“I have just three things to teach: simplicity, patience, compassion. These three are your greatest treasures.”
— Lao Tzu

love is the only way.

& i, broken in my fear
am poisonous in my innocence

winter in the lamb's warm blood

the air in
here is tight and sore;
punctured, sudden, and punctuated
by breath.
helix.er
and pussywillows bend
towards rivers. .. frosted.
and i want the dead trees to drop your eyes
from my shearing, from my alabaster body
because i, in fear, understand how in half.truths,
one broken lamb is as good as
the broken limbs you imagine.

another kind of lovemaking is here.
love is death enough; am i even there?

in these
dim peripheral darks, we've strung out
stars and wrung our sleeves free
of string.quartered hearts....

child of vixen's woods, a lover
of poisons that are not mine own.

so i keep the whitest stain
under my tongue, where words oleander
based on the pure taste of something. .
. .nothing. .
i can bite back.

i live to love, to leave, but i never
either; one life
or the other
so swift it moves proverbially
horizontally
across my throat........ as if
it knows the boundaries of a girl
all akimbo and vertigo.

..............you know
the circumference of euthanasia.
and how quickly to let me go.
my flesh is softspoken.
....outside, i am a thousand bitten skins.. .. .
....inside, an abyss of uncivilization.. ... ...

i've asked that you seduce me
whistle.thin and hot with home.
i've written it in red like jesus.

................
......we can share
.........a mouth.




hurry, now.

bury me another
wintertime.


by ness bloo

How u react to people and situations, especially when challenges arise, is the best indicator of how deeply u know yourself. ~ Eckhart Tolle

there is nothing louder than the sound of your silence & how it echos solemnly in my ears..

there is a me long since forgotten, small & trembling, curled up in the corners of your lips, still begging you to smile..

Sara Bareilles King Of Anything lyrics

Keep drinking coffee, stare me down across the table
While I look outside
So many things I'd say if only I were able
But I just keep quiet and count the cars that pass by

You've got opinions, man
We're all entitled to 'em, but I never asked
So let me thank you for your time,
And try not to waste anymore of mine
And get out of here fast

I hate to break it to you babe, but I'm not drowning
There's no one here to save

Who cares if you disagree?
You are not me
Who made you king of anything?
So you dare tell me who to be?
Who died and made you king of anything?

You sound so innocent, all full of good intent
Swear you know best
But you expect me to jump up on board with you
And ride off into your delusional sunset

I'm not the one who's lost with no direction
But you'll never see
You're so busy making masks with my name on them in all caps
You got the talking down, just not the listening

And who cares if you disagree?
You are not me
Who made you king of anything?
So you dare tell me who to be?
Who died and made you king of anything?

All my life I've tried to make everybody happy
While I just hurt and hide
Waiting for someone to tell me it's my turn to decide

Who cares if you disagree?
You are not me
Who made you king of anything?
So you dare tell me who to be?
Who died and made you king of anything?

Who cares if you disagree?
You are not me
Who made you king of anything?
So you dare tell me who to be?
Who died and made you king of anything?

Let me hold your crown, babe

Your eyes were searchlights, seeking me out even before I knew you. Your words made me feel infinite. ~ Keighley Perkins

These days, I am pure fog. ~ Keighley Perkins

'Mary.
You're carrying in your left pocket a red ribbon sprayed with her scent.
You breathe it in sometimes when you think there's no one to see.
But what you feel...what you feel could only be satisfied by folding yourself into her.'

you are way too good for me..

sinners shouldnt throw stones in glass houses with broken mirrors..

i spent 1000s of days loving him even if it wasnt right. my nights i would die trying.

in the silence of love you will find the spark of life.

he's a friend, not a salad!

“Music at its best…is the grand archeology into and transfiguration of our guttural cry, the great human effort to grasp in time our deepest passions and yearnings as prisoners of time. Profound music leads us—beyond language—to the dark roots of our scream and the celestial heights of our silence.”
— Cornel West, The Cornel West Reader

Eths - Animaexhalare

I should have felt the distress in your fall, this denial, your refusal of the life that bound us by spite.
I understand, feel the addiction drinking you towards the bottom, she courses in me, draws myself to me.
Without the voice, dialog is not audible and only your hand remains, its writings that will replace your screams in the end.
An odor of flesh battles the perfume, takes possession of the air.
Violently sucked by this gaping hole, he watches me, atones, and throws “now or never”.
All these words that we had never been able to say were exchanged in silence through the stares of our two fissured beings.
Soft moment, soft mother…
Without weakening, a muted hostility fed this furious desire to finally contemplate a common spectacle.
Many times, I wrote a relentless scenario.
Every evening, misfortune’s garb adjusted, unavowable.
Time, its work, only leaves from the somber hours intercalated flashes of this frightening hell that broke us all.
Waves of corrodible ethanol burned your choices, here’s what’s left of you, a warm slow light of a cold sun, these rare profound instants of communion veiling an inevitable destruction.
For a long time, all that remained of darkness was an impatient urge to leave, to grow, forsake the smoked filled cave, bathed in alcohol, break the chains of the past, create the unreal.
My visceral ideal lost in the abysses of obscurity absolves the soft dissonant accords of melancholy, strident, exhumes my cadaver from boredom.
Naked facing the world, asphyxia seems natural, arterial.
Ages can run, experience feed, resentments rot, the atonal textures and times provide a chance to heal.
The pullulating insect, chewer of cells, fattened by abuse, menacing of a thousand warnings, devoured you.
Emprisoned in your throat, the starved beast closed itself.
Here you are now amongst us, my benevolent mother, appeased at the sides of those that build us.
Grows, those that taught us to dominate this sinister atavistic madness that embraces us you and me.
We could have only met at the end, these final deaf hours before the departure, gorged of delicate smiles, attention, these breaths of comprehension have etched my memory forever.
I tasted so little of all this, it is so hard, I miss it.


*from french to english, roughly translated.

“Looking back, I stopped writing in my notebook when I stopped wanting to know myself anymore. If you hear a song that makes you cry and you don’t want to cry anymore, you don’t listen to that song anymore. But you can’t get away from yourself. You can’t decide not to see yourself anymore. You can’t decide to turn off the noise in your head.”
— Jay Asher