I want to erase your footprints
from my walls. Each pillow
is thick with your reasons. Omens
fill the sidewalk below my window: a woman
in a party hat, clinging
to a tin-foil balloon. Shadows
creep slowly across the tar, someone yells, ‘Stop!’
and I close my eyes. I can’t watch
as this town slowly empties, leaving me
strung between bon-voyages, like so many clothes
on a line, the white handkerchief
stuck in my throat. You know the way Jesus
rips open his shirt
to show us his heart, all flaming and thorny,
the way he points to it. I’m afraid
the way I’ll miss you will be this obvious.
I have a friend who everyone warns me
is dangerous, he hides
bloody images of Jesus
around my house, for me to find
when I come home; Jesus
behind the cupboard door, Jesus tucked
into the mirror. He wants to save me
but we disagree from what. My version of hell
is someone ripping open his shirt
and saying, Look what I did for you…
— Nick Flynn, “Emptying Town”
don’t fret, precious, I’m here
step away from the window
go back to sleep
safe from pain, and truth, and choice, and other poison devils
see, they don’t give a fuck about you
like I do.
full size here
so I just found some old, old poem about Bek called “A Martyr Is a Martyr Not Because He Died Doing Something Heroic But Because He Did Something Heroic And Wasn’t Around To Ruin It By Making Smart Comments Afterwards”
I feel like this is telling
this hospital hotel is full of lovesick birds of prey and bloodthirsty doves
I’m tired of this place, brother. tired of waking amid the decay, brother
let me sleep in a flame of fire
think of owls, Mr. Filkey
think of tea in an empty library and an old piano and a gloveless hand in yours
cold as it might be
polo polo polo polo
here’s a roundup of OC tumblrs because i haven’t done this yet and i think some of you follow these blogs and i might as well~
Brecca (nsfw): wretchedkingdom
[opium-wreathed ratking thief/assassin/mob boss/former sex worker with knives for fingers and red wine for blood; aggressively masochistic blasphemous wretch, 50% fancy, 50% fatalistic bullfuckery, a bottomless well of scorn for martyrs and self-styled heroes and a pesky soft spot for street kids and world-weary individuals who stink of sadness and broken innocence]
[grinning broken-nosed dandelion doge-girl with a mean right hook, sooty fingernails and gnarled knuckles, a black-hole stomach, and a gravitational field like the sun; rambunctious stray, brimming with defiant optimism and general rebellious adolescent unrest]
[dogegirl’s palemate/cosmic twin, quiet green-eyed black-gloved fox boy, snow-stained and porcelain-masked, pulseless heart cracked down the middle and a meat-bag mothercorpse monster in his head; a halo sometimes made of the moon and sometimes of carrion flies; kind, as a rule, to everyone and everything but himself]
[mad one-armed biologist freedom fighter made of unquenchable curiosity and passionate humanitarianism when sober, offensive science puns when drunk, and a slow soul-rotting obsession with retribution when alone; relentlessly in love with the world, hobbies include singing opera to pitcher plants, continuously picking emotional scabs, and trolling the aristocracy]
Buddy Wakefield | “We Were Emergencies”
We can stick anything into the fog
and make it look like a ghost
let us not become tragedies.
We are not funeral homes
with propane tanks in our windows,
lookin’ like cemeteries.
Cemeteries are just the Earth’s way of not letting go.
let’s turn our silly wrists so far backwards
the razor blades in our pencil tips
can’t get a good angle on all that beauty inside.
Step into this
with your airplane parts.
and repeat after me with your heart:
“I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hated myself.”
Make love to me
like you know I am better
than the worst thing I ever did.
I’m new to this.
But I have seen nearly every city from a rooftop
I have realized
that the moon
did not have to be full for us to love it,
that we are not tragedies
stranded here beneath it,
that if my heart
every time I fell from love
I’d be able to offer you confetti by now.
But hearts don’t break,
they bruise and get better.
We were never tragedies.
We were emergencies.
You call 9 – 1 – 1.
Tell them I’m having a fantastic time.
still we keep ruins of temples phantoms of gardens of houses
if we were to lose the ruins we would be left with nothing
an attempt at/interpretation of clockwork-contrivance's Barryn
probably butchered him but it’s okay because this was exceptionally fun and dwarves are great
This is such an important piece. Let’s talk about the politics of relationships and working towards equity in our relationships.
A relationship anarchist does not assign special value to a relationship because it includes sex. A relationship anarchist does not assign special value to a relationship because it includes romance, if they even acknowledge romance as a distinct emotion or set of behaviors in the first place. A relationship anarchist begins from a place of assuming total freedom and flexibility as the one in charge of their personal relationships and decides on a case by case basis what they want each relationship to look like.
For monogamists and many poly people, a “partner” is someone you are both fucking and romantically attracted to, and only that kind of relationship can be a space for commitment, for long-term cohabitation, for childrearing, for profound emotional intimacy and vulnerability, for financial interdependence, for sensual touch and nongenital physical affection, etc. For these people, a “friend” is not as important as a partner because they’re neither the object nor the source of sexual desire and romantic attraction. “Friendship” does not allow for commitment, for long-term cohabitation, for childrearing, for complete emotional intimacy, for financial interdependence, for sensual touch and nongenital physical affection, for legally binding agreements, etc. Monogamists rank their relationships in a very obvious, rigid fashion, and many polyamorous people follow the same basic ranking system by putting romantic-sexual relationships above nonromantic/nonsexual relationships and sometimes also ranking their polyamorous romantic-sexual relationships too. (Thus, the idea of “primary” vs. “secondary” partners.)
Relationship anarchists do not rank personal, intimate relationships. They do not see any set of behaviors as innately restricted to romantic and/or sexual relationships, which certainly makes it difficult to elevate romantic-sexual relationships to a superior position above nonsexual/nonromantic relationships. RA’s see all of their personal relationships—meaning, any relationship that isn’t professional or casual in nature—as equally important, unique, fulfilling different needs or desires in their life, and as possessing similar or identical potential for emotional/physical/mental intimacy, love, and satisfaction. A relationship anarchist does not place an emotional ceiling on nonromantic/nonsexual friendship or on a sexual friendship that’s devoid of “romance.” A relationship anarchist does not limit physical/sensual affection in their nonsexual relationships just because they’re nonsexual. A relationship anarchist does not expect to spend most of their time with just one sexual partner or with their sexual partners in general, nor does an RA assume that the sexual relationships (if they have any) automatically deserve or get more time than the nonsexual relationships. A relationship anarchist understands that all relationships deserve and need the same amount of open communication, consideration of needs, focused attention, etc.
/slams the reblog button repeatedly using face
- me: /cleaning up for a group project
- me: maybe if i arrange my belongings just so i can trick them into thinking i am interesting