February 2012
576 posts
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“But I don’t want comfort. I want poetry. I want danger. I want freedom. I want...”
– Aldous Huxley, Brave New World (via aneuromess)
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filthymoraldisease replied to your post: filthymoraldisease replied to your post: For Lent,…
I don’t even fucking care that that was code. I still approve.
No code. “Among our egocentric sad-sacks, despair is as addictive as heroin and more popular than sex, for the single reason that when one is unhappy one gets to pay a lot of attention to oneself. Misery becomes a kind of emotional...
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filthymoraldisease replied to your post: For Lent, I’m giving up feeling sorry for myself.
Fuck yeah! That’s actually an excellent thing to give up, props to you for that!
Self pity is emotional masturbation. I do it much less than I used to (feeling sorry for myself, that is), but I’m still pumped. (:
pleaseheadnorth:
going to go live in the mountains and be free of all societies fabricated problems. bye.
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For Lent, I'm giving up feeling sorry for myself.
Fuck yeah. Also, no sweets or sodas, because water and pretzels are better.
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Blushed and Forgetful
I’m slipping into your delirious night A calloused and crimson sound to sight. What do the walls have to say After all these years of being cast (behind shadows and broken glass) I bet they have their single moments Where everything is clear and five again I bet they have their stories too That surely we would learn from.
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Memories Of A Walk On The Beach
How many days till Thursday Are left in this lonely bed? Flashbacks in my closed eyes Dreams of lighting and her nibbling at my neck dissolves me Into something more than human More than myself and so terribly prime So basic and still in shadows That light refuses me And everything I touch, too will some day die.
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“But I don’t want comfort. I want poetry. I want danger. I want freedom. I want...”
– Aldous Huxley, Brave New World (via aneuromess)
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Post Sex Plagues
Both heaven and hell Snaking serpents up her legs to you How did the gods forget to mention She was only déjà voulu?
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an unintentional reverie
undersideofthepillow:
we were small,
back when it
was once upon a time.
dancing, because the wind
told us to.
futures as bright
as yellow wellies
stomping
in the puddles
we used as oceans
to sail away.
when grown-ups
were
superheroe.
once upon a time
my...
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Paper Cut
The paper cuts in your thin index finger Seem to linger / Never disappear They bleed on pens and lovers touched Blue and arteries in despair Messed in your absolute sandpaper hair
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Deep Blue
I can see the night in her eyes Like a machete, sharp and steady With not so much a motion as a notion Or a heavy-handed conviction And she’s slipping off the phone line now Her mother’s sobbing on the wire Her daddy’s sleeping on a train. I wonder who she thinks is higher Poseidon or the silent rain?
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A Limerick
A girl who weighed many an oz. Used language I dare not pronoz. For a fellow unkind Pulled her chair out behind Just to see (so he said) if she’d boz. -Anonymous
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