ojovivo

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dirt enthusiast
h
Peter Solarz
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

titsay
Misplaced Lens Cap

Product Placement

Andulka
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if i look back, i am lost

shark vs the universe

Janaina Medeiros
d e v o n
hello vonnie
Show & Tell
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
cherry valley forever

seen from Pakistan
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seen from South Korea
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@woaboa
I can't believe our comfort turned rancid, now you stand by the door with your shoes on, instead of standing next to me in the kitchen cooking dinner; now you keep your hands to yourself instead of lying next to me in bed, and my god I never knew comfort could hurt so bad
One day I will fall in love again
With someone who loves me just the same
And I’ll be happy
To have been loved in other ways
As they made me
Appreciate
The love that came
HUG❤~~
Here is a poem
Tick tick tick
The impending doom is swarming me
Suffocating my brittle neck
Sending a sharp sting
Zap
Zap
Up my spine
Tingling
my fingers go numb
A potent smell violently enters
A metallic taste trickles on my tongue
Drip drip drip
It spews out my mouth....
The crimson milk.
Blood.
Squeezing
You hold me a hostage in your arms
Fate
Dangling above my head
You taunt me
But I’m dammed either way.
A sunken stare glares back at you
You don’t shudder
You don’t utter a word
You simply smile
This is what you wanted.
weapons grade
ever lie awake at the elbow of 4am picking at the scabs of your failures? you make yourself a list of the day’s mistakes and you’re thinking: for someone who is ostensibly intelligent you sure do manage to fuck up such basic things. communication, for instance should be so easy. but you never miss an opportunity to mess that up as well. also, not ruminating: why are you punching yourself? stop punching yourself. but there this perverse pleasure in self-criticism, in going super-critical, like a self-sustaining reaction in a ball of dirty uranium. then you realise: you’re not standing on solid ground any more, this is a swaying tower of pure fuck-ups all the way down, always has been, and these weren’t even spectacular crashes, only the ordinary, quiet kind of dying, an unobtrusive steel chain of these utterly small deaths. the killing of a minute – in which I am just another link.
- - -
edit: I suck.
ashes
it’s entertaining to watch fireworks, rockets; controlled explosions
but as soon as they become unpredictable they become unsettling and the awe turns into panic;
that’s the problem with us, we are fireworks one minute and the next we are forrest fires, solar flares, cigarettes and we burn wild and reckless until late at night, when i fall heavy next to you in bed
Two Months In Melrose
Everybody smiles in the countryside, as if they can’t smell the distinct and potent reek of fresh shit which fills the air. They exercise their cheeks up and down and up and down, like it is some sort of obscure hobby that they picked up when they were young and haven’t ever been able to let go. Their cheeks are full from their constant use, rosy and made of dough and oblivious to the fact that this hobby has become disconcerting in their continued pursual of it, like a group of adults who still meet up at the park for a weekly game of hide and seek; people in the countryside are a bit like that. They don’t seem to care much about the outside world. They’ll be hiding and seeking with arthritic knees and crow’s feet, wheeling each other down dark paths full of sticks and stones and a lot more safety than the alleyways of the city.
People in the countryside roam the pathways in the mid-morning bearing their pearliest of whites and knock you off balance with statements like good morning which leaves you pondering for the rest of the day if they were right and you just hadn’t noticed. By the evening you’re almost convinced that they were in fact correct but by then it is too late to return the sentiment as they have been busy enjoying the rest of a day which you have wasted standing beside a hedge pondering silly human trivialities like right and wrong.
So the people in the countryside keep smiling and greeting one another as they stop to let someone past on their walk or to cast another line into the river and they pass each other small bouquets of laughter in the form of anecdotes about their dog who just minutes ago tried to drink out of a fast-moving stream, only to slip and dunk his head under the water- what a dope. Oh the hilarity, the excitement, how you wish you could have been there and they pass around smiles and the dog looks up and wags its tail, tongue abandoned down the side of its cheek and smiles a big slabbery, I love you, smile either unaware or amused that it is the subject of hilarity. All it really wants is to join in with them all because dog’s are a man’s best friend- so they say, and maybe we would all be smiling a little more if we spent this much time just walking with our friends in the afternoons instead of grinding our teeth at the sound of our co-worker who insists on hammering the keyboard and spending coffee breaks telling us about reality television show characters as if they were their friends. They never wash the cups either.
And then it rains in the countryside and the people keep on smiling from beneath their hoods and underneath the branches of trees where they watch as the skies open and little streams push acorns down the hill and they say things as you pass like good afternoon as if to tell you that we are not already drowned yet and if it gets really bad then they have a friend who owns a small boat, and you spend the rest of the day pondering silly human trivialities like if you should buy a boat.
And the fishermen smile and continue to throw in their lines and you don’t know if the fish have maybe cottoned on not to eat the worms with the giant hooks in them because none of them seem to be catching anything but also, none of them seem to care and even if they did hook a tiddler they would smile and kiss it goodbye and throw it back into the river to learn not to eat the worm with the hook in it next time, and the fishermen would wave it off and pack their bags and head on home after another successful day.
Still, the people all smile in the countryside with an abundance of white in their eyes like they are supressing a screaming secret inside of their mind like these woods are full of the bodies of unsuspecting city dwellers who followed their sat-nav down the wrong road and were never seen again and everybody in this little village is in on it when they give you directions or suggest obscure and undiscovered beauty spots for you to visit. It looks like there’s no path but just keep going and you’ll find that. Maybe that spring in their step is a tiny jig of excitement as they watch you take another step towards their doom. Probably not.
But still, everybody smiles in the countryside and you can head the wind and the locals as they whistle while walking down the street, whistle a song that gets caught up in your head for the rest of the day and everyone knows everything about this tiny bubble of the world and they all know all about you, they want to know all about you- you exotic piece of meat, you wonder, they want to know what it is that brought you to their tiny little pocket of the world and this brings them joy and they smile when you tell them about things like your city job. What’s their secret? What is this hack for happy that they have found? Surely your mundanities cannot bring such entertainment.
The people all smile in the countryside but maybe they’re not happy-perhaps this is the natural amount of elation that human beings are supposed to exude and all of us cooped up in the city have been too busy masturbating at the walls of our cages and worrying about beating the lunch rush at McDonald’s to realise it.
Because the people all smile in the countryside, as they willingly surround their houses with piles of manure to be cooked by the sun and caught by the wind and delivered fresh to their doors, or their bedroom windows where they take a long and lasting hit deep down into their lungs and hold it there for a moment before they exhale and as they do, they smile. While all of us worry about silly human trivialities, like the smell of shit.
Everybody smiles in the countryside, there must be something in the air.
Playing games
You use my name too often And I bet it is Because you read Some kind of Pop psychology post On Instagram Stating people like this
Stop it
Once you have my attention It’s a needless Nuisance
I see you
One fistful of honey To smear around my lips, and One fistful of butter To make me Sleek as Silk
I am not to be inveigled
You’d have a better chance Solely focusing on My libido
But you push a man’s ego’s buttons In sequence, automated
It’s humorous
Insult me some more, puppet master
Pull the strings That make magic happen In this sawdust Brain
I’ve got nothing to lose And you’ve got nothing To gain
Guess who, between the two of us Is enjoying all this time
Wasted
— 14-7-2021, M.A. Tempels ©
You took everything from me
Every memory
Every poorly kept stuffed animal
Every wrinkled photo from birth till now
Every sad day scribbled so viciously into old notebooks the pages would rip
You took my life from me
Every old book collected from libraries and garage sales on lonely Saturday afternoons
The kimono my dad gave me from Singapore
The letters my mom wrote to me when we were both too sad to speak
The birthday cards I collected since I was 9 with my grandma’s handwriting saying “xoxo”
The movie theater tickets from nights with best friends I lost because of you
My first concert tickets
Chinese fortunes from late night adventures
My life cannot be replaced
These material items, as simple as they may be
Meant the fucking world to me
And I couldn’t even fight for them
I just let you take it
I let you take me
I let you keep me
Keep my life
Never again, will I let anyone bury me the way you did
“When I say, I love you, it’s not because I want you or because I can’t have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I’ve seen your kindness and your strength. I’ve seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are.”
— Joss Whedon
I want to drive my car on full speed, blasting heavy metal music while tears drip down my cheeks. My glassy eyes making the road blurry at 3am. Headlights turned off. I want to step on the gas and crash into the only source of light I see on the road, a lamp post. Only because, there was no light in my life till now. And when I crash, I want my car to burst into flames, the fire to envelop me.
And perhaps, that will be the only time I will ever be held so close. The fire enveloping me so closely that no one had dared to till then. That's the way I want to go.
|| I am not promoting anything self destructive through this post, please stay safe while driving and keep others safe too. please seek help if you are having suicidal thoughts. ||
love sneaks up on you. you never realize until you can't be without them, when you go to tell them about your day, when you panic over the impermanence of your relationship. love, for me, has been characterized by terror. the terror of being vulnerable.
love is begging to be hurt. it's pulling back the exterior and exposing the raw skin underneath. i'm asking: please hold my heart in your hands. we were made to love, as mortifying as it is, and sometimes i feel so full of it that i fear i'll overflow.
i feel love in the warm soup for a sick soul, cinnamon spiced breakfast and powdered sugar, writing a letter that will never be sent. it's in the handwritten notes in a lunchbox, pressed onto a cheek in the morning, painted onto cave walls by a hand, the soft purr of a cat. love is in our cries, our laughs. i walk through this world hoping that my love is omnipresent.
it's as timeless as it is brief. you can't love someone in the same way forever. even with my severed connections, i feel my affection coursing through me for ghosts that haunt my past. let me care- it means i am human. let me hurt- it means i have loved.
I’ve done this before
Scratching
Clawing
Gnashing
Pleading and begging
My bones,
hardening to cement then crumbling into weeping rubble
Rendering me stagnant and stupid
At the absolute mercy
Of someone who is unsure
I recognize this,
I recognize you
orange boy
small bits
could you take this flowerpot
and cradle it close
till the pieces fit back together
id say something abt the stars here
but they’re foggy in my head
and i’m not sure what i’d say anyway
rotting tooth-boy
yr gums are sweet fungus
hands tight like the bones are straining
all u want is to get out
scrambling for purchase
think u can tell the mushrooms abt me
when u curl up to sleep in the moss
and let ur friendship bracelets crumble softly
sweet dreams lovely
i’ll think abt you when it’s most inconvenient
and when im loneliest
how’s that for a promise?
think i wanted to say something abt yr freckles
or the way we held hands tight and told secrets
till the word friendship pulled too tight around the edges
or maybe that the ending
was shattered bone on impact
blood and guts desperate to hold tight
no clean breaks here
just bones that healed close enough
you can pretend they were same as before
but this is shitty notes app poetry
abt a bruise that faded over a long time ago
so im hoping that wherever u ended up
u took good care of yr bones
and that the break scabbed over
winter coat, a poem. 2020
Day #10 - June 16th 2021
In the neighbourhood I live in
There are no sidewalks
So idle feet wander too close to the center of traffic
Hills dip when you look away and
Pavements rise to tap the tips of your toes
Maybe the
Dog-walker nods to you when you pass
In the neighbourhood I live in
Branches reach out from backyards
Spindly with
Flowers vibrant
Dripping spiders and mealworms into your hair
And lawns stretch like great green warnings
Don’t step, or you’ll dirty your shoes
Soft footfalls and
Gravel
Crunches
In the neighbourhood I live in
Silence of rustling leaves and bird chirps dog the steps
Mellow back and forth of swaying breeze
Of the taste of summer under your tongue
Velvet of flower petals curling against the thumb
One thinks they might just be drunk
From the scent of
Honeysuckles