Principles don't allow for wishing in one hand so big corporations can shit in the other....
Me. #outmymouth
$LAYYYTER

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RMH
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Monterey Bay Aquarium

Andulka
🪼

@theartofmadeline
art blog(derogatory)
One Nice Bug Per Day

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
styofa doing anything
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#extradirty

Product Placement
Peter Solarz
Not today Justin
Game of Thrones Daily
d e v o n
todays bird
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@visumadastra
Principles don't allow for wishing in one hand so big corporations can shit in the other....
Me. #outmymouth
. History, Bookmarks and People Herein these digitized categories Lies lost souls, saved regrets, And the owners of those fates. Today my friends, the great Light of day hath been saved, Squandered not on summertime Thoughts and ice cream cones now, But collected in stead, in hopes. In icicles and feasts afront the fire, In fairy tales formulated by frost-like Figures: Ones and Zeros chained together Despite their obvious contradiction of Naught and Ought. Yes, today daylight hath been saved. And it is to be praised! . Words/Photo ©Carly O'Neil aka #visumadastra
Derived from the word destiny, gracing pages of glossy go-and-tell magazines, envied and even lamented, a destination is a blank check…
Looking to the sky, watching time fly off into Never-Forever.
By day or by night, the seeker’s mission is as constant in its melancholy as the deep rhythm of the ocean’s eyelashes batting at the shores of man, blinking away the salty tears of transcending time whilst occupying space.
Chris Cornell said he was tired; As am I-tired. But I don’t think that ‘tired’ is relatable, past a certain sensation.
My first long essay, on the subject of Mental Health Awareness.... TW: #ptsd #suicide #depression
Featuring SelfPortraits “Audioslave” : My Studio, May 2015
I avoid eye contact-not to evade your perception that I am somehow less-than, but to escape from the conspicuous distaste for me that is forever etched in your expression, like a war-hungry-scalp-hunter set in wax, on display-for all of Metropolitan History to witness. I avoid eye contact- the marble-and-concrete mausoleum the glass is getting thin and the air grows stagnant from sealing not the relics-but life, from the permanent residue of time. - @carlyoneil + @carlyadastra + @visuminflecto
Holes make hollows in my words, As I hold the conversation with the holes in my heart- have-nots that notate each miserable moment that languishes by before daybreak beats the dawn down to the night, Who’s buried before dusk, but reclaims the Luminance before being silenced by Solitude. @carlyoneil wr/selfportrait 0ctn0v2o|6
The sky was Peppered with flight, While the chivalrous Rode out to battle, Leaving the heaving hearts Draped over the edge…… And I’m only standing here, staring at clouds, that I wish You were here to see with me.
Sense and senses, Disguised as twins but One is wolf in sheep's clothing The other an anchor to your Ankles, tied and twisted. Keeping you weighed down As a reminder that the remainder Intend to feast.
wr> 0čt.2o!6 ph>self portrait /> ãū9.2oī6 @carlyoneil // @artbrainarchive : @visuminflecto + @visumadastra
Bundled, bustled and busted Between the before and after is A benign place- infested, but the Calamity yet unknown. Points, pontifications and postures Pleading with pleasure to return, to Resurface-wash away the push to perfection.
SelfPortrait, September 2o16. My Apt. Brooklyn. @carlyoneil
*1950s Russian Jupiter8 analog glass, adapted to my FujifilmXT-1
Their Privilege is Her Destiny. n0v.!3.2o|6
Afterall. Just a reminder. #shortpoem
Notes to My Future Self
The Awakened One stays with the ‘what is...?’. The unawakened one keeps moving away from the ‘what is’.
July 2012
----->I’m not really sure what I was saying....it kinda breaks me half, like a strange echo.... or a scene remembered from a lingering dream. -2016, CeO.
It’s In-Between My Ears
Where do I start? Where was it you left off?
When exactly did you decide that the sound of my voice is merely a mutable mouthful, assuming that I had already finished before I started?
When an ear, or eye is necessary-you find me. When a hand or heart is warranted, you find me.
......And let's admit it: you always know where to find me, despite my tendency to tenderly take time-out, as the seconds tick tick tick, like a bomb about to explode inside my own head.
The hermit hides to heal, but the explosions between my ears become echoed- the delayed redundancy drives me down. Do-excuse.....
My exaltations are misinterpreted and death threats bounce with a buoyant bliss from your lips like sweet Sakura blossoms tossed into the wind. (As if Death is something so easily sought. She hides inside our hearts, and to awaken her from slumber not a wise wish, when she is so insatiably hungry after hibernation.)
How?....
The question gets lost inside of a hundred different threads of thought that spring from monumental memories and manipulations that make me question the original momentum of your flippant fallacy, and attempts to masks the monster. in my own memento mori I am that monster, and so I suppose you a mediocre monster....
..... but I have to remember that the House Of Mirrors is host to hauntings and hopes held in ransom. I wonder why i prefer this dynamic? Why do I feel as though I must hold all the cards when you are such a talented dealer of stacked decks?
Whispers wonder 'will she ever.....?' I know that the patience needed to wait for the orchid's centennial bloom seems futile when you can, instead, berate the bloom for the pace by which she bleeds after being plucked from blossom?
My mind whizzes with timestreams and time stamped tremors, equations of life and longing, the rhythm and the melody, and each and every articulation of instance-in order to align the outcome with the intended intonations. Aligning time with tactile, life becomes the tattle tale that never seems to be ashamed of its unabashed uselessness.
Sadness seeps into the cracks between bats of eyelash, knowing that 'somewhere out there' is unreachable from over here, having been hollowed out so hard, that even the hyenas seem uninterested in hashing out who gets the heart.
Had you hesitated in heaving, I could have helped, could have pretended not to have heard. This is my only applicable gift- to gently let you off the hook, but you have implanted hooks just beneath my skin and your pulling on puppet strings pricks my skin as those snake-like daggers sneak closer to the surface and threaten to tear out all temptation to take you at face value.
I know you, monster. You're the same numb, but then- nimble in your knack to nonchalantly choke the choice out of your prey.
I know you, monster. You're the same sorry simpleton, but unyielding in your solicitations to seek, to shape, to shift.
I know you- monster.....censor....pastor....prince.
Missing Items:
I miss Rick. And Rusty.....and all those that I have collaborated with who have moved on to the next magical reassimilation of renewed collected atoms and neutrons. I miss my studio, the southern light, the bird's nest above Baltimore, where I finally had a real home, a successful career, put many ghosts to bed, and turn- became one myself. I miss inspiring and having that creative inspiration pouring from my pores. I miss Sunset Park and the invigorating community, full of life and promise. I miss my 'family'- all those that have crossed my path and became frozen in time with me via hundredths and thousandths of seconds that expressed lifetimes of love and loss and emotion. I miss being heard, healed and hopeful. I miss my art- my heart. I miss being missed, mattering and the mountains. I miss the naivette of thinking that expectations being met half-way, but at least half is twice as much as none. I miss respect, consent and freedom of choice. I miss the days that it seems like there are people who have my back, want the best for and from me, in exchange for a ten-fold return on investment. I miss the days that I trusted myself to remember to breathe, and to feel my heart beating instead of constantly racing or nearly ceasing to be felt. I miss the concept that what you give is what you get, and believing it, blindly- as though determination were destiny. I miss..... 'me'.