RESONATE

May 5, 2015

10:36pm | URL: https://tmblr.co/ZmHDpu1k8Jr8o

November 25, 2014

(GWENDOLYN BROOKS, from Riot, 1969)
Phoenix:
“In Egyptian mythology,
a bird which lived for five hundred years
and then consumed itself in fire,
rising renewed from the ashes.”
—Webster

The earth is a beautiful place.
Watermirrors and things to be reflected.
Goldenrod across the…

1:37pm | URL: https://tmblr.co/ZmHDpu1WT7mrm

(Notes: 2)

November 25, 2014

heatherchristle:

Can’t you see it
Can’t you feel it
It’s all in the air
I can’t stand the pressure much longer
Somebody say a prayer

9:04am | URL: https://tmblr.co/ZmHDpu1WS8gV9

(Notes: 509)

November 24, 2014

wow yea

(via electric-cereal)

12:14am | URL: https://tmblr.co/ZmHDpu1WLQbIf

(Notes: 73)

November 23, 2014

johnmortara:

can’t stop imagining ‘so much depends upon a red wheel barrow’ but like, literally

(Source: jamiemortara, via comakid)

2:55pm | URL: https://tmblr.co/ZmHDpu1WIkZmf

(Notes: 217)

November 22, 2014

(Source: alexander-holland, via assjb4-deactivated20160420)

3:16pm | URL: https://tmblr.co/ZmHDpu1WDT1XD

(Notes: 48)

October 22, 2014

voicemailpoems:

‘regrettable deathsign’
by Spencer Garrison
i am her heartbeat
i am th flower n her hair
i am lunch trays on packed snowhill
four lokos under th spider branch dandruff pine
three graves at home w two teenagers lying softly
melting snow to reach th dead below .
i am cold heartbeat
dead flower on yr grave
i am lunch tray splattered apple sauce
we’re getting drunk off four lokos
hanging warm perspiration from our noses dripping
K E R PLUNK on yr deadman’s stone rock face .
i am littering th snow yellow &
i am staring up at th digital blips that bloom blossom n nanoseconds
surprising me
making me feel ultra human small
i wonder how u must feel underneath
with the maggots
crushing softened bone
i bet the coffin hasnt preserved yr face
can u feel yr arms rest at th head of th table ?
i wonder where yr power went -
memory of yr slurring drunken powerstance spitting hypocritical wisdom
at my reluctant face during th 2012 superbowl,
motley crue shirt waving over my trembling bony body
underneath th prime rib meat muscle you
god i need to drink more milk
itll make me stronger than u
ill throw it up
but maybe my heart will beat happier than yours -
memory of u laughing at th dancing elephant on tv
because “how often do u see a dancing elephant ?”
i dont want to drain my mothers breast -
she got implants to hide her inability -
id rather pull ur work from underneath her
putting her down there
with you
to lie forever weakening by th hour while this girl and i sit on top and drink yr wine
sinking closer speaking of the stars (w th shining sky coins u rightfully earned now jingling n my pocket )
staring at that dripping freezing regrettable deathsign -
a snotrocket on yr headstone
in between two graves i ask her if shes ever stolen money before
and she says no
th unsurprising innocence n her voice. .
this selfish resentment, this uncharacteristic nihilism
it’s all just me screaming at yr grave
“I MISS YOU
I WANT TO FEEL YOU AGAIN . “
O god would i kiss u n yr tomb.
this girl i lay above u with,
id take all her fathers money & spend it on my deadly habits
just to save the rest of our family from going down under w You .

———————————————————
Spencer Garrison called us from Syracuse, NY.
More about Spencer.
1-910-703-POEM
[soundcloud] [podcast] [facebook] [twitter]

! :) <3

(Source: voicemailpoems)

12:24pm | URL: https://tmblr.co/ZmHDpu1Tmgea7

(Notes: 19)

September 28, 2014

"Sam used to occupy himself with death fantasies of close family members. In fifth grade, Sam’s grandmother stayed a week in his house, and every morning he would make himself sick ten minutes into the morning bus ride so the driver would maybe turn around and take him home. The most effective method involved Sam fake vomiting a mouthful of Sunny D all over the floor, letting it slide around as kids screamed and lifted their feet onto the seats. Sam figured out that these sort of dramas play out better with an audience. If he ended up making it to school, he would cry in class during the pledge of allegiance and shove his fingers down his throat in the nurse’s bathroom. Sam couldn’t understand why, but the pledge of allegiance could still make him cry today if he thought about it hard enough. When he was found out, no one asked Sam why he didn’t want to go to school, they just made sure he knew he had no choice. He’s still not sure if it was because he was afraid of his grandma dying or if he just didn’t want to go to school."

— excerpt from a way too personal short story

2:45pm | URL: https://tmblr.co/ZmHDpu1RuKUtT

(Notes: 1)

September 26, 2014

The world is very good at distracting us. Much of the ingenuity of our remarkable species goes towards finding new ways to distract ourselves from things that really matter. The internet—it’s lethal, isn’t it? Maintaining focus is critical, I think, in the presence of endless distraction. You’ve only got time to be a halfway decent parent, plus one other thing.

For me, that one other thing is: I’ve got to be writing. I have a few ways to make sure I can carve out time.

Part one: Neglect everything else.

Part two: Get disciplined. Learn to rush to your laptop and open it up. Open the file without asking yourself if you’re in the mood, without thinking about anything else. Just open the file: and then you’re safe. Once the words are on the screen, that becomes your distraction.

Of course, it’s not distraction—it’s work, and it’s wonderful when it goes well. I’m sure other, more disciplined people can do it without needing to rush, but I have to. The moment you think okay, it’s work time, and face down the words, you rush past all the other things asking for your attention.

— David Mitchell on How to Write (via altlitpress)