Human Noise

Written down

[steam-punk-overlord]

Meet me in the middle of this mundane moment and we will—with artist’s touch—make it miraculous. Craft humor in a sentence to tease my brain with songs of giggles and imperfect snorts. This minute now and over already—like no other. You are like no one I know but you. How it is we have only met such a short time ago and you see through me like a well rehearsed life time of memories. How it was that I could long for you years before I heard your name. How you called to me without a word.

You are you drawn to me as I am to you. Two stories written to be told with each other.

To me you are the smell of skin, clean sweat, bedsheets, video game controllers and sunflower seeds spat in a taco bell bag. We are joy amidst poverty. Such a depth of contentment they’d wish to commodify but cannot figure out how…you are my priceless poor love.

[steam-punk-overlord]

New Year’s Eve begins

then follows the swirl of dread I feel twist

And ripple through me.

I could be dead next year

Or empty of you

My hands hurt now…

I feel it pull in my stomach

I have known that absence

A brutal ache and burn that haunts me

I stay home to minimize damage

Little risks

Little fears

Panic is warranted

If I sense a threat.

But I am told that is no way to live.

I am living with my eyes closed

Standing in the tracks

I can hear the horns but faintly now

If I plug my ears.

I am learning to know

Existence must be danger

I must live it out scared

This is somehow yet —

The most courageous choice.

-S.S. Dash

[steam-punk-overlord]

Thoughts On Yearning

Seeing signs in sand and nothing.

Once in love we will talk of how simple it is

How it was always easy

I love and they love me.

Therein the torture if unrequited

That it can be so clear to the one—

How poorly the pair

But the one holding hope is seeing patterns and arrows in the stars pointing to this perfect moment

And how they’re trying to say—

Or if they could just—

See.

Before you’ve held it or once you have lost it

Love feels desperate and just out of reach.

After you have found it

Love feels like something you have always known or should have….

I do not know what it’s like to hear a song and not wish somehow deep inside me I knew how to play it

How the words would feel drawn from my vocal chords

The notes pulled out by my fingers

But I guess that’s how it would feel not to play an instrument but want to.

There are some lessons once learned that change how your eyes can see

And what your ears once heard.

-S.S.Dash

[steam-punk-overlord]

Blanket of Snow

Winter, safe

In it’s low expectations

Allows me to indulge

Warm blankets

Deep sleep.

Wrap me in the quiet of heavy snow fall

Empty roads

We have no reason to leave.

Holding concious in the present

Soak in time untapped by obligation.

The freedom to exhaust and rest and rest again…

[king-underthe-mountain]

The Scottish Highlands

[steam-punk-overlord]

Sunday

The Sundays of old christened “the day of rest”

But how restful can a day of rising with the sun, gendered dominion, and fire and brimstone for every wayward breath— be?

I take my Sundays waking next to love, grateful prayers, cups of coffee, curled under clean sheets. Rest with praise. Deep conversations with friends alighting the spark still flickering—gesturing always toward the need to create as we were created. Wandering through the crunching leaves following a crows call. How I’ll write or sing, or draw it all out later…

Sunday subcreation

Sleep deep and worship with your hands.

[steam-punk-overlord]

Demoralized

If you start to change or demoralize, to accept what was once unacceptable. Remember the people that cheer in those moments and stay away from them.

[firstfullmoon]

“In a way, the process of grief, I have found, can mirror that of writing: it is surprising, trying, frustrating, daunting, terrifying, comforting, chastening, challenging, and at times, heartening; grief can provide fel­lowship with others interested in the experience; it brings out the best in us, and at times the worst, if only because it is utterly human. It can feel inevitable, but it is so personal, so differently pitched for each, that it can reside across a great gulf. Yet poetry, like grief, can be the thing that bridges the gap between us, that brings us together and binds us.”

— Kevin Young, from his introduction to The Art of Losing: Poems of Grief and Healing

[leonardospoetry]

All things are meltable, and replaceable. Not at this moment, but soon enough, we are lambs and we are leaves, and we are stars, and the shining, mysterious pond water itself.

Mary Oliver

[wordlocker]

“To Know the Dark”, Wendell Berry

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light. To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight, and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings, and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

[footnoteinhistory]

“The message is plain enough, and we have ignored it for too long: the great, centralized economic entities of our time do not come into rural places in order to improve them by "creating jobs." They come to take as much of value as they can take, as cheaply and as quickly as they can take it. They are interested in "job creation" only so long as the jobs can be done more cheaply by humans than by machines. They are not interested in the good health—economic or natural or human—of any place on this earth.

“And if you should undertake to appeal or complain to one of these great corporations on behalf of your community, you would discover something most remarkable: you would find that these organizations are organized expressly for the evasion of responsibility. They are structures in which, as my brother says, "the buck never stops." The buck is processed up the hierarchy until finally it is passed to "the shareholders," who characteristically are too widely dispersed, too poorly informed, and too unconcerned to be responsible for anything. The ideal of the modern corporation is to be (in terms of its own advantage) anywhere and (in terms of local accountability) nowhere.”

–Wendell Berry, “Conserving Communities,” Another Turn of the Crank: Essays (11-12)

[buttonpoetry]

“I am pulling myself from the magician’s hat, night after night, and I have the scars to prove it.”

— Guante, from A Love Song, A Death Rattle, A Battle Cry

[nothingwithoutwords]

surrounded by old books with withered yellow pages curled around my finger that is my favorite place to be.

‘books’ from it starts like this by shelby leigh (via nothingwithoutwords)

[steam-punk-overlord]

Don’t hang out with people who make you feel as if you talk too much.

My Best Friend

[steam-punk-overlord]

It is bleak to feel unworthy; even worse to know.

[wordsnquotes]

I mean, I have moments of huge frustration because of my inability to express myself linguistically as clearly as I would like to.

David Gilmour (via wordsnquotes)

[coffeestudent]