Fuck 2:30 on a school night, fuck empty pens, fuck blank pages, fuck full ashtrays, fuck pointless words, fuck attempts at reversing inability.
I meant it. She makes everything beautiful - and worth it.
Marina Abramovic and her lover/collaborator Ulay performing “Death Self”. This performance consisted of the two artists seated in front of each other, connected at the mouth. They took in each other’s breaths until all of their available oxygen had been used up. The performance lasted only 17 minutes, resulting in both artists collapsing unconscious to the floor, having filled their lungs with carbon dioxide. This personal piece explored the idea of an individual’s ability to absorb the life of another person, exchanging and destroying it.
(via:monchatnoir)
(Source: cronicasdepaloma)
I was fortunate enough to celebrate with almost all the people I truly care about under the same roof.
I’ve been thinking about New Year’s Resolutions, and I’m not sure yet. Someone said to quit smoking, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen.
I guess my resolution is to have a better year than I had in 2010. Last year had both the highs and lows of my life - I didn’t want to live, I wasted months on the worst person I’ve ever known, I didn’t feel anything for a while. On the other hand, I found out that I’m a teacher by birth, I met the best friends I’ve ever had, and I found love, for real. So it was rather two sided. I guess that’s okay, because the pros outweigh the cons.
The girl of my dreams is writing little love notes on old paper in front of me, but she’s not letting me see what they say. When I get up to get a drink or smoke a cigarette, she’ll hide them around my room and in my clothes, so that I will randomly stumble upon them when she’s not around. I’ve never been more in love (I’ve never felt more alive). j
So, New Year’s Resolutions are coming later, when I figure them out. For now, I’ll stick with making 2011 better than anything since ‘93.
Poetic initiation
The creation of words
Arranged in chords,
An elation towards
The frontier of gravity,
And crossing the horizon
Of reality, thoughts shatter,
Worldly chatter abandoned,
And emotions take first place
In the race toward transcendental
Consciousness.
I become what I have won
Through wars fought with worlds
Of frustrating inability,
Driving to insanity,
The white page, without ink,
the brutality,
So I sink, I think,
I reach my brink and link
Myself to destiny,
Become infested with finality,
The unbearable weight of reality,
And breaking through, reach absurdity,
Where poems form through mere fraternity
Of the mind with time,
Without meter or rhyme, composed between ghosts
Of the eternal notes that uttered were once but
Now simply sink like sail ships, that surrender silently,
Surround singularity and explode through loneliness,
Replace hopelessness with their plurality,
Composing themselves seemingly independent from my
Efforts, become my best friends, my cigarettes, my first love, my last breath,
My totality,
And this unhealthy dedication to a mistress that seems to abandon casually,
Return haphazardly,
Sparking inspiration and then destroying my elation
Through pages left blank, she leaves, thankless
Unaware that her existence is caused by an instance where I return to sanity,
To mankind, and compose her facial features,
And then she leaves me speechless, once again,
Created and ungrateful, she flees,
Hides behind trees in the woods of the everyday,
Until one day, stumbling along my way,
I find her again, to take a wild tumble through tangibility,
Float like light notes to inevitability,
When I’m dropped like Iccarus,
Am abandoned like sinking ships,
And after the tide has gone walk the wasted beach
To sea if my mistress will ever again come back to me.
This will always remind me of summer. I miss those months.
(Source: youtube.com)
Nothing beats blasting Smashing Pumpkins and smoking a cigarette. Some poetry up later!
(Source: youtube.com)
when you’re walking up stairs in the dark and reach the top and don’t realize it and try to walk up that one nonexistent step.
Except, not for that split second, but continuously. I fucking hate it. It’s the worst feeling in the world.
And from the hill grew antlers,
And they held up the sky,
and leaning on the clouds
all the constellations lie.
And stars become our cities,
Blue night fades fast to sea,
We hold on to each other,
Sail towards eternity.
The ship, it hits the pavement;
Its cargo and its crew
Go flying into space,
Go flying into you.
And then you see reality,
The meaning of it all-
The men manning the machines
That perpetuate the squall:
Of life, and thoughts, and torrents,
Of emotion, and the fall
Of false sense of enjoyment,
Or of ebullience’s call.
On one side, only heaven
On the other, only hell
And we’ll walk that line forever,
Wondering where best to dwell.
