so today i want you to breathe.

i want you to take in all of that air and just hold it inside your mouth.

just keep it there.

wait until your eyes water a little bit.

don't worry, you won't pass out.

now, close your eyes and let the air

out

little

by

little.

now open your eyes and live.

1: i can't describe things that aren't physical. i don't know why.
2: that's strange. how to you describe playing the piano?
1: i don't. there is the physical act of playing and the physical notes on the page, but what i put into it and get out of it is completely indescribable.
1: it's something i have a total understanding of but i cannot convey that to another person verbally.
1: i am really sorry.
2: i can't believe you can't express emotions like that. and i don't think it's weird or anything. don't you ever feel too full inside?
1: no. i don't ever feel 'full.' i see emotions as too subjective to express without standardizing them and taking away from what they mean to me.
2: i'm not saying they need to be conventional expressions.
1: it's kind of like foreign expressions. in french 'au revoir' and 'adieu' mean essentially the same thing-- goodbye.
1: adieu carries a much more powerful feeling or emotion. au revoir is a more casual saying.
1: or when you translate certain sayings, you lose some of that intensity or special meaning of the original.
2: oh so you have adieu feelings?
1: i guess you could say that. they are more intense emotions. if i tried to make someone else understand, they would not get the full effect.
2: i understand.
1: i am glad you do. that's the best way i can explain things.
2: hello, delicate. i have been waiting for you.

how dare you.

ah-mazing

we are free men

well, the future spills its intangibles
an unknown set of variables
a path that split infinitely up ahead
so tell me what's the use to pick and choose
from what you should or shouldn't do?
that's time spent better sleeping in your bed
or wide awake in a shopping mall
trying clothes on from off of the wall
yeah, anything to entertain yourself
because a costume can be comfortable
it can make you feel more beautiful
it can even make you look like someone else
but it's still you, so there's nothing you can do
like a bad habit, the one you couldn't kick, there it always is
and it's nothing that no doctor's going to fix
they pat your back bruised with their accolades
and all four walls are a trophy case
but that doesn't make it any less of a cage
but you can make it all less difficult
by embracing the ephemeral
then you'd never have to worry or explain
because if it's really all just physical
then my memory's immaterial
so why then do I remember you at all?
but I do, I do, my friend, I've seen your face
we shared a cup, I know the taste
its sweetness is relentless on my lips
so help me drink in everything that is
like a freed convict, drunk on redemption
from the way I've been
but I swear this time that things will be different
well, right and wrong, they have never been that far apart
for those who'd write that sentence where you hang
we will be lifted up from all of this
yeah, we will transcend the insignificance of our existence
yeah, your body's gone, but angel, you will live

-bright eyes

one way ticket

these flowers they smell like flowers

but the petals

fold and crinkle

like the starched starched

cuffs of the oxford shirts

that used to fill up

your half of the closet

- sarah elizabeth hershey

we only come out at night.

no help for that

there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled
a space
and even during the
best moments and
the greatest
times

we will know it

we will know it
more than
ever

there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled

and

we will wait
and
wait
in that
space.

-Charles Bukowski, 1986

rabies and witch babies

oh this is fantastic.

reblogged from my amazing friend's tumblr page:
ayoungpioneer.tumblr.com

what a beautiful soul.

http://stereogum.com/mp3/The%20Mountain%20Goats%20And%20Kaki%20King%20-%20Thank%20You%20Mario%20But%20Our%20Princess%20Is%20In%20Another%20Castle.mp3

she had a gift--
an extraordinary gift.
her flat, nimble fingers
could manipulate tricks,
(breath)
melting puzzles back into
collective unconcious
(breath).
only the cube gave her
pleasure, a
shifting rainbow,
softly clicking, chattering, whispering.
but even so its blocks
would align,
marching along the plastic spine
never able to stray.
no, it was not a challenge,
it was not a game.
the sadness was enjoyable,
mortal and dull even in
the morphing toy.
her spinners scrambled
the rows, twisting its back,
breaking its bones.
and the colors bled out.
yet her muscles knew the path
and could not complete the process.
her gift was never tested,
so it died in silence.


and the gentle whirring memories remained undisturbed.

a bit of my portfolio

exactly.

i fancy you.

there.

i have become a horrible thing.

reading in the shower is wrinkling all of my books.

i am a book destroyer.

please, forgive me.

i never meant to hurt them...

only skin

Mes amis, we are restless things

Little seaweed are swaddling

And you call upon the dusk

Of the musk of the squid

Shot full of ink, until you sink

Into your crib

Show me the house

Upon the hill

Where you were living

Fireplace was stoked

The cupboard stocked

Full of provision

And the grandfather clock

Upon the wall

Told us the time

And then came a sound

Love had to drown

Love, were you dying?

Oh was the fire moved away

Fire moved away son?

Why whould you say

I was the last one?

Scrub your knee, there's only skin

Makes a sound of violins

And you call upon the dusk

Of the musk of the squid

Shot full of ink until you sink

Into your crib

Show me the house

Upon the hill

Where you were living

Fireplace was stoked

The cupboard stocked

Full of provisions

And the grandfather clock

Upon the wall

Told us the time

And then came a sound

Love had to count

On you dying

Oh was the fire moved away?

Fire, it moves away, son

Oh, why would you say

I was the last one?

Milkymoon

All my bones they are gone, gone, gone

All my bones they are gone, gone, gone

All my bones they are gone, gone, gone

-joanna newsom

...because for some reason we all love to play ophelia

i think that people who live on the outside feel the most, and that's not a bad thing. i think that's a gift even though it might hurt sometimes you understand that feeling well doesn't always mean feeling good, it means being able to feel correctly-- to feel everything. that's very rare so you need to be proud to have that talent because most people walk through this life as numb, dumb idiots. -- from 'beautiful losers'

it feels nice to be fascinated with someone again.

i don't know who wrote this...

Although the word is Portuguese in origin, saudade is a universal feeling related to love. It occurs when two people are in love, but apart from each other. Saudade occurs when we think of a person who we love and we are happy about having that feeling while we are thinking of that person, but he/she is out of reach, making us sad and crushing our hearts.

i feel like i'm blooming inside.

a fine, private place

He took her one day

under the blue horizon

where long sea fingers

parted like beads

hitched in the doorway

of an opium den,

and canyons mazed the deep

reef with hollows,

cul-de-sacs, and narrow boudoirs,

and had to ask twice

before she understood

his stroking her arm

with a marine feather

slobbery as aloe pulp

was wooing, or saw the octopus

in his swimsuit

stretch one tentacle

and ripple its silky bag.
While bubbles rose

like globs of mercury,

they made love

mask to mask, floating

with oceans of air between them,

she his sea-geisha

in an orange kimono

of belts and vests,

her lacquered hair waving,

as Indigo Hamlets

tattooed the vista,

and sunlight

cut through the water,

twisting its knives

into corridors of light.
His sandy hair and sea-blue eyes,

his kelp-thin waist

and chest ribbed wider

than a sandbar

where muscles domed

clear and taut as shells

(freckled cowries,

flat, brawny scallops

the color of dawn),

his sea-battered hands

gripping her thighs like tawny starfish

and drawing her close

as a pirate vessel

to let her board:

who was this she loved?
Overhead, sponges

sweating raw color

jutted from a coral arch,

Clown Wrasses

hovered like fireworks,

and somewhere an abalone opened

its silver wings.

Part of a lusty drea

munder aspic, her hips rolled

like a Spanish galleon.

Her eyes swam

and chest began to heave.

Gasps melted on the tide.

Knowing she would soon

be breathless as her tank,

he pumped his brine deep within her,

letting sea water drive it

through petals

delicate as anemone veils

to the dark purpose

of a conch-shaped womb.

An ear to her loins

would have heard the sea roar.
When panting ebbed,

and he signaled Okay?

as lovers have asked,

land or waterbound

since time heaved ho,

he led her to safety:

shallower realms,
heading back toward the boat's even keel,

though ocean still petted her

cell by cell, murmuring

along her legs and neck,

caressing her

with pale, endless arms.
Later, she thought often

of that blue boudoir,

pillow-soft and filled

with cascading light,

where together

they'd made a bell

that dumbly clanged

beneath the waves

and minutes lurched

like mountain goats.

She could still seethe quilted mosaics

that were fish

twitching spangles overhead,

still feel the ocean

inside and out, turning her

evolution around.
She thought of it miles

and fathoms away, often,

at odd moments: watching

the minnow snowflakes

dip against the windowframe

holding a sponge

idly under tap-gush,

sinking her teeth

into the cleft

of a voluptuous peach.

-diane ackerman

who cares if this is about sex. it's beautiful.

i feel as if i've accomplished something.

light-hearted post for now.

why is everyone promised it? why is life so easily extinguished and replaced with such an unlikely and hollow remembrance? the 'gift' of life is so unequally distributed, while its counterpart waits shrouded for the percise moment when the water runs dry and the whiteness turns to grey, to choke and smother and keep (or so it seems) for an unimaginable turning of time. are we promised it because it frees us from the enslavement of light that constantly blinds us and burns us and forces us to gasp and struggle for a meaningless gulp of molecular compound that is to be recycled by the nature from we came from? do we fear it as a suprise or as something that could bring us liberation?

you know when you're trying not to think of something and then that forbidden something shows up absolutely everywhere you look, everywhere you turn, just trying to tempt you, to spite you, to break you down? well, i gave up coffee for lent. it's all over the place!!!