nobody's nothing

Photo

Thu, 23 May 2013 23:33:52 -0400

deliafrances: maaadeliine: got this today yo, need this.

Thu, 23 May 2013 23:27:13 -0400

deliafrances:

maaadeliine:

got this today

yo, need this.

#selfie

Thu, 23 May 2013 23:13:56 -0400

#selfie

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Wed, 22 May 2013 13:10:48 -0400

"How many times have people used a pen or paintbrush because they couldn’t pull the trigger?"

Tue, 21 May 2013 19:05:33 -0400

“How many times have people used a pen or paintbrush because they couldn’t pull the trigger?”

- Virginia Woolf, from Selected Essays (via lonur)

I just don’t have a gun and everyone I know that has one won’t let me borrow it.

This is a bone

Tue, 21 May 2013 13:58:13 -0400

This is a bone

Photo

Mon, 20 May 2013 22:04:29 -0400

megan-bbq: feministsofthe90s: grrl-meat, hurrl-scout roseanne ...

Mon, 20 May 2013 20:51:12 -0400

megan-bbq:

feministsofthe90s:

grrl-meat, hurrl-scout

roseanne

DIRTBAG!!!

THE NEATO MOSQUITO ALT LIT FIREWORKS SHOW: nature poem

Sun, 19 May 2013 23:37:14 -0400

THE NEATO MOSQUITO ALT LIT FIREWORKS SHOW: nature poem:

sarahjeanalex:

neatomosquitoaltlitfireworksshow:

we’re here
i’m alone with you in capital letters

through the window a tall crane builds new things in the distance

we’re here
realise that it’s perfect to be allowed to like things together

i hit the lampshade with a towel
dust and dead mosquitos fall
and us here in all of it
in london
quiet dancing

realise that part of me
is already haunting every mcdonalds i’ve ever been in
and part of you
is already haunting every place you’ve ever kissed me
so yes you are haunting my collarbone

we’re here
quiet dancing in london still
you are like a tulip when there are tulips behind you and i can’t decide what you’re like

realise that i would like to fuck a mountain of you
yes you are haunting my kneebacks
yes you are haunting my chest through my tshirt at night
yes you are haunting all 360° of some shitty ferris wheel

we’re here
realise that at every moment you’re the only visible part of an almost infinite conga line
ok now imagine crying while wearing shorts it’s hard to do

tonight we share a moon
toothpaste
this blue-orange night sky

we’ve stopped quiet dancing in london now
i’m alone with you with a crane in the distance
congratulations
tonight our lives will change 0% in every direction

so let’s move to the country
you can grow back your eyebrows
and i can wear a vest for the first time
and you can point at a chicken and laugh
and i can punch a flower and it is ok
and you can say the most interesting thing about me is that i like you so much
and i can put my body high up in a tree and wait
and you can thank me for all the butterflies we saw today
and i can say ‘you are all of the butterflies’ as you try to count
and you can cry dreaming that we had a baby and i made you dress her in one ugg and one croc
and i can look at you pointing at a chicken and laughing and point at a chicken and laugh with you
and you can cry missing distant fireworks
and i can be a tourist in so much of you
and you can hold a tiny leaf and say “leaflet”
and i can listen to a crow talk and it is beautiful music
and you can fall in love with quiet forest water noises in this forest
and i can like animals and you are one
and you can cry missing your exboyfriend everytime you poop out an undigested sweetcorn kernel
and i can almost lodge an axe in my shin trying to chop wood
and you can look at our knees and feet all in the grass while i sleep
and i can touch a mushroom and imagine being a mushroom
and you can put your face close to moss and breathe
and i can say “this is my only life these are my only teeth”
and you can say “this is your only knee” and kick me in the knee
and i can push the hard on the west side of a tree and you’re welcome i’m turning planet earth right now
and you can see a quiet frog looking up at a nebula and it is an excellent beast
and i can wear the fuck out of some scarves with you
and you can wear the fuck out of some scarves with me
and i can smile watching mist being mist
and you can put dark berries near your lips and then on the ground instead
and i can lodge an axe in my shin trying to chop wood
and you can look at a sad-seeming badger and say “wow that is the world’s horniest badger”
and i can blink watching lightning connect a sycamore to a sky
and you can stab a bonfire with a branch and think “yes sir i am hurting this fucking fire”
and i can put my body high up in a tree and wait
and you can tell me “don’t worry your sadness isn’t going anywhere you can come back to it later let’s just be alright together awhile”
and i can get drunk and touch your ribs a lot while you are trying to sleep
and you can brush my teeth for me
and i can smile as my gums are bleeding in our two man tent
and you can put your hand around my bare wrist and say “wow i hate your bracelet”
and i can smell like fuck up moths
and you can touch my hairs when i’m sad and say “always remember sombre is only two letters away from sombrero”
and i can look at geese and wow they are so very geese in the rain
and you can cry missing fresh donuts
and bugs will find us again and again
we will wear bugs at night
and bugs will wear us too

woods
look at us
woods we are in you now

these stinging nettles are beautiful and how we are lying in them too

i am alone with you in capital letters
kiss my legs in an orchard
i will kiss yours
too
_
Crispin Best

http://issue4.popserial.net/best/

crispin

"I tell my piano the things I used to tell you."

Sun, 19 May 2013 23:20:28 -0400

“I tell my piano the things I used to tell you.”

- Frédéric Chopin (via pigmenting)

Your tumblr makes me feel a little less dead. Thank you for existing.

Sun, 19 May 2013 23:17:43 -0400

but my tumblr is so depressing!

I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world.

Sun, 19 May 2013 19:51:25 -0400

I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world.

vacants: (by Neko from Neverland)

Sun, 19 May 2013 19:12:33 -0400

vacants:

(by Neko from Neverland)

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Sun, 19 May 2013 19:10:07 -0400

I don’t want to be your entire world, no. I would be happy just to be your morning coffee, your...

Sun, 19 May 2013 19:09:34 -0400

I don’t want to be
your entire world, no.
I would be happy
just to be your morning coffee,
your hanging car keys,
your wallet.

Something seemingly
insignificant,
but if lost throws off
your entire day.

ok

Sun, 19 May 2013 19:05:55 -0400

Photo

Sat, 18 May 2013 22:12:59 -0400

vacants: (by chelsea dirck)

Sat, 18 May 2013 21:59:16 -0400

vacants:

(by chelsea dirck)

I will help you, I promise.

Sat, 18 May 2013 21:48:00 -0400

I wish you were walking up the sets of stairs that lead you to my apartment.

A surprise visit, you are pulling your bottom lip into your mouth and dragging your teeth slowly across it as you release it back for air, which you do often when we argue. A hand comes up and pushes light brown and blonde hair, the softest hair my fingertips had the opportunity to touch, away from your face.

I am jealous of these actions, for they are not mine.

Your eyelashes are held into groups by saline, under your eyes the skin is damp and raw. I think about how you cry, it’s not a prolonged ebbing of tears. They are fragile, timid beads. I thought of them as I was driving in the rain, and every new raindrop that appeared on my windshield took me back to what I saw on the edge of your cheek. But there weren’t many, every time there weren’t many, as if you were holding on to them, incase of emergency, holding them in a mason jar to your breast thinking them to be precious.

You arrive at my door and knock, when I come to it I look into the peephole. All I see are two overwhelming vermillion lips. I became a scientist looking through a microscope at a cardinal wing, the cardinal that came to sit with my mother on the windowsill of the old house, when my grandfather decided to leave this world, to be with his true love.

When I let you in I see that you are in a million pieces, you are bird that has just been dissected and left in a cold metal tray. With tears in my eyes, I gently grab two edges of the tray and set you on the dining room table.

I will help you, I promise.

You are wide open, you have come to me with your insides on blatant display, and I have never seen a more alluring sight before. When I look closely I notice tiny green buds that are beginning to sprout between organs. You are coming back to me, dear. With insignificant, small hands I begin taking the pins holding you wide open out of your skin, throwing them away to never been seen again. I take the two pins out that are holding your wings captive. You know to leave them spanned out, for I have more work to do for you, but the sprouts are coming further out now, from behind deeply hidden crevices within you.

I run my fingers along your beak and over the crown of your head. I am your surgeon now, I have taken responsibility to bring you back to me, and I will. I have the needle now, accompanied with sturdy black thread. The sprouts have stopped their progress, from the intimidation of the coupled tools of this rehabilitation. If your eyes were open I would offer you reassurance, trust, anything I possibly could from secure, lingering eye contact. I pinch the thin skin of your sides and pull them taught, then together to meet at the middle. I think of when you tilt your head back and reveal how delicate your neck looks when your muscles stretch the skin over your body. Before I begin my sewing, I offer the sprouts within you some of my tears. They begin to come up hesitantly. I lean down to softly kiss each one, wishing they would extend out of your chest and encompass me with their security.

The sewing is done quite meticulously, but with a quickened pace. You are just as captivating as you were before the surgery, as I knew you would be. I touch the bumps the stitches have created almost in a way as if I were reading braille. I begin to think of what the braille would say and I wished it to say,

“I am exactly where I want be, here with you, and I am not leaving.”

As my fingers are running along, I feel tiny, weak vibrations that I don’t immediately recognize. I put my ear down to your breast to be enthralled at the sound of your heartbeat. I begin to weep, and weep and weep and weep. You have come back to me, dear. Your eyes open sleepily. They are a candle that has just been lit and they need time for the fire to register back within them. When they do, your eyes catch mine, and at this moment you open your beak- as to sing. Instead out pours purple wild flowers followed by vibrant green stems. The sprouts have finally grown, and bloomed. It keeps coming and coming and coming, and the more I cry the more flowers come. They start wrapping around my fingers in a snake-like manner, and then they move to my arms. They embrace me.

In the days to come you never leave my side. You sit on my shoulder when I am not in bed, and when I am, you sit in the window sill singing your heart out to me, I know that heart, because I have seen it. The feathers displayed across your chest have almost grown back, and I can almost faintly now see the scar of your mountain ridge. Sometimes I sit in the window with you and rub a finger over it, remembering what it means in braille, and thinking to myself- for once in my life I was right about something.

But we aren’t speaking and my bed is empty and colder than usual and my lips aren’t raw with love and the fox cries and screams at night and it tears at my heart and if you were here maybe he’d stop.

I’ll seize the day i stop breathing, turn cold, and die

Sat, 18 May 2013 20:03:27 -0400

I’ll seize the day i stop breathing, turn cold, and die