May 14th, 2005
|devenirlumiere||12:49 pm - Letter to a pocket full of beach.|
We've got you pegged little shell
the games up and your
maddening spirals are going to be ground down for dream dust.
shhhhhh. don't try to argue,
this hurts us more than it hurts you,
but with sun and wind rocking you back and forth over synapses, you'll realize
it was all for the best,
in the end.
February 6th, 2005
I glued hydrangea's to my lips and hoped
the sandman would be tempted to kiss them in my sleep...
December 15th, 2004
I wrote a haiku....
It is dedicated to anyone that deserves it.
fuck you fuck you fuck
you fuck you fuck you fuck you
fuck you fuck you fuck
Current Music: simon and garfunkmaster
September 27th, 2004
The best bargains can be found when the streets flow red with blood.
Current Mood: anxious
Current Music: Tom Waits - Alice
September 23rd, 2004
so clear above among the molecules of bonded hydrogen she is visible with dimples in her cheeks. she smiles upon the peaceful earth as an admirer might its lover. glowing deeply through and through she illuminates the night.
Current Mood: high
Current Music: chirrupping crickets
Hey everyone (I can totally say that now that we have a WHOPPIN' FIVE mutha fuckin' MEMBERS!),
I just went through all the managing and whatnot...so now everyone should be allowed to post and comment. If you can't....then tell Hana or myself.
With love and affection in your directions,
Current Mood: chipper
Current Music: Thinking Plague
September 11th, 2004
The aim of every artist is to arrest motion, which is life, by artificial means and hold it fixed so that a hundred years later, when a stranger looks at it, it moves again since it is life. Since man is mortal, the only immortality possible for him is to leave something behind him that is immortal since it will always move. This is the artist's way of scribbling "Kilroy was here" on the wall of the final and irrevocable oblivion through which he must someday pass.
Current Music: Breeders
August 31st, 2004
Timelessly midnight or somethign around there. Pound into me! wind, or just soft house currents pushing at wet skin swirling through smoke and notes, an aching voice, ink behind the illusion....And tonight's some sort of strange to feel like force is traveling the walls trying not to wake me, shifting to every available angle i want to see myself as an angel somewhere inside this...I don't even know what I'm talking about, I've been staring at old candy wrappers for the past five minutes, and they're sitting there like the first day i found words under my nervous pacing, hands tearing at greasy hair, cold fingers, shaking breath, 'till i tripped down to cough it up, a hairball, my heart, the silver lining i'd been missing all that time? my hair was still suncolored then and it was laying in soft waves, body shrouded in my mothers youth or the product of it, or the likeness of it, maybe only the way she won't let anyone touch her or get too close...
My memories are like puddles and I can't keep myself from slipping in, i don't think i know how to express the endless seas of my emotion, I don't know why I'm writing this or to who, maybe it's just that I think my ghost'll wake up one day and have forgotten what it's dreams smelled like, so i'm leaving it here, outside of inks and lead and paint and blood, tears, salt, sugar, syrup thicker than sun in august, maybe my rash youthful passions are becoming immortal...
August 12th, 2004
|myredbouquet||12:15 pm - how does it feel to get raped up the ass, lj? (through x-posting, that is)|
If you peel away the desperation, fantasy, expectations, judgements and desires and step back to appreciate the poetry of another human being, you're treated to the rare joy of feeling accomplishment merely through presence and understanding. peace of mind mutes the thundering preoccupation with measuring gains and losses... there is nothing to be gained or lost in simply admiring and experiencing. all moments are well spent and worthwhile because they are immutably permanent. affixed in a glowing recollection of the way you know you should be, the way you want to be again and the way everyone would be if only you could communicate and share your perception. without the unsettling notion to advance or retreat or fear that you are missing out. satisfaction is the irony between the lines, the notes not played and the thoughts not spoken. help yourself and just look around.
i wanted to say more, but i don't know how.
Current Mood: in lot's of pain
Current Music: Tommy's Holiday Camp
July 28th, 2004
[i take my camera
and trace the orbit
of blindsource passage]
pluto is a bloodblister.
the inexplicable extension
of space is conceived again
and again in these seconds;
the wispy marrows of our
bones twine through sockets
and gaps in flat sheets of
unyielding skin. screenflushed
i have been slapped backwards through
the gyrating spokes of triton rarefaction.
charon has a smile unlike any other.
if you are pluto;
and i am neptune;
then our suctioned limbs are swishing
in the slick oil of the river styx.
we are in reverse. my womb is anointed
with the fluid of a thousand corpses.
[snapshot of your skeleton
on the circumviolet deathrattle
of an asteroid too remote to matter]
Current Mood: curious