#liquid words

[ungrandvide]

Ed Ruscha

thanks to thursdays, favorite day of the week

[flowersgivemepowers]

Screaming won’t silence the demons that scream louder than my own insecurity wrapped in a blanket of serenity….get it? I don’t. Leave me to be just the washed up piece of tomorrow, listening to only my heart that doesn’t recognise that time is up. No more pills to cure the venom that is soaring through my veins. Sometimes it’s just the game that comes with the name but I’m just wondering how much of what we are is sane because in this moment, there is no clarity. Only questions of honesty…only questions of loyalty but maybe it’s just a teenage adulthood phase. For now I’ll stay wrapped up in a haze.

[unlockwords]

Creating art

I don't know why, but sometimes at night I am overwhelmed with intangibles that need to find a way out. I can't even explain how good it feels to splatter yourself into something that can be defined, despite how vulnerable it makes you. It feels like you've leaked a hole in your pressurized heart, and let the blood that cruises your veins draw circles onto blank canvases. You might feel so exposed, but life is never exciting behind closed doors. Do you know the feeling? Like the entire world is in your grasp. With a stroke of a pen you could let a piece of you become a piece of something else, and that something else is what you will present the world, because it is your present to the world. Maybe they won't all look at it the same, maybe they will redefine it with their words and their sight, but there isn't a correct answer to the question you've posed and nothing can be described completely in one opinion, after all. I swear with all my heart to store nothing but genuine truths in every 'something else' I create, so when another turns in around in the palm of their hands, paints close observations with their steady eyes, maybe they too can feel what I feel, taste what runs through my veins and recognize my vulnerability. Maybe they will unlock a door or two, or even just a window, and pick up the broken pieces of themselves to make something else. Maybe they will try and understand that sometimes when you are unshielded you will feel less pain.

[howtorentaroom]

Ed Ruscha- Adios 1967. part of 'liquid words' series. i think it was painted on steel.

[ssslizzz]

Sometimes I still miss you. Sometimes I still crave the touch that’s purely your own, that look that’s held only behind your eyes. You were never mine. You will never be mine. The words are hard to say, but I’ve come to grips with it. That doesn’t make them any less heavy.

There’s an invisible force that always brings me back to you. I’d do anything to break it, but I’m afraid it can’t be broken. Your smile creeps inside my eyes, your laugh imitates what my heart says.

I just miss all that you are, ever were. I wish we could go back to that place. Our own secret sanity, it was always so thin and faded so fast. I wish I never let go.

What we had was always so incomprehensible, like it was too big for either of us. It's far away now, probably unreachable if we tried, but there will always be a little part of you with me. Our hearts were crazy but they beat for each other. Quietly. Beautifully. The pieces of ourselves always fitting together, although a little bit worn. The light that's only in your eyes is like a fire. It's so scary and yet I can't look away. I'm stuck there. I'm stuck with you. My own little train wreck to comfort and hold. There's always a place for you to fall apart in my arms.

[unlockwords]

Why do you think it is that the sun sets every evening, but comes back the same way every morning? Do you think it is because of routine, because the world is set in this endless cycle; with each daybreak and nightfall, do you think it will always be that way? 

One day the sun will not rise. You will be left confused in the dark, thinking perplexing thoughts and drawing uncertain conclusions. You will wonder--as we all will at one point in our tireless lives--how many things have you taken for granted? How many mornings have you woken up to without thanking the sun? How many steps have you taken without thanking the earth? How many stars have you counted without thanking the skies?

How many. The answer is, as it is for all of us, a lot. But it doesn't change much, really, because the things you know and love are also the things you leave unacknowledged. They are the things you forget though they stand in plain sight, willing you to remember. And until the day the sun does not rise, they remain hidden from your shallow sight, holding your life together as if with invisible thread, waiting for the day they will wither and break. You will be surprised and you will wait and hope and wait some more, but the unmistakable truth has settled like dust; the sun has finally set for good.