"Only The Dream Of Fantasy"

I'm trying to fiddle with art less Noah - SoCal

[time-sinks]

god damn metaphor

I'm sick of being the beggar borrowing change from strangers at intersections / I'm licking blood from lacerations left over from daybreaks and family vacations / I'm in constant thought about things that I think might spring up within the next hour or two / I'm in love with intangible features of people that rest behind my eyelids /

[time-sinks]

the day the clouds blew in

We were friends back when we didn't need a future yet. The only space for memory was filled by chunks of blue sky. The steady crawl of time was a little more graceful than my own, but at least I ended up on my feet. You could not stay, I know it was not your decision to make. Without you the world seemed just as bright when I learned to view things differently. The same light poured from the blue sky. These eyes were made for inundation, not for the learning curve of observation. Thick tree branches were made for sitting, so I did and I pondered just where had you wandered. The same light poured from the full moon. At noon each day the tower would chime a hollow note, though I sometimes slept well through it. At one time your voice might have tried to echo the tone. The people I passed on the sidewalk became my modern education, and I studied. The orange ceiling of Earth captivated my memories. An unseen horizon overpowered the chunks of blue sky, something I couldn't do for all my studies. You would have brushed up the footprints we left on the sandy shore, but your toes weren't shovels anymore. Your hands would not pull me from open jaws again. I would sleep when I was tired and awake when I was tired. There was nothing I admired more than my own shallow grave.

[time-sinks]

this is a nation of sleepless faces the undead walking corpse oasis men and women drive in metal beasts there is no place for the horses anymore this is a nation of sleepless faces late shift scrounging for minimum wage corporate heads fund law creation from conception to orphanage doorstep this is a nation of sleepless faces our bullet holistic generation lovers quarrel with smoking guns clouds take the form of objects, places paradise

[time-sinks]

I just want to lay around a while and be with the woman I love and forget about the future for the present.

[whoisthewz]

I often wonder how I exist in the minds of people who are no longer in my life. Am I still their friend? Am I still the boy they fell in love with? Am I still someone they would turn to if things got rough? I wonder what version of me they remember. Do they remember the times we laughed until we cried or do they remember the times I caused them to sob uncontrollably? Do they remember when I said I love you or do they remember when I said goodbye? I worry that they remember our shared past differently than I do. It scares me because they might remember me as a person who I don’t think I am, and that person they remember is probably closer to the truth.

[time-sinks]

I’m on the water / as though I might swim or paddle / but on another hand why bother / if not for the hand on the ball / the compass in my hand doesn’t wobble / even a blind man could know where the going gets / and there’s pounding in my head where the knowing is / this raft is a relic from another age / on that front I’m moving forward but it feels the same way / and would be nice but an oar would fair better / a real boat with bilge water, now that’s a trendsetter / unfortunately / it’s not a regime I could follow for the life of me / I’m all on the ropes and they’re pulled taut / throws from the wind grip my throat / from my mind steal my thought / Now I’m drifting…

[time-sinks]

I've been working on a carving since the weekend passed. It's of a path that runs directly through a dense wood where the shadows shape the future and blanket the past. You can tell your gods I'm not looking back and that's a promise. I'm trusting the howls of the wind more than I am my own eyes these days.

[time-sinks]

#mondays #mad at myself in a lot of ways #mad at the wind and the sea that birthed me #mad at the flowers, the trees that don't let me pretend there isn't beauty #fog in the morning and my eyes and my brain and my mind #daydreams of taking a bullet train to god knows where #i think I'd find you there

— 9/x/15

[dfalksjdflkaskladsjflas]

i want to tell you this great awful truth it’s easy to distract yourself when you’re pretty and let’s all keep that adjective poisonous because the only reason my mom still loves me is because in certain lights i look a lot like her and can we all bury ourselves in inanimate admiration for each other i already know how all of it works you love you learn you worship dead things so you can die and feel like someone will admire you does it really matter though look at me does it really matter i will wander this whole campus, whole world entirely invisible but i want to say anyway that i’m just trying to learn to navigate the chaos that none of us notice or try to ignore by force by intoxication me being the most guilty open this beer for me then leave the point is im coping with something i’d leave anywhere to see maggie and get high and have her lie beside me and think about what would be fun to do if i wasnt so nervous in the meantime me and emily get drunk and forget about what she learned in a past life everyone is intrinsically interesting, sometimes i forget on purpose it’s overwhelmingly beautiful because remember, you will die a foolish death and people will remember you out of sentimentality but you will never hang or buy the crew beer you will never invent a new way of coping with the break up ‘i loved you when i saw you but only til i knew you’ is the story of me and every girl i wanted to touch so bad i bought another beer

[maldarchive]

set Alight, what do I  make of this? the bruise

on my arm too purple       to be tended to. 

until I learn       to say, with certainty, 

that we are  real,

I must remain quiet.        your smell paces back and forth across my chest. 

I cannot write this poem yet.

[dfalksjdflkaskladsjflas]

Poem 9

i forget what i was going to say initially but i just spilled coffee on my jeans so now i am going to say that sometimes friday nights are not nearly as exciting as any given monday night and people forget this, and get disproportionally excited about friday night in comparison to other nights, tuesday or sunday  but really it’s all the same and anything incredible could happen at any time like wednesday night i got drunk with my friend and talked about Real Things and it was great and i woke up and felt like ‘yeah’ comparatively that friday i went to a party and stood around and felt a heady emptiness set to dwell in my stomach for the remainder of that night and most of the morning, drinking and not talking except when a boy wandered over confused and hopeful and trying to make his night extraordinary and no one can blame anyone for this it’s just sad we could never help each other in any sense  and he didnt even know it

anyway that wasnt the point, anyway the point is every night of the week i am trying just as hard as i do on friday or saturday to make something extraordinary happen, or not really but i’m hoping to be happy and that feels stupid to say outloud so i’m saying it here instead and hoping no one ever brings it up which is really all you can do 

[tristamateer]

I am going to hurt you.

You are going to hurt me.

But we will do it with practiced fingers and passionate mouths and I swear to god

it will be worth something.

[time-sinks]

On your fathers lawn, where we first kissed, there’s a story, birdsong and some grassy footprints. At the train station, where we first said goodbye, there’s a pool of the floor, there were tears in our eyes.

9/3/15

[wetheurban]

Glitter, Oil, & Soap - “Odyssey”, Ruslan Khasanov

Russian artist Ruslan Khasanov just released a glittery follow-up to his mesmerizing“Pacific Light” video from a few years ago that captured close-up mixing of ink, oil and soap. The video, titled “Odyssey,” has us just as transfixed as last time… 

Keep reading

[on-poetry]

The vacancy, knowing you’re in love with your nostalgia

[wordsnquotes]

I put it down on paper and then the ghost does not ache so much.

Sandra Cisneros (via wordsnquotes)

[antigonick]

I believe in rot. I believe in bones, in withering organs, in snapped sinews. I believe in the irony of life that made our smiles a flaunting of our skeletons, an omen of the grave, and I believe in the eternal nothingness that awaits me when at last I will close my eyelids on a long-expected pain. I know the morgues and the proceedings in black and the poetic epitaphs and I know them all to be crutches for the living, so they may accept death, extinction, perdition — loved ones first, and then the self, because your turn will come just like mine. Delusions : ghosts, monsters, nightmares, dreams, words, fears. A permission to live for nothing until you’re no more.

Pauline Albanese, Notes From Avalon (via odysees)