1. Tennie

    Ten minutes with a cigarette

    more dependent than a silhouette

    ten minutes left to place your bet

    to lay your bed, to sit in it

    posthumous, ready set

    Ten to happen, yet

     
  2. feministcorna:

    So don’t tell us to smile. Don’t tell us we should be flattered. Our whole purpose in life is not to be something pretty for you to look at. And if we do put extra effort into our appearances or if we decide that we love our bodies and want to show it off, that doesn’t mean that we want to be touched. Not if we don’t say so. No it doesn’t feel good. No we don’t like it. Our whole purpose in life isn’t to be a fun toy for you to play with whenever you want. Just because you have an opinion of us, it doesn’t mean we want to hear it. It doesn’t mean we have to listen. Our whole purpose in life isn’t to take direction from you. We don’t need your permission, we don’t need your approval, we don’t need your advice. You’re not the curator of our lives so stop treating us like some objects in a museum.

    We also are the ones that have to recover and rehabilitate ourselves after suffering sexual violence.

     

  3. Flashback 1

    Time will bring you to your knees

    and when your hands fold thinner than this lace here,

    together we can remember how smooth we both seemed

    how great our prayers were but how little we thought of 

    how much is enough to fill an empty room

     
  4. man-and-camera:

    Little Qualicum Falls IV ➾ Luke Gram
     

  5. Anne Carson:

    Desire as round as peaches blooms in me all night,

    I no longer gather what falls.

     

  6. Pits

    Last year’s revolution was just a day’s engagement.

    Nobody guesses Hera’s dreams

    anymore

     

  7. Train at Union Station

    In this place of transference and ecological malnourishment limbs stack themselves at old angles, soles staggering, time lapses bleat

    a warning of consequence pending departure to the backstage of any other—

    paid pocketed released while we

    re-acquaint ourselves with the untrained urban sprawl

     

  8. caroline was a monster:

    Everything about her was grey

    beds her shape at night

    sees grey

    milking the pregnancy of the air 

    before sunrise breaks open the DVP and nobody

    no-

    nobody 

    catches her stream or plugs the line closed

     

  9. Bleak handfuls of a new hour

    grit in your molar, come to see me at a red room chanting

    three year old rhymes and ticking keys free from locks

    Time

    is just the passages through your mind to the tree next door;

    or the free beers 

    nothing like a banner flying by a house

    you fell in love with from the back, the yard

    singing what it dreams of being

    swingsets and rocking chairs, endless comfort back and forth-

    but houses must keep still

    to feel the gestures of their lifetime passengers

     

  10. May Day

    In my dreams I am usually mortal but never naked.

    My finite edges are not bared, and

    you never peel my skin into

    ribbons, a wrapping for the poles:

    Floral processions with lithe women donning their blues; their best.

    We never fawn over the steam our

    heat creates when the moistures

    Burst between the bedframe,

    Claimed like a sodden silhouette.

    Taking shape, your haunted owl flies above every pole we raised

    clothed in our own hope

    Glistening like eyes as he catches the scent,

    wings broad with blue pockets of rampant linens,

    pained with oily blackness.

    In this prudent midpoint

    Smoke clings on our every stem to each

    boastful touch,

    ready to be undone while pores retract

    again.

     
  11. adbusters:

    Penguin finally published Psychocrash – The Birth of Mental Environmentalism, Kono Matsu’s last ditch attempt to resuscitate the sinking general intellect.

    Just like Rachel Carson’s book over half a century ago raised the specter of a Silent Spring (a world in which birds no longer sing in the springtime), Psychocrash is raising the specter of a world full of silent minds, a total spiritual wasteland — not the long-awaited New Age enlightenment, but a world where people no longer care about anything, where empathy has become stigmatized, where billions of old folks drift seamlessly into Alzheimers & dementia.

    Matsu’s stunning point is that unless we kill the 24/7 grip that advertising and corpo-consumer-culture have on our minds, this human experiment of ours on planet Earth will implode in a frenzy of dog-eat-dog madness.

    http://ift.tt/1fFuFOv http://ift.tt/1rQ30Kp

    Every day starts with Adbusters.  

     
  12. artchipel:

    Bault | on Tumblr - Untitled. Acrylic, 80x60 cm (2013)

    [Art Writer’s Wednesday with Artchipel]

    man

     
  13. artchipel:

    Victoria Goro-Rapoport - The Fall. Etching, 36”x36” (2002)

    Astonishing

    so many circles

     
  14. chimneyfish:

    Mors Triumphans, 17th c.

    Leonaert Bramer

    bonity bone bones

    (via xo-skeleton)

     
  15. deathandmysticism:

    Ambroise Paré, Opera Chirurgica, 1594

    oh

    (via iamthewoodendoors)