WHEATSEA

final frontiers

Thu, 21 Feb 2013 15:31:00 -0500

I have sat in majestic silence
in the backyard, below the entirety
of universal flow splayed out above
spread like the legs of a woman
invitation into the deep
for the night belongs to women
so dark in tone, unmistakably mysterious to penetrate
I’ve watched the pleiades
moving markedly my favored tallgrass
borrowed blankets, borrowed arms
that can shield me from the chill of december winds
I watch those jangling space bones move in the dark
passing and burning through atmospheric layered gasses
separating that voidful black
from tiny fragmented beings
and sometimes they don’t burn up while gliding
driven on chart to somewhere I’ll never see
sometimes they come hurtling right at us
only to crash, explode, fill the soil with violence
and pulse the surface of the sky
Is this why they seek us out?
So they may feel the warmth of life once again?
Do they want for bang, bang, banging
knowledge that collision equals death to loneliness
if only for moments

for the night belongs to women so dark in tone, unmistakably...

Wed, 20 Feb 2013 19:55:16 -0500

for the night belongs to women

so dark in tone, unmistakably mysterious to penetrate

Thaumaturgic

Tue, 19 Feb 2013 16:47:00 -0500

Kill your babies with your magics
kiss your darlings with bloody teeth
which witch did he want burned
with broken toes and dreams bequeathed

Which witch wandered into evening
which witch took up rusty blades
with which to send her babes to bleeding
with which to displace lonely rage

Which witch measured bolts and bottles
took an eye and held your tongue
spent the night to stop your sighing
ensure your heros deeds were sung

Kill your babies with your feelings
Cut your darlings with reckless tears
this witch has no qualms with burning
its your forgetting that she fears

"So build yourself as beautiful as you want your world to be. Wrap yourself in light then give..."

Fri, 25 Jan 2013 16:59:39 -0500

“So build yourself as beautiful as you want your world to be. Wrap yourself in light then give yourself away with your heart, your brush, your march, your art, your poetry, your play. And for every day you paint the war, take a week and paint the beauty, the color, the shape of the landscape you’re marching towards. Everyone knows what you’re against; show them what you’re for.”

- Andrea Gibson, Evolution (via ceedling)

I dyed my locks to force your handand now cannot toleratethe sight of my own faceMy hands should...

Mon, 07 Jan 2013 17:27:00 -0500

I dyed my locks
to force your hand
and now cannot tolerate
the sight of my own face

My hands should be
forces of creative flush
but instead remain clenched
beneath tapestries narrating winter

who knows how to ask for help
to make the words to pollute existing
there are eddies from which kicking
cannot provide means for escape

I don’t want to be good anymore
it hurts like an unhealing sore
a hemorrhaging wound that
I keep rubbing my nose in

oh! what a mess

rockchalkjayhawk: [source] Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt

Wed, 02 Jan 2013 17:41:31 -0500

rockchalkjayhawk:

[source]

Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt

sugar coated creature lips

Tue, 20 Nov 2012 12:32:00 -0500

I am the patron saint of patience
or I was before I pawed at death
before lain out like Bernadette
I was poked and prodded
and slipped into lonely moaning
says a man, with a red, round face
maudlin tones for misdirect
that angles virtue circumspect
I’m not sure I believe
in the color white
anymore
I know
how to move my feet
I can capture quickly these
who wanted to be hunted down like beasts
but I don’t want for that, I’m sleepyheaded
smelling sweet spirits, whiskey breath
as it covers my neck, your mouth, your words
I cover you with kisses, and blankets
(you won’t remember)
and I’ll know its too late for me to escape
my skin catches fire far too often for my taste
as a center of longing, such a great disgrace

On this yearly occasion (why you are not where I am)

Thu, 01 Nov 2012 15:24:00 -0400

Yours was a heart
snail tiny and soft
like purring
nestled beneath mine
I told you my stories
and gave you a name
and you were so perfect

Can I ever be sorry enough
for listening to the drone of the world
for not fully cradling you
in my beastlike belly
can you ever forgive me
can I ever forgive myself
for killing you with drowned sorrows
and painful remembrance

I did not deserve you
you did not deserve it
we did not deserve
the denial of our rhythmic loving
singsong afternoon cake making
rainy day holiday sick day saturday
all make believe for me, now

scooping what was left of you
off the tiled floor
mixed with saline
and shredded interiors
I’ve long given up
on trying to put you back together
with my hands

instead I’ll grip so tightly
to the feeling of you
the trapped soul of a sigh
my private way of saying

you will always
be loved
by me

iammichaeljonathan: After the success of Mermates, my...

Tue, 30 Oct 2012 14:39:12 -0400

iammichaeljonathan:

After the success of Mermates, my co-producers and I are doing a new web series (that I also wrote/created) called The Common Cult. It’s about five friends in their thirties, who have known each other since high school. They’re also in a Lovecraftian blood cult trying to raise an Old God to our plane of existence. Here’s episode one!

"I love unmade beds. I love when people are drunk and crying and cannot be anything but honest in..."

Tue, 30 Oct 2012 14:29:07 -0400

“I love unmade beds. I love when people are drunk and crying and cannot be anything but honest in that moment. I love the look in people’s eyes when they realize they’re in love. I love the way people look when they first wake up and they’ve forgotten their surroundings. I love the gasp people take when their favorite character dies. I love when people close their eyes and drift to somewhere in the clouds. I fall in love with people and their honest moments all the time. I fall in love with their breakdowns and their smeared makeup and their daydreams. Honesty is just too beautiful to ever put into words.”

- (via pensy)

trungles: theartofanimation: One Hundred and One Dalmatians -...

Thu, 25 Oct 2012 14:40:52 -0400

trungles:

theartofanimation:

One Hundred and One Dalmatians - Walt Disney

For a long while, this was what my ideal man was like in my head.

Photo

Tue, 23 Oct 2012 20:34:11 -0400

K.O.

Mon, 22 Oct 2012 15:13:00 -0400

there are cold hospital beds and my wounded mouth
bottles full of ghosties that are non responsive
even when you jump three times
sometimes the boss remains
I’ve been waiting penelope-esque
for my odysseus to come home
our house is filled with strangers
stranger still is this silence
I desire victory fanfare
but am greeted with gnawing, ruddy faces
and an emotion that has become all too familiar

I don’t want to be ruled
by signs that are completely my own
tell me stories
scraped knees and imaginarium
I want to fall into rhythm
with the cadence are your voice
as you lull me with you-ness
foreign and sweet and succulent
to my ears
who could use a break
from screaming

In case of fire, break glass.

Sat, 20 Oct 2012 01:33:09 -0400

In case of fire, break glass.

"Settle. Settle for. Settle for nothing. Settle for nothing less. Settle for nothing less than the..."

Wed, 17 Oct 2012 14:45:10 -0400

“Settle.
Settle for.
Settle for nothing.
Settle for nothing less.
Settle for nothing less than the object of your desire.”

- Alma Luz Villanueva: The Object

(via Björk)

I’m just feeling a little bit blue

Fri, 12 Oct 2012 15:03:29 -0400

I’m just feeling a little bit blue

showslow: Realist oil painter Lee Price paints self-portraits...

Wed, 03 Oct 2012 17:50:32 -0400

showslow:

Realist oil painter Lee Price paints self-portraits of herself from an overhead vantage point, primarily in bathrooms while eating junk food.

for the use of the less used words

Wed, 03 Oct 2012 15:59:05 -0400

I want to be eumoirous
(with you, without you)
that was ever my goal
my lifelong question
how to be good

I conquered the beasts
soaked up the blood
to earn the right
to see the dawn again

now your smile
lit by filtered sunshine
is the aubade I wish to sing
when I awaken

Someday digital drawing….someday (Taken with Instagram)

Wed, 26 Sep 2012 15:02:44 -0400

Someday digital drawing….someday (Taken with Instagram)

paramortem

Tue, 25 Sep 2012 15:50:00 -0400

there are dead girls on the streets tonight
they have arms raised
and their eyes are hollow

one could chart the path of you and I
from the edge of their tears
to the gaping holes that complete their mouths
a journey along a ridge of cheek bone
that ends with your gawking, flapping jaw

how many ways
can you penetrate
a girl on her way to decay

can you force your fingers
through the sides of her torso
where flesh used to sit
taut like a drum skin

can your force your thumb
at the edge of her eye
pop out a souvenir
she no longer requires it

perhaps she no longer wishes
to be the corpse of our courtship
promises that didn’t go to fruition
and now sit in her gut rotting
overwhelmed with disease

for now she’s just cursed
to roam through the living
to crave for our flesh
before one of us delivers
the final blow