrown

through the air by the wind and massive turbines.

I cannot touch you

I can only sing

and hope my voice is loud enough to hear.

I cannot carry you

I can only stretch out my hand

and beg you to take hold.

I am just one human

I am just one life

You are everyone

I have ever loved or hated

and I am waiting for you to take hold

of my outstretched hand.

01.20.17

Now is when we stand.

Today is when we rise up –

Today

and yesterday

and six months ago

and last year

and tomorrow

and until

no one has reason

to fear their neighbor

and no one has right

to take away others’.

Today we feel rage -

today we rage together

against hatred

against retrogression

against the dying of the light.

But tomorrow we must also rage

and on and on

until we are weary and until our feet ache

we still march

we still sing

we still teach and care and love

and we still grow.

Together we evolve.

Together we ensure

our ideals will outlive us

when every proponent of stagnation is buried

the concept of love will bloom

a brighter flower than the sun

and our children’s

children’s children

will finally say

We Have Overcome

#inauguration #thanksobama #fucktrump

On the Lasting Effects of Emotional Abuse in Young Adults

The tendrils of your love are still

twisted deep inside me

tangled with all the things I am,

sneaking out in all the things I say.

I fight them until they

strangle me a little tighter

each time I see a soul controlled

each time I feel a door close

each time I look for exit signs

I can’t find.

They cut off the blood to my cold hands

so I can’t feel new love quite right,

tightened around my throat and lungs

so my words grew that much darker,

twisted up in the ventricles of my heart

and hardened there.

Your words and manipulations took root in me

and invaded me and changed me but

every day I still grow

just a little

and every day my crux breaks through

just a little.

The tendrils of your love are still

twisted deep inside me but

like dead ivy they do not grow

but break and fall like rusted chains

with every passing day.

#abuse #emotional abuse #poetry #therapy #power

On Queerness in Light of Darkness

A man asked me tonight if I was a boy or a girl and for once I didn’t smirk. No usual joy in dismantling concepts of gender because I knew my outfit allowed only one right answer and many dangerous ones. The man danced ? in my direction drunk gyrating leering. He had decided I was a girl. To him it was the right answer for me, still a dangerous one. If I am true If I am queer I am hated in danger. If I am simplified If I am female I am objectified in danger. A man asked me tonight if I was a boy or a girl and there was no right answer only danger.

#lgbtq #genderqueer #gender #orlando

Priorities Regarding Moving to Boulder:

⋅Lease an apartment (or van down by river) ⋅Job maybe? ⋅Fluffy pet (dog, cat, chinchilla...?) ⋅Indian food ⋅Sushi ⋅Dumplings/Fried Rice (aka "Chinese food" but let's be real) Yeah that's pretty much it.

vikingfighter-deactivated201909

If Stuntmen from the old movies don’t have your full respect then I just don’t know what to say to you

working--on--excellence

l tried really hard not to reblog this

nescientes

Yeah, it is indeed really hard not to reblog a fucking thing.

spaceman-v-spiff-deactivated201

Can we all agree that the man in the first gif is the manliest man in the world?

jolivet-deactivated20190306

Are we just going to all silently acknowledge that the last guy is clearly dead and that we just saw him die.

antoinetriplett-deactivated2015

HOLD UP FOR A SECOND

ALL OF THESE GIFS ARE ONE MAN

THE SINGULAR BUSTER KEATON

WHILE FILMING THE GENERAL

HE SNAPPED HIS NECK ON THE RAILROAD TIES AND WENT HOME AND ICED HIS BODY

AND CAME BACK FOR WORK THE NEXT DAY

HE ONCE GOT HIS HIP RIPPED OUT OF ITS SOCKET BY A MALFUNCTIONING ELEVATOR AND WAS DISAPPOINTED WITH HIMSELF FOR BEING INJURED

HE ONCE HAD TO FALL 100 FEET DOWN A WATERFALL INTO A NET

A STUNTMAN TESTED IT AND BROKE BOTH LEGS AND DISLOCATED HIS SHOULDER

BUSTER DID THE STUNT ANYWAY AND LANDED WITHOUT A SCRATCH

IN ‘THE HIGH DIVE’

BUSTER DID A TRICK DIVE THROUGH A CARDBOARD DECK THAT WAS CAMOUFLAGED TO LOOK LIKE THE REAL DECK

ONLY HE COULDN’T TELL FROM 100 FEET UP WHERE THE CARDBOARD STOPPED AND THE REAL DECK STARTED AND THERE WAS ONLY LIKE A THREE FOOT MARGIN FOR ERROR

AND WHEN HE HESITATED A SUDDEN BREEZE LITERALLY KNOCKED HIM OFF THE DIVING BOARD AND HE HAD TO JUMP ANYWAY

AND HE MISSED THE REAL DECK BY LESS THAN A FOOT BUT HE MADE IT

IN THE SECOND GIF HE’S RECREATING SOMETHING THAT THE ACTUAL GENERAL PURSUERS HAD TO DO IN THE CIVIL WAR

IF HE MISSES THAT TIE

THE TRAIN WILL BE DERAILED AND HE WILL DIE IN THE EXPLOSION

IN THE THIRD GIF AN ENTIRE HOUSE IS FALLING HE HAS ONE TAKE AND IF HE HAS NOT DONE THE CALCULATIONS CORRECTLY HE WILL BE CRUSHED

HE HAS AN INCH-WIDE MARGIN ON EACH SIDE

AND THE HOUSE LITERALLY BRUSHES HIS LEFT SHOULDER ON THE WAY DOWN

YOU CAN SEE HIS LEFT ARM JUMP BECAUSE HE’S FLINCHING FROM THE PAIN

THAT LAST GIF

HE WAS SUPPOSED TO MAKE THAT JUMP

HE WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO FALL AND THEY HADNT PLANNED FOR IT

BUT HE SURVIVED

BUSTER KEATON SURVIVED 100% OF THINGS THAT WOULD HAVE KILLED LESSER MEN INCLUDING WWI, TORNADOS, HOUSEFIRES, ALCOHOLISM, BROKEN NETS, CRUSHING DEPRESSION, THE DEPRESSION ITSELF, THE MCCARTHY WITCHHUNTS, THE END OF SILENT CINEMA, AND ABOUT 900 MORE OF THE STUNTS YOU SEE ABOVE

BUSTER LIVED TO BE 70 YEARS OLD

FATHERED LIKE FOUR KIDS AND EIGHT GRANDKIDS

HE CAME OUT THE OTHER SIDE OF ALL THAT

THINKING THAT LIFE WAS GOOD AND PEOPLE WERE WONDERFUL

BUSTER KEATON IS NOT JUST A STUNTMAN

HE IS A GODDAMN SAINT

lodatik

BUSTER KEATON’S PARENTS WERE PART OF A TRAVELING SHOW.

THEY WERE ACROBATS.

THEY TOOK BABY BUSTER UP HIGH IN THE AIR WITH THEM.

THEY DROPPED HIM.

LUCKILY SOMEONE WHO WAS STANDING UNDER THEM CAUGHT BABY BUSTER.

THAT MAN WAS HARRY HOUDINI.

HARRY HOUDINI SAVED BUSTER KEATON’S LIFE.

if you don’t think that’s the coolest shit you can get right out.

steelrainistakingover

Buster Keaton, American Badass

vvidget

THE BEST COOKIE RECIPES :D

The Brownie Cookie Recipe

Chocolate Chunk Cookies

Crème Brûlée Cookies

Butterscotch Apple Pudding Cookies

Deep Dish S’mores Cookies

Buckeye Brownie Cookies

Caramel Stuffed Truffle Cookies

Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Whoopie Pies

Chocolate Chip Peanut Butter Cup Cookie Sandwiches

Deep Dish Milky Way Cookies

noxiian-deactivated20140815

Sweet Christ almighty

beastmodemommy-deactivated20151

Reblogging because omg…April 26!!!!!! Lord Jesus halp!!!!

irontemple-deactivated20150928

fuck

teetrinken-deactivated20170419

Recipes

iceb0x

American Christmas: don’t be naughty or else you’ll get coal German Christmas: don’t be naughty or else you’ll be kidnapped by a demon who stuffs you in his wheat basket and eats you

kingdomxbyxthexsea

This post = the source of most of my phobias. Being raised with German fairytales made for a very traumatic childhood.

Not Me

Sometimes I pretend

the zebra stripes on my hips are

the scars I could never give myself.

Sometimes I buy lighters and act like

they’re for more than just frayed rope-ends.

Sometimes I try to wear my shoes

until they’ve got little holes in the fabric.

Sometimes I keep my eyes down

on the dark pavement beneath my feet.

But the truth isn’t hard to find.

I’m too strong to maim.

I’m too smart for smoke.

I’m too good for destruction.

I’m too alive for tar.

Sometimes I pretend

I’m the person the world expects me to be

but I’m too cool for cool.

For Spacious Skies

Thunder and patriotism

wrinkle the night sky-

silence gives way

to the furor of the gods.

Ice cream and blueberries

stain your teeth

as you grin like the fool

I fell in love with.

Summer’s heat and

summer’s storms

can’t keep us apart

any more than winter’s follies.

A lamp may flicker

when the wind whips up

but it will still burn strong

so long as it is fueled.

You are the fuel

that keeps me warm

when the summer sun

releases us for the night.

You are the light

that shows me how

to be at peace

when I am alone.

I cower under my blankets

for fear of the sounds

of thunder and patriotism

that wrinkle the night,

but their roars can not match

my bellowing heart

when it cries out,

“Please come home.”

Quietly Dying in the Woods

I am the North Star,

child of the Mother Bear.

I am the sand that swirls

through every crashing wave

and the raindrop

aching to fall from its cloud.

I am the dew

on a wilted rose petal

and the red eye

of a lonely tree frog.

I am a beautiful moment

lost to cowardice.

I am the green flash

of the setting sun.

I am the tossed aside

three-leafed clover

and the gently released

rainbow trout.

I am a fallen oak leaf

shriveling on hot tar

and the tall pine

quietly dying in the woods.

I am the wind

on a cold winter night

and the smell of snow

in the darkness.

I am every twig and branch

you have ever stepped on or over

and every spider web

you have ever brushed aside.

I am the mica

that glitters in the asphalt

and the hidden ear

of a garter snake.

I am everywhere

and you do not see me.

But I am exquisite

and I am divine.

Tar and Disappointment

Cigarette butts punctuate pavements

where my plastic toes scuff

at pebbles and petrified gum

that has become one with the sidewalk

like me.

I am invisible,

willfully ignored by the throngs of

empty eyes and hunched backs

that glide and stumble past me every day.

This city is a god.

A creator of great things

and a destroyer of men.

The shiny and new come here to find

something unattainable.

They struggle and strive and

scuffle and thrive until

the weight of this massive

cement block weighs down

and their rainbow dreams and

sparkling reveries are dimmed and dulled

and set aside to gather dust while

the everyday and the ordinary

establishes itself, as it shall do.

Fresh eyes and clear lungs are

blackened with tar and disappointment

until there is no such thing as a vision.

I watch the clock tick and toll the hours

I listen to the city age and I feel it sink

as a thousand carefree souls settle in

for a long cold life.

What Am I?

If you’ve never been afraid

- I mean shaken to the core-

if you’ve never looked in the pit

if you’ve never wanted more,

What are you?

Look a tiger in the eye,

walk along the river’s edge,

turn your back on what you know,

curl your toes over the ledge.

What are you?

Humans are resilient,

humanity is weak.

You yourself can be a god,

if you’re bold enough to speak.

What are you?

Are you another empty face

seen through empty eyes?

Or are you the one in ninety nine

who wasn’t scared to try?

What are you?

The Architect's Haircut

“Just a little off the top today, Jim. Make me look pretty, got a big meeting tomorrow.” Phillip Neilson settled into the familiar, forest green pleather chair and lifted his chin so that Jim could tie an apron around his neck. Jim stepped on a pedal at the base of the chair and Phillip felt himself leaning backward slowly, under Jim’s careful guidance, until he was nearly horizontal. Phillip could hear the old man whisking up the old-fashioned face soap with an old-fashioned face-brush to make a nice smooth old-fashioned lather. “Sally darling, make me an Old Fashioned!” Phillip called out to the girl behind the desk. This is how it should be. Phillip thought to himself. Just a man and his drink, getting a shave and a clip. Phillip closed his eyes as Jim slathered his face with the warm froth and let his mind wander. Jim hummed a tune as he thoroughly moistened the old man’s face, which ever so slightly smiled under the foam.

Jim hummed a tune as he slid the old straight razor back and forth across the sharpening strop. Sally looked over to him and shook her head with a sigh. Jim responded with an innocent smile and a shrug. Jim held the strop tight in his left hand and scraped the shining metal back and forth across the smooth canvas. When the blade, one he kept specially set aside for Phillip. Once the soft, dull blade was shining nicely Jim moved up to Phillip’s face. With an expert hand, the old barber the side of the man’s face carefully, pausing between strokes to rinse off the frothy blade. Once Jim had carefully and convincingly scraped the lather off of the old gentleman’s soft face, he gently dried it with a towel and righted the man’s chair.

Phillip sighed and opened his eyes, turning his head this way and that, inspecting the shave job in the rusty mirror. Satisfied with a job well done, Phillip smiled and settled back into the chair.

“I’ve good a good thing going here, Jim! I’ve got great plans, great plans!” Jim smiled and nodded at him in the mirror. “It’s going to be steller, Jim, literally! It’s going to be all glass and shining metal and it’s going to touch the stars! The Empire State building’s got nothing on my beautiful baby.”

“I can’t wait to see it, Mr. Neilson. I’m sure it will be gorgeous,” Jim replied with a smile. Phillip didn’t notice the sadness in Jim’s eyes, his were too full of visions of his lovely new sky scraper.

Jim got out a pair of gleaming scissors and polished them with a rag dipped in lanolin. He fluffed the old architect’s hair up with a fine-toothed ivory comb and set to snipping. Jim began humming again as he clicked his scissors open and closed, open and closed. The old barber never touched the architect’s hair, it was plenty short already. He mimed a quick snip, careful to make it convincing, squinting every so often at the back of the man’s head. When a reasonable amount of time had passed, Jim smiled and raised his head to meet Phillip’s eyes in the mirror.

“What do you think?”

“Looks good, Jim. Not as good as my tower’s going to look, but pretty damn good.”

“Glad to hear it sir.” Jim grabbed a large soft brush off the counter behind him and dusted the imaginary hair clippings off of Phillip’s shoulders. “Let me walk to you out to the car. Marcy must be waiting for you.”

“Ah yes, little Marcy. She just got her driver’s license you know! I’ve been letting her drive me around today for practice. Teenagers these days, you know? Everything is so new and exciting, even driving a car.” Phillip slowly eased himself out of the chair, his stiff hips and weak arms struggling to upright themselves. Old Jim put himself under the old man’s arm and got him on his feet before leading him out the door. There, the two white-haired men were met by a salt-and-pepper haired woman in her mid-fifties.

“Marcy darling! There you are girl, I’m all done here, ready for my big meeting tomorrow. I’m going to build a shining tower to the sky, you know!”

“Of course you are, Dad. Let’s get you back home, huh?”

“Let me buy you an ice cream on the way! Growing girls need their nutrition!” Marcy smiled and helped Jim load her aging father into the car and stepped into the driver’s seat. She started the car and pulled away from the ancient barbershop, and looked over at her grinning father in the passenger seat. His innocent smile and pure jubilation at the prospect of his new design warmed her heart and she quietly sighed. She blinked away tears and turned her head away from him, hiding her face. On her left, hidden from the old man’s sparkling eyes, a structure rose above the city. Marcy took the long way home so that it never crossed the old man’s view. Rusting beams supported plywood-covered windows. Scaffolding fused with foundation and the whole thing was wrapped in yellow tape. “I’m going to build a shining tower to the stars,” the old man sighed happily, staring out his own window, oblivious to the scene behind him.

“Yes you are, Daddy, yes you are.”

Escape

Blankets of rain billow in the darkness while the trees tremble under artificial suns. Their light does not warm me it only highlights the jagged scars on my bone-chilled soul. Thunder splits the tar sky - a crack forms for the light to peek through. For a moment I am illuminated. Magnesium fire fills my head with wonder but burns on its way out. I never remember its words. The wind sings out begging me to come home. Its forlorn tears cut into my marble skin. The storm wraps me up in its electric arms and searches for a home in my cloudy heart. It will not find one there. I’ve locked all the doors, shuttered the windows, against its icy embrace.

How to Light a Fire

He told me I was Queen of Everything.

He said it casually, but I knew he meant it.

I don’t know what I expected to be different

but nothing had changed.

My poptarts tasted the same, even though I commanded them to

blow me away.

How much different can poptarts

really be though?

I guess I could expand my palate.

This is true love. No matter what

the peasants think of me,

no matter whether they

recognize my authority,

I am Queen of Everything.

I tell myself when to get out of bed –

so long as it’s in time for class.

I tell my toast when to be done, but I let it take its time.

If you are given love, don’t push its boundaries,

let them reveal themselves to you.

When you discover that those limits do not exist

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