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You fade... Like a bruise. Like the ones your mouth left on my neck and shoulders with its lustful pressure. Your teeth, which brought moments of bright pain/pleasure, Are now bared in an artificial, animal smile. Your lips, which parted to taste my skin like it was salvation, Barely part now to speak to me. You whispered my name like a prayer.
The people that come into our lives do so for a reason It may only be for a day or a month or may just be for a season But when two paths cross, no matter how brief There's a lesson somewhere to be learned It may be just that we're on the wrong path and there's a corner that needs to be turned It may be to teach us that we can still fly and soar in the heavens above or it may be a brief and torrid affair to show us that we can still love And maybe my words are speaking to you and I'm part of some message you need To show you the signs that surround you so between the lines you can read.
by Shira Lipkin the girl's voice the changeling voice I have studied so hard to pass as one of you. I've spent a lifetime on it.
communion I know a boy who called his girlfriend’s body a “crime scene.” Dad, my body is a crime scene. My body is lint and gasoline and matchstick.
There’s a man with a hole that goes straight through his soul and it’s open for all to see. Just ask and he’ll tell every joy, every hell, and how it all came to be. He will tell you unbidden; no secret is hidden; and he’ll speak with a gleam in his eyes But he hides in the shells of the stories he tells; each story a cunning disguise. It’s easy to heal when all that you feel is bared like a page in a book, but the depth of a hole in a broken man’s soul depends on how deeply you look.
oh! sorry if I woke you she says upon discovery of the slumbering silver psyche yaaaawn …hey… what’s a pretty little thing like you doing way down here? I have a hole
Multiple people have passed along this fantastic manifesto of modern creativity that was put together by five curators of an exhibition for Les Rencontres Arles Photographie called "From Here On." One friend noted just how inspiring that graphic alone was, but reading the more detailed manifesto is worthwhile as well. It talks about just how much the internet and digital technologies have changes our lives, and changed the way art and creativity works -- in undoubtedly positive ways. Here's just a snippet of the larger piece: The growth of the Internet and the proliferation of sites for searching out and/or sharing images online—Flickr, Photobucket, Facebook, Google Images, eBay, to name only the best-known—now mean a plethora of visual resources that was inconceivable as little as ten years ago: a phenomenon comparable to the advent of running water and gas in big cities in the nineteenth century.
S he is a breathing book each night I touch her pages delicately turn to find
sometimes i take a Shower with the lights off. but before i even finish showering, i turn the lights back On, because i remember how afraid of the dark i am. sometimes i go to the Airport and just sit in there for a few hours. because i like watching people Reunite. sometimes i cut my Fingernails way too short. like, down to the quicks. because it’s an odd feeling, the way my fingertips Hurt every time i touch something. sometimes i go out in public without my Shoes, because i like feeling the Real ground, not just the inside of my shoes. sometimes i re-arrange my Bedroom, but then i change it right back because everyone knows that there isn’t a single person in the world that isn’t afraid of Change.
I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me. Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little. If suddenly you forget me do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you. If you think it long and mad, the wind of banners that passes through my life, and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots, remember that on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land.