the come back.

I haven't posted in some time. stop.
The days are getting hot. stop.
I have no sense of time. stop.
Time is meaningless. stop.
Time has stopped. stop.
Embrace the sun. stop.
Feel the sweat. stop.
I am on a mission. go.

The come-back ends when I say it ends.
It only ends once. And I end with it.

~~~~~

she had big eyes. they would swallow you whole and you would decompose slow within them. pulsing and shrinking. acid eating away at your soft flesh. her warm mannerisms. inviting. gentle laughter such a comforting beauty- the strongest weapon. it's sharp and precise. and those eyes could take any colour. if raining they might seem a dark brown. if sunny, and looking out onto water, they could go through blues and greens. and occasionally avoiding colour altogether and simply reflecting your own shade back at you, so that you would feel as if you knew her. and you wanted to know her. but you didn't think you ever would... and now that you do, those eyes are a stunning curse that only come alive when you sleep. closing eyes to see them open. constant reunions painful. they will never go away. she will never go away. she has you.

.

be the fuck you want to see in the world.

re: bird.

a red bird flew down from the blue, perched itself in my line of view, among brown brush and gray ideas. it whistled and i stopped walking. it said, "now is your chance." i continued up the hill towards the blue.

the tallest man

There’s a crow moon coming in where you keep looking now
it is the hollow month of march now sweeping in
Let’s watch phenomenons arise out of the darkness
within the light, she’s my storming heroine.

And all machines abandoned by the ancient races
I hear them humming down below, in hollow earth
I guess I’ve known a while I will go under too
but just for now, I let the spring in storm return

I left my heart to the wild hunt coming
I’ll live until the call
and I plan to be forgotten when I’m gone
I’ll be leaving in the fall

- Kristian Matsson

.

i'm turning on the light to the strangest forms.
ninjas and samurais.

sitting in the sky with a brand new friend
who always tells the truth.

we're sharing horror stories, some horror films.
sex comes to kill you in the end.

eyes on the lake, the same mistakes
surfacing behind my tired face.

i'm dancing in the night with the strangest forms.
swans and olympians.

swimming in the lake with an old friend
who only knows the truth.

crying for no reason, crying for fun.
maybe we're dying.

the rise.

When I was at the bottom… the lowest rack of guns, cheapest drivers, kids size shoes… someone told me that you had to hit rock bottom before you could climb to the top. At the bottom of everything the top is all that is visible, and the middle is just a blur. The rise: a colourful variable. I said to the top of what? What am I climbing? But the person who had spoken was close to me and knew that they didn’t need to say anything more, just let me brew. A single thought can cause inner change and revolution of the soul. Anything that could spur a voyage from the gutter, rolling back into the road to be hit again by speeding vehicles, that kind of life alteration would have to come from within me, not from anyone else. Advice is worthless to those who aren’t listening, deaf to their surroundings, blind to self-destruction. But from the lowest of lows I began to listen. Listen to friends and to the nature around me. The air had stories and the streets held perspectives. And I spoke to myself, and I heard… And I climbed.