misc. & me

[clementinejamz]

the reflective aesthete

[ypcx]

is light the god of individuation that baptized you—Self—and won't let you forget

[ypcx]

033.10.21.15

the sun reached towards me between the evergreens it kissed my ear then my cheeks

my lips curved in delight the world too then set aflame, flooded with sunlight

gold dust gleamed on the grass blades folding in the cool blowing

the road smiled at the blushing sky neither cared that it’d soon be night

all of the glow faded, evaporated against the black sky reborn and exasperated

[wordswilling]

We don’t have a language for the senses. Feelings are images, sensations are like musical sounds.

Anaïs Nin, February 1932 diary entry (via wordswilling)

[ypcx]

032.9.19.15

there beyond we cannot cross the current’s power’s ancient grew strong long before us can’t you hear it? a rush of promise the seducing tide it’s hypnotizing dance march towards end in great guise

it pulses like a youthful heart and thus it calls weak spirits sings them aboard with songs of abroad a moment of relief from their ache of longing as for those whose ears refuse to listen find their skin quenched by a misty scent and thus the tumbling waters tempt a rush, now static, electrifies me

now, I too believe I’ll cross though it’s direction is clear I’ll jump deep within its breadth There, I’ll I shed my fear for in this current it is useless to steer

for in mere minutes I’ll be chewed up and swallowed fall deep to it’s depth truly, they’ll say, it was fate that I followed

[ypcx]

031.9.18.15

sometimes it’s not a long drive or a soft tune not the time of night or all that is left to do

it might be the bend of the road how it curves slow and both my hands on the wheel want to let go

the street is smooth but it grips me the wave I ride all the way home hums me a lullaby conjures no sleep just a need to escape to keep driving and flee

[dailynietzsche]

“Progress is just a modern idea, which is to say a false idea. Development is not linked to elevation or strengthening in any necessary way.”

—F. Nietzsche, The Anti-Christ, §4 (edited excerpt).

[your-last-cigarettee]

To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.

Friedrich Nietzsche (via your-last-cigarettee)

[dailynietzsche]

“Saying yes to life, even in its strangest and harshest problems, is what I call Dionysian. That is the bridge I found to the psychology of the tragic poet. Not to escape horror and pity or cleanse yourself of a dangerous affect by violent discharge, as Aristotle thought, but rather so that you yourself may be the eternal joy in becoming.”

—F. Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols, “What I Owe The Ancients,” §5 (edited excerpt).

[philosophyandthearts]

Life consists of rare, isolated moments of the greatest significance, and of innumerably many intervals, during which at best the silhouettes of those moments hover about us. Love, springtime, every beautiful melody, mountains, the moon, the sea - all these speak completely to the heart but once, if in fact they ever do get a chance to speak completely

F. Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human (via philosophyandthearts)

[ypcx]

030.7.17.15

my mind wanders and I lose my keys in a pocket or in a drawer perhaps the table or the floor

when I am angry I make haste as if it would also make me keen rather it blurs my vision condenses to a cloud hanging high on my shelves or like fog over the counter I am looking but I do not see I stop only to feel time ticking away patience and all sensibility

of course, I have overlooked it a million times already I skim through a list choose the next possibility my eyes turn to seek and ignore the keys just beneath it

inconvenience is so intoxicating it’s infused in many drinks and I drink wholly from life so it, too, drinks from me

[ypcx]

029.6.21.15

I don’t write fluidly or honestly anymore. Where once a river flowed with ideas and dreams, a dam now resists them. My fountain pen once poured liquid mirrors, a silver hope, into small pools of reflection... but now it’s run dry. When did my mind become infiltrated with automated filtration?

[ypcx]

028.6.7.15

she was sick as a dog covered in fleas limping about on two broken knees

she cowers from her breath for in it are ghosts she gasped them in when she needed a trophe

they swim in her lungs take tours through her veins she’s entirely inhabited “No Vacancy,” her name

some nights she weeps, others she stares into the cosmos and asks, “Is anybody there?”

but no divine answer has reached her thus far whimpering and woeful she prays to a star

but in fact it’s a satellite and it too won’t respond it just floats in the air never thinks of her

not only blind, but alone the years but a maze she can never keep track of the numerous, blurred days

when time’s vicious current rushes with might she simply breaks down won’t fly nor fight

and thus her condition a girl so ill minded she sold her one soul to forever stay blinded

no one dares come by, they know she’s not there, when you knock, nobody answers, and nobody cares

[ypcx]

027.5.1.15

although, I whereas, you in my life, I’d never do

become what you are, reveal your frame, yield its content, tell its name

but against me came fury and wrath you saw your wrong in the aftermath

heaving in awe, you fill with regret my finger outstretched, your direction met

[ypcx]

026.4.30.15

body is wise head, weak when it loses control body can’t speak

heart chooses beat head has no rhythm no system can restrain the signals it’s given

mind feels alone atop it’s old throne the tyrant that screams, “Is anyone home?”

but dare the heart answer, “master, I’m here” the old tyrant, startled, retreats with fear

“I’ll pretend no one’s there” as lungs fill with air, “that voice brings me pain, I must pay no care.”

heart worries and  warns, “please, just believe, I’m here for your good, listen to me.”

the tyrant, afraid continues his way but heart knows to try again the next day.

[ypcx]

025.4.23.15

The future is somehow brighter (the past I won’t bring up) Presently,        a match strikes,                                  fire! I hope I don’t burn up

[ypcx]

024.4.18.15

the bud of a flower the bust of a coward

time happens regardless of which you are... powerless