Wednesday, May 30, 2012

She figured out that the only way
to keep from being frozen was to
stay in motion, and long ago converted
most of her flesh into liquid. Now when she
smells danger, she spills herself all over,
like gasoline, and lights it.

Friday, May 25, 2012

the cassandra by ness bloo

i suffer of passion.
as if i must slowly move like winter. white
going quiet, expressions; mornings so fragile, they rupture
me. i exist in you, in everywhere
and. .. . .

... my hand mimics yours.
a disciple for an hour.long angel
to the delirium               where
there are no angels. i am scared of everything.
and yet, it's not the cold that i fear or the hunger
of my growl, although i am a beggar at your threshold,
it's just that my fingers feel

tear myself so easily, unpoemed.
to live to love you to lose me.
your eyes tucked in the dark of my belly.
i wonder at the window of the sea and if it, like we,
                         will remain foaming. 

in the flesh.roamed truth, i protect myself.
from the envious girls in corners.
i see them wearing summer's heat.
offering something more than 
handfuls; they siphon my skin's scent.
it must smell like you by now,. 

there has been much impatience in my body.
it rages on the end of a stick. 

and here i am in the birdsong,
demanding silence. my mind makes believe, 
like i know, the sounds must be of high lovers
in trees, flying and awaying from their tiny skeletons
because they must be, must be. ..
... ..sparrows that denied themselves
their own trembling souls, to slide only
undrunk, untasted, over a vulturing death,
half.stretched over half.light, half the way to eden. 

i breathe on the pillow
                                 words not yet here
i breathe on the pillow        words that could be hers 

i was the one who was dead in the waiting
water, was the one that imprinted air with my

i trace the places you've traveled and i feel
their gravity. am i a ghost that can be smeared across
the bathroom mirror? where i watch you watch
me and what is it that makes me unlook pretty.. ... 
these things go graveling in me, you see
these insecurities tie me, to your eyes 

she whispers:::
something about moaning beasts
with great morning eyes and curves i cannot manage.
i try
i try

i make myself a queen in a kingdom's bed;
lily to sheets, crusader to embraces, limping to martyrdom,
as if it were only a matter to gather the right flowers.
would that make me
                            the way you cannot cry?
would that make me forever?
if i died again, could i be. 

must not exist such a thing. 

i know you
are not disturbed by a woman's smell,
and you might very well love small fears;
but there are things.. ...
                                i want to hysteria
about how the seasons will change into murderers
which makes no sense, i am sure.
soon, the girl will come to a burning point
and i am afraid you will watch her burn. 

you will survive the massacre and adore the ash.
you will manifestly turn black from the beating of eyelids. 

slanted body,
as if a kiss uncrossed
and undescribable 

so soft it will destroy us.
and it isn't as if we haven't been this close.
i just need you closer,
nearer to, so you can hear, 

the maddening

this must be the reason
women moan, scrape, and arch;
we let someone speak through us. 

               possession is such as.

have you heard me
making myself small enough.
wild enough, and yet i still will
scry at you to see if i am
down to your bones
                                                    i fear you
             turning away. 

i will still find you standing
alone and surrounded                     and those girls in corners
searching for smoke                       so quiet in the disarray 
your fingers wide open in the wind                                                     and i will crush the world
i will shatter with proof.
i will go blind with ablution.
i will rush to the end.    

             writing only
of a voice, of shimmers, of loves,
of a million syllables that start
to speak but stop
afraid of losing, but writing
that i counted,
barely moving my lips,
every time you might have said me
           without even knowing it; 

i must've given
more than birth
to this.               

     that is the reason for the screaming.

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

 fuck everyones idea of success involving how much money you make. I'd rather work for min wage the rest of my life, living pay check to paycheck and be happy with who I am than have a career and b a miserable, secretly self loathing, possible closet gay, disrespectful fucking asshole like you.

youre fucking pathetic

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Depression is humiliating. It turns intelligent, kind people into zombies who can’t wash a dish or change their socks. It affects the ability to think clearly, to feel anything, to ascribe value to your children, your lifelong passions, your relative good fortune. It scoops out your normal healthy ability to cope with bad days and bad news, and replaces it with an unrecognizable sludge that finds no pleasure, no delight, no point in anything outside of bed. You alienate your friends because you can’t comport yourself socially, you risk your job because you can’t concentrate, you live in moderate squalor because you have no energy to stand up, let alone take out the garbage. You become pathetic and you know it. And you have no capacity to stop the downward plunge. You have no perspective, no emotional reserves, no faith that it will get better. So you feel guilty and ashamed of your inability to deal with life like a regular human, which exacerbates the depression and the isolation. If you’ve never been depressed, thank your lucky stars and back off the folks who take a pill so they can make eye contact with the grocery store cashier. No one on earth would choose the nightmare of depression over an averagely turbulent normal life.

It’s not an incapacity to cope with day to day living in the modern world. It’s an incapacity to function. At all. If you and your loved ones have been spared, every blessing to you. If depression has taken root in you or your loved ones, every blessing to you, too. No one chooses it. No one deserves it. It runs in families, it ruins families. You cannot imagine what it takes to feign normalcy, to show up to work, to make a dentist appointment, to pay bills, to walk your dog, to return library books on time, to keep enough toilet paper on hand, when you are exerting most of your capacity on trying not to kill yourself. Depression is real. Just because you’ve never had it doesn’t make it imaginary. Compassion is also real. And a depressed person may cling desperately to it until they are out of the woods and they may remember your compassion for the rest of their lives as a force greater than their depression. Have a heart. Judge not lest ye be judged.
‎"Meditation is not a solution of any problem in particular; it solves nothing. It simply helps you to get rid of the mind, the problem-creator. It simply helps you to slip out of the mind like a snake slips out of the old skin. Once you know you are not the mind the great transcendence has happened. Suddenly all problems become insignificant; slowly, slowly they evaporate. You are left with a profound peace; a great silence prevails. This silence is the solution. This peace is the answer, the answer of all answers." Osho

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Be wild, crazy and drunk with Love.
If you are too careful, love will not find you.


Monday, May 14, 2012

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

 It's the meta-Poe version of his own life, where he's always trying to figure out the difference between waking and dreaming, living and dying, sanity and insanity. He's trying to get into that place beyond him.

john cusack on playing poe.

in death we seek to find the answers we could not in life. little do we know, suffering is a veil of illusion separating us from the divine. 

Saturday, May 5, 2012

“So when we find a few souls on the same wavelength, who think the same, It reinforces the best within our own depth and how in essence we are different essences of the same soul.”

Friday, May 4, 2012

“One of the deepest feminine pleasures is when a man stands full, present, and unreactive in the midst of his woman’s emotional storms. When he stays present with her, and loves her through the layers of wildness and closure, then she feels his trustability, and she can relax…” — Osho
“Whatever you think the world is withholding from you, you are withholding from the world.” — Eckhart Tolle
“There is nothing rational about love. Love, love stutters when it gets nervous, love trips over its own shoelaces, love is clumsy and my heart refuses to wear a helmet.”