June 2012
46 posts
moderateclimates:
I don’t have anything beautiful to say anymore.
2 tags
May 2012
69 posts
3 tags
2 tags
Things that were beautiful today (May 30th)
The twelve hours of sleep. Finally letting myself rest.
Visiting the library, after a long while, and just touching the books — their rough edges and fragile pages, underneath my fingers. Most of them so old they resembled my grandfather, kind faces with wrinkled skin and stains that will never wash. There was something like a tickle that...
flowersfromdirt- asked: You have such a beautiful way with words. They make me feel so much. Thank you. You have an amazing talent. I hope you have a wonderful day.
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I promise you, I promise that I will free myself Friday afternoons, I will escape, whether the sky is raining coarse chemistry, drops of water, or the sun licking my skin, showering light onto me, with the laws of physics whispering into my ear, my toes, my toes, they want to touch the earth, without any fear, I want to be fearless and free, I want to be near you, but never, never, I would rather...
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“Love, I smashed my glass slipper
to build a stained glass window
for every...”
– Andrea Gibson
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Things that were beautiful today (May 27th)
The secrecy in a decade of friendship, finding it underneath my feet, wiping off the dust and holding it close to me. So close, sometimes too close that my eyes teared up and goosebumps crawled down my spine. The transparency between us, laughing until there was nothing but fear and amity (holding hands, like the spirits with the devil itself) —...
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horasmortas:
La Valse D’Amélie — Yann Tiersen
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Things that were beautiful yesterday (May 26)
The act of living. Opening the window while my father drove, listening to nothing, but everything in the same moment of time, falling in love with the night lights and the faded stars. Reaching out and touching midnight, or maybe it was only the trees, the Pacific Willow and Sitka Spruce that sprouted from the ground the way ocean water moves in...
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I ripped pages out of the books, the ones I did not like, and cut the raw edges of my hair, and followed with bandages to cover and hide all the misshapen skin, I took ice cubes out of the freezer and left them in the sun to dry, and still, there is nothing right.
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“It’s when I’m standing six feet away from you and not being able to find the...”
– James Frey, A Million Little Pieces
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alightthatnevergoesout asked: Hello, I have come upon your blog, and it feels like that piece of me I've always had but didn't know I was missing. You discribe yourself but in those words, they are whats inside of me. Your art, its a talent, keep it wrapped up in you and be sure to let us all see it. Your words are real, and thats more than so many writers have tried and failed upon, again and again, keep writing,...
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“Did I conduct the electricity or just
describe it? I remember
a series of...”
– Nava EtShalom “With Whom I Was In Love Whilst I Was In Love With You”
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I want a pen pal…
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1 tag
Memorabilia
Here, I stay awake until the night has found love beneath the stars. Under the incline of the moon, the grass is always brighter, flared, but silent. I stay awake until my eyes sear and my eyelids fall like blankets over them, like spreading butter on burnt toast. I carry details in my pockets like sewn edges and spill them whenever I can, down sidewalks and railroads. Sometimes I...
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“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.”
– Haruki Murakami, 1Q84
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Crush my ribs and steal my heart. Crack the code, open the vaults. There is nothing left to take, there is nothing else.
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Things that were beautiful today (May 19th)
Letting the sand burrow underneath my toes, the grains limp and soft. Walking barefoot in the grass afterwards, although alone.
Closing my eyes and pretending that I did not belong to a body. Escaping. Leaving the city, the country and then the world. Losing every sense. Merging into the earth, and out. Running into light, and becoming it. Finally,...
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Things that were beautiful today (May 17th)
The ache in my ankles from walking the sunlit streets, stopping to smell the flowers and touch the grass.
Remembering that we are made of atoms. Remembering that we are inside the universe. Remembering that there is always something there, but not always time. Remembering that it’s okay as long as we have a hand to hold.
Holding a hand.
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I collect cigarettes off the sidewalks when no one is looking, and keep them in a jar of dried flowers, dead flowers, sealed with daisy chains, sealed in mauve. They remind me of our burnt edges and days when I cannot sleep. They remind me of ripped books and stale dirt caught between the cracks in the road. Their scent never leaves me.
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“Her eyelids were painted blue.
When she closed her eyes the sea
rolled in like...”
– Yusef Komunyakaa, Omens
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I ran out of paper and started marking the trails of your skin with organic chemistry, with carbons lined on little hairs and oxygen in the craters of your arms, breathing with you, while alcohol races in your bloodstream and your wrists pulse against the pen, the ink black, erasing the architecture of your body, the molecules and history, reacting inside me, synthesizing as I recite the names of...
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“I must have flowers, always, and always.”
– Claude Monet
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Camping in the backyard. Oh, the stars look like diamonds.
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Instead of telling you in words
of the moths hatching in my stomach
stretching in asymmetrical waves, swelling
No,
of the cold butter on the counter
of the uneven pencil marks that could have,
could have kept me near you
of the time that moves in blocks of
5 minutes, synchronized with the express train
on West Avenue, arrives minutes too early
Instead,
I bring you flowers because they...
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Things that were beautiful today (May 10th)
The way the curtains covered the windows and how they were moved by the wind. The sound of the clock. Falling in love. Falling out. Silence.
The leaf I found on the ground while it still held life. It screamed life. It pleaded. Eventually though, it dried out as they always do.
The sleepy blue that tinted the sky before it turned black.
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