1. I do not know what drove

    her away - the sharp jabbing paw, 

    or

    .

    ceaseless violence hidden

    behind large eyes and fur -

    nature never

    looked fondly on siblings. 

    we ought to have learnt

    from the Greeks, that sooner

    or 

    .

    later, they would have eaten their 

    children; only she

    would not wait. Could not 

    wait, perhaps - clawing at the blind horizon 

    beyond better, surely, than

    sleeplessness, starvation, sex

    of the unspeakable sort. 

    now,

    .

    bereft, Mars waits by the gate in 

    bib ridiculous, sans balls, sans teeth,

    sans sister.

    now, 

    .

    believing, that swift footed Aphrodite’s

    new life has suffered no loss. 

  2. Most of all, perhaps, we need intimate knowledge of the past. Not that the past has any magic about it, but because we cannot study the future, and yet need something to set against the present, to remind us that the basic assumptions have been quite different in different periods and that much which seems certain to the uneducated is merely temporary fashion.

    A man who has lived in many places is not likely to be deceived by the local errors of his native village; the scholar has lived in many times and is therefore in some degree immune from the great cataract of nonsense that pours from the press and the microphone of his own age.

  3. grey muted vowels 

    sung over a blank face; thin

    painted lips pressed carefully shut

    to hide the lighted pearl within. 

    .

    her mother inconsolable 

    grief of the deepest kind; undone

    while her children stare out into the night

    sky, the stars making space for yet another one.

    .

    fat wet tears fall upon 

    the dog; startled, it jumps 

    and paws at the various silent feet, all sad

    a sea of toes that tells it to go or come.   

    .

    drink packets squeeze out their long sweet

    sighs, as they sweat sweet tears in this dark;

    brought up to salty lips, they nourish the senseless 

    the only common thing left, is that breathless silence. 

  4. Setting fire to our insides for fun
    If you’re still alive
    You are the lucky one

  5. Therefore the modern man in revolt has become practically useless for all purposes of revolt. By rebelling against everything he has lost his right to rebel against anything… There is a thought that stops thought. That is the only thought that ought to be stopped.

    GK Chesterton

  6. I thought that
    You had made a heart
    out of pebbles

    But gently you made me see
    How they were holes
    Precisely spaced

    Out with your ski pole.
    Spaces to host
    Laughter, love

    Those corrosive type things
    That would melt mountains
    Leaving us both together, standing

    Clutching our bellies, mouths
    open, in a gooey sweet puddle
    As our ice age warms away.

  7. Philemon hangs the suit

    upon the rack - 

    its foreign threads pricking his screaming 

    skin, his cold wife cast 

    off in a corner, where

    no forgiveness can touch.

    He watches that grey wool sway, mock

    truth, such strange and bitter fruit

    that tastes like black cotton 

    stuffed in his mouth. He cannot

    weep - dry

    clean only. That suit is cheap; 

    hastily sewn, for summer days

    where sweat and soiling mingle 

    sighs that damn and dishevel 

    Now she cries, but Philemon cannot

    hear, she is far, far away.

    He is dying to rip that lapel 

    and make love to it, 

    finger that lingering pleasure -

    the stuff that gets torn and can’t ever be mended back together. 

  8. The unforced rhythms of grace.

  9. designtank:

One of several Muslim prayer carpets created with a Bic ballpoint pen, they are French designer Jonathan Bréchignac’s response to the ephemerality of design comps, and a form of meditation. Read more at FastCo. Design.

Art with ink

    designtank:

    One of several Muslim prayer carpets created with a Bic ballpoint pen, they are French designer Jonathan Bréchignac’s response to the ephemerality of design comps, and a form of meditation. Read more at FastCo. Design.

    Art with ink

    Reblogged from: designtank
  10. You tilt your head
    Like a puppy discovering
    Its tail -

    Gaze fixed but unseeing
    Feeling its way in
    The dark -

    The huge leaves we left out
    Waxy and wet in
    Their secret longing -

    Rain pelting as
    You gasp, like an
    Animal, drowning -

    Our silence fills our eyes
    Speaking only in sighs
    Unuttered singing -

  11. Tell me that you have two hearts -
    Like the bird who returns daily to his nest
    At sunset dreaming of the cedar at noon.

    Say that you have four eyes -
    Two of which only have sight for the sighs
    That pass between our parched lips in the rare moment of feeling.

    Declare that there are two truths -
    The one from our youth and
    The other of our making.

    But show me only one you -
    In devastating completeness
    Though it might kill me,
    Though it must kill you.

  12. The catastrophe of choice

  13. eatsleepdraw:

It would mean so much to me if you featured my work - hope you like my collage xx
tumblr - facebook - store

Braid

    eatsleepdraw:

    It would mean so much to me if you featured my work - hope you like my collage xx

    tumblr - facebook - store

    Braid

    Reblogged from: eatsleepdraw
  14. endlesstoil:

Michael Donovan for Vision

    endlesstoil:

    Michael Donovan for Vision

    Reblogged from: endlesstoil
  15. /

    The imaginary, is neither unreal nor real.

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