I believe in casual clothes, hard work, and coffee.

30th August 2014

Quote

It’s a little
classically tragic
to destroy myself,
but I’m hoping my phoenix
of a heart comes back
to hold you once more,
then scatter.

Tagged: bonfirethis zine will change your lifethird eye blindrachel hymantracy dimond

29th August 2014

Quote with 2 notes

When on television I shuffle
and widen my eyes. I feel most colored
when I am thrown against a mattress,
my tits my waist my ankles buried
in veiny White. Everyone claps.
I feel most colored when I am
the punch line. When I am the trigger.
In the dawn yellow, I know
what I am being told. I feel most
colored when I am collecting dust.
When I am impatient and sick.
When they use us to distract us.
My ears leak violet petals.
I sharpen them. I sharpen them again.

Tagged: morgan parkerapogeeelegy

29th August 2014

Photo with 2 notes

from Daniela Olszewska’s CITIZEN J

from Daniela Olszewska’s CITIZEN J

Tagged: citizen jdaniela olszewskaartifice books

28th August 2014

Link reblogged from H_NGM_N with 14 notes

This Is A Call - A Plea, A PLEASE - Tell Us HOW YOU DO →

h-ngm-n:

This probably goes without saying: H_NGM_N is only one small press and as such is demonstrating one way to be, way to exist, one mode of operation.

Surely our mode has changed over the years and we hope it’s clear to all & sundry that intrinsically coded into the DNA of our being is a…

28th August 2014

Photo with 32 notes

Kayla Wheeler in FreezeRay

Kayla Wheeler in FreezeRay

Tagged: freezeraypoetrymashupmiley cyrusanne sextonkayla wheeler

28th August 2014

Quote with 3 notes

Passing under the ceiling as if there were
some sense of territory here. I bump up
against your paper and outside the mildness
breaks the sky open. When I get weary,
and I do get weary, you start, only for me
to come to, miles away, Cinnabon in hand,
choice of dense fog and poison in me, my gut.

Tagged: gale marie thompsonbig luckspoemwearygut

27th August 2014

Quote with 2 notes

We need some beef-relief. I think we’ll drink
His cream. I think we’ll starve & roseate
A morphic resonance the size (I think)
Of die. Swans can cream, too, inebriate

Of why. Do only we disjoin our lungs?
Will the howls overreach me before we
Can take off our skin & let it be hung
On a mannequin, spritely fitted? “I

Traffic no cadavers,” said the owl
& ate my demi-monde. (“Why go trilling
Into? & spuriously creaming!?”) Our skull-bowl
Is a fountain of electrodes, killing

Nothing, nothing. If he is swan & roseate,
We ovulate skeletons & language cremate.

Tagged: laura glenumla petite zine