Is this post too long for your eyeballs? Here’s the short version: DONATE TO RYAN. He desperately needs funding for his life-saving surgeries and hospital care! DO IT NOW. Don’t make an excuse, just give five dollars. I’d give YOU five dollars if your life was in…
I don’t usually reblog stuff like this, but I’m making an exception for this little boy. I wish I could do more.
Not sure if these will actually go anywhere, or if anything will come of them. Just felt like posting them so that in the eventual computersplosion which is almost guaranteed to happen they’re preserved somewhere.
I (cannot) let go. I breathe in, and you breathe your breath is in my lungs. It stains the backs of my teeth where no one can see it color my smile.
I let go (of breath) let go. There is a tumor on my tongue and it lives moves my mouth to speak lies.
I swallow pain and doubt like rocks like pills or candy or both (childproof cap: the coating’s sweet enough these are M&Ms or muscle relaxers.)
I don’t ever wanna feel Like I did that day
It comes in waves. In one instant there is the calm aqua of a peaceful sea and the ships bob along playful swells and their inhabitants laugh and drink and dance.
But the sky always darkens and the swells become monsters and the boats become kindling and the inhabitants are bones.
Take me to the place I love, Take me all the way
The music throbs in river-veins, a pulse inescapable. The beat is never heavy enough. Never heavy enough to dispel the slow roll of fog coating the tongue in salty decay. It leaves the bitter flavor of whispered deceits behind it.
so at work our store accidently ordered 700 khakis instead of the 70 we were supposed to get. the khakis in these pics i took ain’t even an eighth probably of all the fucking khakis we have stuffed in the back rooms. we have too many god damn khakis. no one should have to witness this layer of khaki hell. this shit ain’t right. this is all kinds of fucked up. there are too many fucking khakis. too many.
I. First: splayed sun, then some dark clouds regenerate in the sky. Yes, empty-headed philosophers. (Analyze it, they say.)
I—1. Analyze it, they say—what? the sky maybe. But science tells me the azure is just a filtration of light refracted and it’s not really blue so is the sky blue is the wrong question it’s just absorbed light being bounced around by air particles.
I—2. The blood-moon rose in defiance of moralistic principle or howling cries of witch it was beautiful. Was it beautiful was it light or a lie
I—3. First: Scattered sun. then a shout of anger a closed fist and stars.
An experiment with erasure poetry, using one of my favorite poems.