One Handed Poetry
A Place of Submission and Suffocated Expression.
And as the story unfolds over time, things we once knew they do dissolve into the sky. She swears she sees a brand new constellation every time somebody we know dies, it is no consolation prize but we’ll remember you. So to get good sleep at night, silence the oracles, they’re singing from inside. Nobody really wants to know the future, we just want to hear “you’ll be alright” and we’ll be alright. These days they will find us learning that we had it all wrong; but these days they will find us unashamed because we were learning all along, and the radio plays a familiar song.
And to this magic we hold on, I just don’t want to feel its loss until it’s gone. It was in an eerie glow I finally left you lonely, left the TV on. If I have one regret it’s letting this whole nihilistic shit charade live on! You know it scares the hell out of me when my friends think they have nobody to lean on! …And the radio plays a familiar song.
And in the darkness of my room I keep conversing with the man in the moon. I know he’s going to tell me something that I want to hear I bet it’ll happen soon because all the books I have read just don’t read right, say to save your soul you’ve got to hide yourself inside, or forget about the world that you perceive, no, we are here for such a little while. These days they will find us learning that we had it all wrong, but these days they will find us unashamed because we’ve been learning all along, and the radio plays a familiar song and you are loved you are loved you are really loved.
I am scared of making out on stairways.
I was so quick to abandon the 6 months, the worst part of the year
And focus solely on July and August. But if they were to end,
The next and last 4 of these long months may be a greater force to fear.
How much longer can I stand, how many more of these demons must I fend?
I am lost in the realms of reason,
Which make one prone to misunderstanding.
I wander this vast forest,
It was planted for what I thought to be best.
I planted so many seeds
I wanted to grow so many trees in hopes that one of them may be that which I so desperately need.
This void, of and within my mind
I’ve dwelt for two days, and by it I am bound to a life I resigned.
The air is composed of chilling mist,
It is felt ever so slightly, just at all of my tips.
A volume of poetic sounds revealed unto my eyes.
The sounds; indescribable.
The words; undefinable.
Yet, when infused and entwined they transcend communication.
Perception that skips the medium of any known creation.
—
The tenth, and only story received to memory,
The Finale,
Was the tale of a rebellious and rightly placed love.
Though inherently jagged and mixed up,
The pieces, with the likeness of a child’s picture-making/placement
Assembled passion unmet, an assumed case of abandonment.
As life and death exchanged blows of translation
I was caught in the midst something beautiful and possibly mistaken
Through these eyes, the heat of feeling and friction
All I know is everything I saw and heard and became happened without transition.
What was gained is beyond conceivable conclusion, placed on high debate.
—
The volume, I believe, came from the trees.
This conflict of life and death came from these trees.
This work of feeling conspired out of dreams.
And I can’t tell if this— excuse me, that love is truly free.
That subconscious field of trees is only as real as what was revealed.
Just as visions of planetary collisions
Or visual analogies for life-changing decisions
I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again.
(Source: falloneusbraddidieus.blogspot.com)
A year has passed since we started working on our follow up to Realis. A lot has changed between the six of us, be it school, work, engagements, moving, new jobs, whatever. But here in August of 2011, we can proudly say we are finalizing the work we set out to start last summer and are taking the…
These dudes make me geek out on a philosophical artsy level.
wakethestorm asked: WHY ARE YOU TUMBLIN.
GURL I LIKE TO TUMBL
I stumbled on this unsettling story of an obscure Pokémon bootleg/art-hack that I thought might be neat to share on here. I think this originated from 4chan, so I’ve no idea if this hack actually exists. It probably doesn’t, but it’s still a great concept/tale!:
I’m what you could call a collector of bootleg Pokémon games. Pokémon Diamond & Jade, Chaos Black, etc. It’s amazing the frequency with which you can find them at pawnshops, Goodwill, flea markets, and such.
They’re generally fun; even if they are unplayable (which they often are), the mistranslations and poor quality make them unintentionally humorous.
I’ve been able to find most of the ones that I’ve played online, but there’s one that I haven’t seen any mention of. I bought it at a flea market about five years ago.
C. S. Lewis (via levithepoet)
wurd
Life asks me to give 100% every day.
When I’m too sore.
and too frustrated.
and much too lonely…
and much too tired.
To even leave this seat which commiserates with my broken attitude,
and worn out disposition.
Every source and direction,
Every notion to a solution,
Has been you.
But if i told you plainly,
You’d only feel worse than you do now.
Because I’m not the solution to the emptiness you feel.
littlegirlslittleghosts asked: ohh snap. its you. lol.
AWWWWWW DANG! IT BE YOU! XP
