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"   The last time I held him, the last time we spoke, just
a whisper—hoarse—that marries now this many-voiced mansion
of storm and from him I’ve learned to slip my body,

to be the storm governed by the law of bounty given
then taken away. Shush and glide. This tide’s running
high, its silken muscular tearing ruled by cycles,
relentless, the drawn lavish damasks—teal, aquamarine,
silvered steel, desire’s tidal forces, such urgent

fullness, the elaborate collapse, and withdrawal
beyond the drawn curtain that shows the secret
desert of bare ruched sand. I’ve learned this,
I’ve learned to be the horn calling home
the journeyer, saying farewell. And here’s

the foghorn’s simple two-note wail,
mechanical stark aria that ripples
out to shelter all of us—
our mortal burden of dreams—
adrift in the sea’s restless shouldering.   "
-Lynda Hull, from “Rivers into Seas” (via proustitute)

I am weepy.
Most people make me so sleepy.

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merkmal: Dennis Oppenheim, Two Stage Transfer Drawing “As I run a marker along Eric’s s back he attempts to duplicate the movement on the wall. My activity stimulates a kinetic response from his sensory system. I am, therefore, Drawing Through Him.” (x)
"   We tend to think animals are lower than us, but all the scientists in the world couldn’t design and operate a bumblebee’s wing. We can’t jump or run very fast, and we can’t carry vast weights like an ant can. We can’t see in the dark and we can’t fly except crammed in a noisy tube like sardines, which doesn’t count. Humans compared to animals are almost totally deaf, and we can’t smell a fart in an elevator by their standards. We are finite and separate, and neurotic, while the consciousness of an animal is at peace and eternal. We strive and go crazy to become more important. Animals rest and sleep and enjoy the company of each other. We think we have evolved upwards from animals but we have lost almost all of their qualities and abilities. The idea that animals don’t have consciousness or that they don’t have a soul is rather crass. It shows a lack of consciousness. They talk, they have families, they feel things, they act individually or together to solve problems, they often care of their young as a tribal unit. They play, they travel, and medicate themselves when they get sick. They cry when others in the herd die, they know about us humans. Of course they have a soul, a very pristine one. We humans are only now attempting with the recent rise in consciousness to achieve the soul that animals have naturally.   "
-Stuart Wilde  (via commovente)

Do not salt your sorrow and do not clean your teeth with stolen pieces of sky. Don’t write your name in the silent white down of the lake’s frozen black belly. It will steep. And when you start to shed gold with the recklessness of the sunset spilling gold coins on oceans filled with night, know it is okay to overflow.

My sheets are beginning to smell like my sadness
honeycomb cinnamon bark and cayenne spiced pine needles
sickly sweet sweat salted with lonely caramel skin, stretched tight and
folding like taffy in all the wrong places.
The sun cooks up the room and still I stay, suffocating.
And as the stench strengthens, it is more and more difficult to leave.
Because its the air the people the idle conversation the clothes the space I take up in their negative space the limbs the crusted coffee cup rims that make it hard to breathe.

"   It is the sting of snow, the burning liquor of
the moonlight, the rush of rain in the gutters packed
with dead leaves: go to sleep, go to sleep.
And the night passes—and never passes—   "
-William Carlos Williams, from “A Goodnight” (via proustitute)