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Literature Text
learn about choking.
learn about space &
the distance from the pier
to the bottom of the ocean.
contemplate obscure types of light, wonder
why they don't reach out & touch you,
imagine yourself beyond a veil,
separated.
see life as a collection of images
stitched together by the clumsy fingers
of an amateur.
find consistency in the rough parts, beauty
in the disturbed & the dark
between fine straight lines.
don't put too much stock in words:
sound is a language some can't
comprehend, raw
as callused, bleeding hands.
there is no mundane.
minds are bendable.
shadows can be touched.
when you press your fingers into your eye sockets,
the sparks you see are real.
fill yourself with precipices, reflections,
the soft touch of human hearts.
explain to yourself that you are a man
but explain your tears as well.
know reason;
feel anger;
taste fear;
cut yourself with love;
believe in beauty.
you're meant for this; you can feel it,
like you're drowning
(it's warm water &
you can still breathe).
the fairy tales were important;
don't forget them.
push safety away:
this is catharsis.
be a mind, numbered, calculative;
be a man, flesh everywhere, dying slowly;
be a song, a hero, a whisper;
immortal.
learn about space &
the distance from the pier
to the bottom of the ocean.
contemplate obscure types of light, wonder
why they don't reach out & touch you,
imagine yourself beyond a veil,
separated.
see life as a collection of images
stitched together by the clumsy fingers
of an amateur.
find consistency in the rough parts, beauty
in the disturbed & the dark
between fine straight lines.
don't put too much stock in words:
sound is a language some can't
comprehend, raw
as callused, bleeding hands.
there is no mundane.
minds are bendable.
shadows can be touched.
when you press your fingers into your eye sockets,
the sparks you see are real.
fill yourself with precipices, reflections,
the soft touch of human hearts.
explain to yourself that you are a man
but explain your tears as well.
know reason;
feel anger;
taste fear;
cut yourself with love;
believe in beauty.
you're meant for this; you can feel it,
like you're drowning
(it's warm water &
you can still breathe).
the fairy tales were important;
don't forget them.
push safety away:
this is catharsis.
be a mind, numbered, calculative;
be a man, flesh everywhere, dying slowly;
be a song, a hero, a whisper;
immortal.
Literature
I Mean to Get You Alone
You have sharp
pulse-elevating teeth
the stuff I imagine heart attacks
are made of
I'm bent on selling you a handful of smiles
specifically crafted
to distract you from the fact that
I have almost nothing to say
and now you're steering this conversation
in a direction that suggests you've
forgotten that I
don't watch movies or do much of
anything but work which maybe
explains why one glass of wine gets me
wrapped around you
car to streetlight
crash style
mangled limbs
breeding curious onlookers and my insurance has
expired
you're leaning in and all I can think is
I don't have insurance
Literature
Fire and Water
It was raining in Lancaster on September 3rd 1555, and Jane Ask loved the earthy smell that it coaxed out of the soil.
She wiped away the sheen of rainwater from her forehead with the back of her hand and set her small basket of nettles down by the front door. Later she would dry out the leaves and reduce them to a powder; the substance worked wonders on small wounds which refused to stop bleeding.
Jane had always been something of an herbalist. Growing up with only a father, and two older brothers from his first marriage, she had spent the majority of her childhood outdoors. Now practically a spinster at the age of twenty-two, she knew the
Literature
Automatic
i.
"So where are you from?" The boy leans toward me, questions swimming in his eyes. I smile.
"Oh, I'm from Boston."
"No, I mean, where are you from?" My smile falters as I realize where this is going. It's an all-too familiar conversation, one I've been having since I was old enough to reply.
"Do you mean where was I born?"
"Yeah."
"I was born in China."
"Do you speak Chinese?"
"No."
"Does your family speak Chinese?"
"No."
He looks befuddled. I sigh.
"I'm adopted."
"Oh!" I see the light bulb over his head go off in a shower of sparks. "Do you know who your real parents are? Like, your real parents?" My temper flares. I stifle th
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7/14/13
"he strums the chords with less than grace
(songs we all know)
each passing year etched on his face
(sun, rain or snow)
the words he sings are not his own
they speak of things he'll never know"
luminol - steven wilson
"he strums the chords with less than grace
(songs we all know)
each passing year etched on his face
(sun, rain or snow)
the words he sings are not his own
they speak of things he'll never know"
luminol - steven wilson
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