Into the Sunlight @personalportrait - Tumblr Blog

What if there were no such thing as property ownership? You had use of things immediately available to you, but no lasting title beyond a transient possessary one? I think it would change the housing market completely. There would be no market; there may not be any money. People would make requests for things and they or others would fulfil that desire.

Housing might be simplified in the long run. Something akin to a hermit crab moving from shell to shell.

The system would rely on the goodwill of people, a letting go of perceived wealth and stability in favour of a system which is anarchistic but would, I imagine, still find flow and form - a more equitable kind of stability.

Is there space for town planning in such a system?

But to swim in the sea, fearful hands must let go of the rock and trust the water to carry, the currents not to overwhelm, and their limbs to propel them.

Yes yes yes yes yes.

No no no no no. Boo boo boo boo boo. Horray horray horray horray horray.

When you’re smiling, the whole world smiles with you. Not always. Not necessarily often. But sometimes!

And the orientation of the world curls upward and shines rosy along with your lips.

“Wherefor art thou waifu” by William Shakespeare: Her dreary eyes are nothing like the Sun; The sea holds brighter treasures than her lips; Where icy mounds are meant to be there’s none; Her mane of frizz is greying at the tips. I look at flowers like they’re foreign objects; Her features bear an alien resemblance; And her morning kiss my stomach rejects; So foul her putrid breath and languid countenance. She charms me with her voice and still my ears; Wish to hear her drowned out by the birds; I’ve never seen her run over the years; Her routine can be summed up in two words. That being said she makes me feel As though this ugly pig can heal.

#parody #poem #verse #poetry #sonnet

Moments of bliss are what we have, Moments of bliss between moments of bliss; Find the harmony in the discord, The pallet of colours, of tastes, of resonances That make your heart sing.

Let it sing out in love, in peace,

In generousity of spirit, In ungrasping awakened reverie, Reverence of the moment, Of the now.

#poem #poetry #love #verse

Mabel spread the red and white gingham cloth out on the breakfast table. The eggs sizzled, sunny-side-up nearby in the frying pan. Oil spattered and popped onto the painted metal of the stovetop. She smiled and hummed as she laid the three places out: “The daddy cutlery,” she said, and set down the large three-pronged fork and the steak-style serrated knife. “The baby cutlery,” she said, and set down the fine little knife and fork, lobed at the base with an enamelled monogram. “Baby CeeJaay!” she trilled quietly as she set the little utensils straight. “And the mommy cutlery!” she said next, and from the second draw down she took out her silverware box, extracting her own pair, and carefully set it down adjacent to little CJ’s, opposite her husband’s.

She smoothed her pretty dress and straightened the bandana that tamed her curly brown hair.

“Breakfast!” she called up towards the stairs, as she began shuffling bacon, eggs, toast, mushrooms, tomatoes and oven-ready hash browns onto the plates.

#prose #boring #breakfast

Pianissimo sweet one, Gentle, calm and mild, Dolcemente kiss my fingers, Hold me like a child.

Pianissimo sweet one, Let me lie while I am fed, Little lambs act for my footrests, Fragrant roses wreath my head. Pianissimo sweet one, But don’t let me forget: My hands hold your hands - and you hold me in your hands - And our love hangs in that net!

#poetry #poem #verse

Bumfa walla, mi lu spura cox pa Solo!

If it fits, you can do it. Break the seal, Pull the plug; Bun the hotdog: The possibilities are multifarious!

An open mind on a kitchen floor,

Soft, pliant flesh,

Fine, dexterous fingers,

Short, neat fingernails.

A pulse beats out of time.

There were times when I was blue, And couldnt see my own virtue, My books of meaning seemed untrue, So I turned to you.

#poem #poetry #writing #thoughts #spontaneous #verse

Pistachio carpet, caraway seeds. A sickly smell of synthetic orange. Open your eyes a little, open your heart a little more. Sweetness, stillness, aliveness. (Loch Ness) Write to me, won’t you? Don’t forget me. -------------------------------------------------------------- I could have danced! Why were there no places? They say the outcast will set his own village alight to feel its warmth. I’d set the dancefloor ablaze and spare myself the sorrow. I know you don’t get a chance to take a break or something - I know your mind is spinning and it isn’t stopping - Here, take my shirt and just go ‘head and wipe off all that - Sweat- Sweat - Sweat; and lose yourself to dance.

Don’t bother -- you can’t make a difference. Let’s not try, it’s too hard to do anything right now. Are you even a real person? Who are you trying to kid? Walking down the street I met a small boy. He was eating sweets and seemed nervous as I approached. His little pink fingers clutched his bonbons; the bag gently rustled in his hand. I wanted to appear friendly, but my adult features terrified him even as I put forward my best smile. I was the wolf, grinning and licking his lips at Little Red. But there was no attack, and, as scared as he was, he was unharmed. His trust in me grew a little way that day.

I couldn’t tell you if I wanted to.

My soul sat on a deep dark hole. I forgot to love life and it shrivelled. I sought worldly success and it shrivelled further. The edge grew close. I said, “This hole is all there is, but that’s all I need.” The hole shrank. I looked to the others, and saw the similarity of their circumstances and the uniqueness of their souls. My soul swelled into the full breadth of the hole.

“I have no values.” That’s what I said as the encroaching blackness lapped around my head like a sucking void. I lay back, casting the crook of my elbow across my brow in deep despair. All-consuming; not even the sunlight could reach me. “But, do you not eat bread rather than dirt? When you see a newborn, doesn’t your touch turn gentle? And, in your moments of relief, are you not able to laugh along with those friends who are still beside you? Then seek out those pieces of light within you, and walk in your own Sun.”

When I was young, I remember that I didn’t like to mix. Nobody came by the house, except a couple of times. Once, mum sat on the floor and cried. I didn’t know why she did that, but I cried too. When I was older, I kept the home and the outside separate. It didn’t feel right for me to bring people into my home life, to expose them to the remnants of the anxiety and misery that tainted the house -- that I had managed to numb with television.

Now, I make of point of seeing the world as my neighbour and I welcome them in with open arms. That’s not to say that I’m naive. I know how to keep my wits about me. But I think it’s worth walking this riskier line to see the best in people and trust where I can.

Towers of pink, Castles in the sun, Bright burning beaches, Time lingers on Kisses of purple, Orange winds sink, Through bright burning beaches, And castles of pink [...] Fleshy bone fingers, Taste on my tongue, Kisses of silver, Life lingers on

#poetry #verse #beaches #horizon

Could it be, could it be? Humming this, a trite ditty Man, that rhyme was quite shitty; That one wasn’t too bad.

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