In the unearthed: One pill for wisdom, Two for grace, Three for assurance, And a few more in good taste. Stomached: Muddy mercury cum Bubbling in dewy florets, Silence. -J.s.
Irony in Plain (by J.S.)
My love ponders the streets, Aching, restless, gossamer silk, Flitting grace, Turpentine eyes bent on blue, If that’s what she wishes; “I’ll live to follow you.” We pass each other daily, Downcast eyes gouging the same Patch of lonely, lucky pavement Which is how god gets his kicks: Knowing that soul-mates never Find each other. They are too busy staring at the Exact same abyss to ever...
Distillation B: Silence
It was a dream. He clawed out every last sinew Of his own throat. Poured volumes of Blackened silence unto His pitcher. Finally. Played the games he did, Drank his drink all, Succame. Nightmoon peered down thru His window grimey glass; Dream, dream. -J.S.
surrealism: Rose Hobart by Joseph Cornell, 1936. Short film, 18:43. From Ubuweb: Rose Hobart consists almost entirely of footage taken from East of Borneo, a 1931 jungle B-film starring the nearly forgotten actress Rose Hobart. Cornell condensed the 77-minute feature into a 20-minute short, removing virtually every shot that didn’t feature Hobart, as well as all of the action sequences. In...
She Hears Crickets in February (By J.S.)
Trudging towards her like groping amber, almost ashamed, almost loved for once, He melts utterly in her easy grasp, oozes listless love geometry for her to inspect. She compares it against all her stolid right angles, spits it back out, cold as numbers at him. Her touch was the six minute moment of silence all types of men sieged. And later, (when the job was done) As night blared the...
Something About Elevator Accidents Always Puts me in the mood. -J.S.
Equation 29-5 (By J.S.)
Me= I ÷ You
Equation 29-4 (By J.S.)
Faith= Ignorance + Certainty
Equation 29-3 (by J.S.)
Hope = Faith ÷ Reason
Fragment D: 12:44 AM
Later, when even the crickets ceased their frantic chirps the moon sailed in her inkwell dipping her pigtails into the stars and screeching for God. -J.S.
Chasing every thought is like responding to all your spam. That’s why I practice...– @PeacMindfulness (via twitter)
Ezra Pound, "The Garden"
sharingpoetry: Like a skein of loose silk blown against a wall She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens, And she is dying piece-meal of a sort of emotional anemia. And round about there is a rabble Of the filthy, sturdy,...
It’s unfortunate and I really wish I wouldn’t have to say this, but I really...– Emma Thompson (via sweetpeapath)
Oh: (bye J.S.)
That Jazzy Jizzum of your media-core Engwrish is stale and fowl.
On Birds and Anchors (by J.S.)
The Power lines are Powerful metaphors: Lenient ledger lines, Brimming with the conversation of sparrows. Chittery in that flaxen smog, Their Poetry Drifts………… … … …As I feel the anchoring Lump in my throat.
Fragment C (by J.S.)
To grasp at such naked straws has been utter amusement through the years for him. Trudging towards her like ebbing amber, thick and deliberate, almost ashamed, almost static. He melts, and oozes listless geometry for her to finger. All the sharp angelic angles roar, and she wonders why they still cut. You question too much. All angles are right in this world.
My G+ Profile
Bragging rights: l still actually read books, never once smoked k2, I enjoy the New Yorker for the comics mostly, successfully watched FLCL over 50 times, maintains massive blood clot for brain, I’m a naive fool, My friends and I are insane
Valentine's Day (Happy)
“I Will If You Will” -The Lovers
More Writings Coming (I have been lazy)...
Sober isn’t sticking around anymore, The phone call she got seemed… Quite urgent indeed. I suspect we will meet again, a dead bird in her hand, her bush neatly trimmed. -J.S.
We’re delighted to hear that Rep. Fleming is a regular reader of America’s...– The Onion editor Joe Randazzo • In response to the Republican Congressman who mistook an Onion article for the real thing. source (via • follow)
Likely She Wore Converse (op.2)
He saw the empress of shoes Again In the subway depths. She was ruefully blasé today, Crown in trash, Scepter buried abound cotton, Singed hair golden, Licking the last crevices Between the cheeks Of meth-mouthed abandon; (mostly belt, mostly holes) And stared down endlessly at Her only noble subjects, Ducttaped and spent, That followed her unequivocally as endlessly. As such: Undulant...
Poised and pickled by the sun, We flood, we glisten, We shall be brick and know mortar, Hanging on to the climb, Pistol rummaging pockets of bracing thrives, Discretionary hives, excited noises climb Ecstatic in show, gilded as wind knows, And blossom in technicolor still lifes Lite-brite morality, plug and play living, jawn walkin’ double talk, and I come upon a man in North Philly...
If genius is passion, And passion is energy, Energy being endless motion, Endless seeking, infinite following, Are all crack addicts genius?
Vision Quest: S
Very rarely hath my teeth Halved this boisterous bed-rock, But it’s Hardly candy; river stones abound, Coolness ebbing, Spider webbing, We Splash/Splish. -Slaadrr