Abstract thoughts about me, you, us, them, life, death, love, hate, romance, booty calls, the world and universe.

Theme by nostrich.

24th April 2014

Photoset reblogged from Visual-Poetry with 1,019 notes

visual-poetry:

a brief history of »newspaper blackout« by austin kleon

[via austinkleon & newspaperblackout]

Source: newspaperblackout

8th December 2013

Post reblogged from Surfing on the tops of trains with 5 notes

thec00lniverse:

A fly on the walls
of Jericho, tumbling and
tumbling down; wingless.

12th November 2013

Audio post

Only One (From Time OHGmix) by Jay Outtaheregang Smith

Source: SoundCloud / Jay Outtaheregang Smith

22nd September 2013

Link reblogged from Who is Cody? with 2 notes

Who is Cody?: Asleep →

whoiscody:

Sing me to sleep.

Sing me to sleep.

I’m tired and I..

I want to go to bed.

Sing me to sleep.

Sing me to sleep.

And then leave me alone.

Don’t try to wake me in the morning.

'Cause I will be gone.

Don’t feel bad for me.

I want you to know..

Deep in the cell of my heart..

I will feel so…

16th September 2013

Link reblogged from Surfing on the tops of trains with 8 notes

Stealing Summer's Breath: September 16th, 2013 →

thec00lniverse:

I was snagged
on a jutting reef,
and sank like
an anchor,
in disbelief.

Behind you I swam
stroked and smiled,
though panting and
pacing my heart
to survive the miles

Forward you pressed
a storm rouge and
riled, churning foam
and passion from
your watr’y spiral

But your head remained
fixed on…

9th September 2013

Photo

Iconic giant stenciled on concrete

Iconic giant stenciled on concrete

9th September 2013

Link

LANGSTON HUGHES POETRY RECITAL c.1945 Part 1 of 4 - YouTube →

http://youtu.be/bzAwbd0g5YI

6th September 2013

Post reblogged from Yung Stelio Kontos with 4,728 notes

walk into the party already turn up like

rapewhistled:

image

I sure know the feelin’!

This is fuckin funny!

24th August 2013

Audio post

In The Meantime by weareKINGworldwide

The poetic lyric in music!

Source: SoundCloud / weareKINGworldwide

24th August 2013

Post

Pretending to be dead by Steve Crown

I’m dying here in the lobby of this pseudo high class $3000 a month office building conversion

My slow demise has no physical pain but a psychological throb of too much blood rushing to my brain

If only someone could come in off the sidewalk and with every ounce of randomness project me into the everlasting

To blaspheme I am told is a sin but the reprimand from those that wipe their asses with minted paper is a hell I would gladly trade for eternal fire

What… I’m fired??? This desk looks light enough to flip. I wonder if the lamp will smash the pane of glass in the front door!

Property damage will do nothing to slow the rush! Anger will prevail for now. I will just sit here quietly until I am once again calm… and pretend I am dead.

22nd August 2013

Link

Soul Features x The Strivers Row | Alysia Harris - "The 11th Hour" - YouTube →

I love this Sistar right here

13th July 2011

Post

My Love by Angela Henry

Although my heart is aching, I am steadfast in tomorrow

because tomorrow brings a new day,

and everyday is healing.

Love is present in grief, anger and disappointments.

Love brushes egos, it gives confidence and worthiness. 

It’s easier to receive than give for some.  

I share my love with my hugs, my kisses and my dove…  

 Can you feel me? 

Free love unconditionally given to you,

forgiving you for your faults and mistakes.

Loving you continuously, unconditionally in your imperfections,

but mostly for your beautiful smile - I simply adore you!

There are no expectations.

Unexpectedly soul tied to you,

loving you is a simple thought that arouses me. 

Longing for you my senses are sensitive,

I feel sexy but free consciously, open to receive

because you relieve me perfectly.  

I smile while my breath is interrupted with short takes…

Can you hear me? 

My tidal wave crashes peacefully like the warm sea. 

Sleep falls over me easily.

No confessions needed, just lie next to me and hold me.

Past reflections of my affections,

meditating on previous stimulations are now dead!

It is better to have made love to my love

than to have never made real love at all.

Although my heart is aching, I am steadfast in tomorrow

because tomorrow brings a new day

and everyday is healing. 

I am ready to move on.

Angela

13th July 2011

Video

The Weary Blues by Langston Hughes

13th July 2011

Link reblogged from Surfing on the tops of trains with 69 notes

The Failing Muse: Stabbing the Summer Skies →

I’ve been stalking the moonlight since I was a youthful 

little vagabond, stabbing and piercing the clouds with

the tip of my pen until they bled out sunshine on my

forehead. Lapping up the raw sweat of the infernal 

star and smearing its remains on my face like war paint,

I’ve been parading my blood lust through toxic waste dumps

and office buildings in the hopes of bringing light to

mindless pigs with sunlight stitched into the burlap napsacks

resting beneath my restless eyes. You see, as a child

I never ran from the mistakes of someone else and blamed

them on myself, I only plagiarized my neighbors and hoped

their pain would fill in the gap in the sky I left when I stole

the spotlight from everyone else. 

13th July 2011

Link reblogged from this room and everything in it with 54 notes

Joy →

Today I sit on the sun porch
with my body, just the two of us
for a change, the flu
having left me for someone else.

I’m thinking about how good it is
to have been sick, to have been turned
inside out. Until we are sick, says Keats,
we understand not. and for four or five days
I understood. Fully and completely.
There was absolutely no ambiguity,
no misunderstandings of any sort whatsoever.

For awhile I thought I’d never get better.
I’d be that sick eagle, staring at the sky
on a permanent basis. But
we’re living in the age of miracles:
another jetliner smacked into New York,
only this time nobody got hurt. A black guy
thoroughly fumigated the White House.

And this morning I woke up
feeling like a little French village
the Nazis suddenly decided to pull out of
after a particularly cruel occupation.

The baker has come back to his store
and everything smells like warm baguettes.
The children are playing in the schoolyard,
the piano bars along the river
have thrown open their doors.

And here you are, with coffee
and an open blouse, and two cool breasts
from the land of joy.

George Bilgere