December 2011
58 posts
heartflusters
And she understood as I did that when you sat down and put your hands on the keys, it was not just a piano in front of you, it was a universe.
Maybeshewill-take this to heart
Now we’re apart. Though not through choice. Do we stay mute? Or raise our voice?
And, perhaps, the body really is a gift, this small beating in my ribs a reasoned rhythm.
If I hold my shadows up to the light would you be able to see their veins, how alive they are?
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere.
Perpetuum Mobile- Penguin Cafe Orchestra
Where is the middle, is the middle of your mind is it the place where you stop, where you just stop trying Call out the dogs and let them have a sniff They might catch a little sent before you just forget it Loosing your head is such a common theme All your brains are falling out, falling out the open seams Where is the heart, is the heart of the matter I will empty out my skull of all this...
Black tights and red lipstick are just a subconscious way of me asking for trouble, says my dad, but walking down the streets of Brooklyn at three a.m., half drunk and trying to catch a train back to Manhattan that isn’t running and running my finger up the hole in my tights is all I need to make me feel like I’m something close to alive. Trying to string together what it means to live is...
It’s always like this. I catch their scent and old feelings come around.
Wordless: still, we know one another, or should.
All I want is to take my quilts, spread them beside the porch rail,
and deep in the night, at ease together, speak of longing, of love.
burps from monster are terrible terrible things.
you can find music where you can not find air.
there’s no way to explain it, there’s no way to tell anyone.
Things written in Arabic are so beautiful. I wish I could understand them.
Because the night is a scattering of sounds—blunt branches hurtling to the ground, a nest stir, a sigh from someone beside me. Because I am awake and know that I am not on fire. I am fine. It’s August.
The scar on my neck, clarity—two curtains sewn. A little door locked from the inside.
Nothing wants anything tonight. There are only stars and the usual animals. Only the fallen apple’s wine-red...
Tectonic plates are shifting beneath my skin and there’s a new continent in my chest that I don’t know what to call. Things are happening and it hurts to talk about it. The earth is the most gentle and destructive thing we know, did you know that?
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass. My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven years...
The world is one of my favorite poems. The author, unknown
press my ear to your ear and sing what you hear.
Be like water making its way through cracks. Do not be assertive, but adjust to the object, and you shall find a way around or through it. If nothing within you stays rigid, outward things will disclose themselves. Empty your mind, be formless. Shapeless, like water. If you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle and it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot, it...
