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“[...]yo escribo porque el druido, / bajo el rumor de sílabas del himno, / encina bien plantada en una página, / me dió el gajo de muérdago, el conjuro / que hace brotar palabras de la peña. / Los nombres acumulan sus imágenes. / Las imágenes acumulan sus gaseosas, / conjeturales confederaciones. / Nubes y nubes, fantasmal galope / de las nubes sobre las crestas / de mi memoria.” -Octavio Paz

September 18, 2014

Unsure of gardening on Thursday flights

There is no tonic
for these clashing theses of

history, shattered metal cups
Think about something

you would never do-
Chase down a falling brick

as the rain laughs in Berlin,
some time when you could see Mars

in the sky and Venus
was a dozen different little birds

fighting over a snail’s long walk home?
Skip stones over the salt flats

outside of Stalingrad
while all the silly words were killed,

petals plucked one by one,
dancing Sunday afternoon apostasies?

Liszt’s aleatoric tradition clashes
with a band of roving return flights;

you do you, what you never could

1 week ago
3 notes
Animi est enim omnis actio et imago animi vultus, indices oculis.

"For the face is a performance and a picture of the entire mind, and the eyes its interpreters."

Cicero— De or. 3.221

(via alexanderraban)
3 weeks ago
4 notes
theparisreview:

“The best spam coalesces—with its typos, its competing voices, and its gloriously infelicitous phrasings—into a sort of nauseous goulash.”
Dan Piepenbring on the art of spam.

theparisreview:

“The best spam coalesces—with its typos, its competing voices, and its gloriously infelicitous phrasings—into a sort of nauseous goulash.”

Dan Piepenbring on the art of spam.

3 weeks ago
79 notes

My friend Derrick says love is the only war worth dying for. But every time I say, “please come back”, I feel like I”m trying to find a dirty needle in a haystack, and God knows I can’t go out like that. I suppose we wear our traumas the way the guillotine wears gravity. Our lovers’ necks are so soft. I lost my head so many times. I got sober just hoping my eyes would dry. Still, I drink so much in my sleep, I can’t sleepwalk a straight line to the guest room or collapse, hang so heavy inside her lungs.

She speaks and her voice trips across her heartbeat, each word limps into the air. We are gone, she says. And I am no mortician; I have no idea how to put make-up on the dead. I have no idea how to unerase, so I just puddle at the door, my face looking like a deck of falling cards, like everything’s been playing me. We tried so hard. But when I said “give me a ring”, she thought I meant a call. Now I haven’t had her number for two years. We’ve been saying how many times are we going to keep cutting these red flags into valentines. You know, all those wars we fought have turned our shine into rust, we can’t even touch each other’s hearts without a tetanus shot.

We can’t begin to remember how we forgot there is no shelter in the womb. The heart forms long before the ribcage. My mother swore she could feel me kicking weeks before my feet formed. That’s how hard my heart beat — and it still does. They say the womb is where we learn love is knowing the cord that feeds you could at any moment wrap around your neck. I hold my breath for the entire 56 seconds it takes her to walk to the window to stare at the road to tell me she has nothing left to tell me, we are done, carrying our level heads in our tornado chests.

For the first time, I know she is right. As the dawn, after our first date, we were so young, and I hadn’t written an honest love poem yet. I hadn’t met anyone I could fall so hard for ‘til the night we kissed on our skateboards, she teased me for going so slow. I said I never want to catch up with the letting go. I want the plead in my throat to forever anger my spine and the seams of your slippers, love, even when the dove crashed through the window, even when our friends said, you can call it love, but you know Einstein called himself a pacifist when he built the bomb.

When they ask why we stayed together for so long I say, I don’t know. I just know that we cried at the exact same time in every movie. I know we blushed everyday for the first two years. I know I always stole the covers and she never woke me up.

I know the exact look on her face, the first night she used my toothbrush. The next day, I brushed my teeth like thirtysome times, ‘cause I didn’t want to let her go. You have to understand when it hurt to love her, it hurt the way the light hurts your eyes in the middle of the night, but I had to see, even through the ruin, if what we were burying were seeds. There were so many plants in our house, you could rake the leaves even through that winter when I was trying to make angels in the snow of her cold shoulder. She was still leaving love notes in my suitcase; I’d always find them.

The day before I left, I remembered a story her mother told me. She said, Andrea, when Heather was a little girl, she couldn’t fall asleep without tying a string to her finger all night long, she’d give that string the tiniest tug to make sure I was still there. And I’d tug back. That was love. That was love. As easy as that. Sometimes. Sometimes.

Be committed, not attached. But more importantly, know the difference.
Kai, Lessons in Life #21  (via majjjjjjerr)

(Source: boiunbound, via d00dthrashbro)

1 month ago
247,097 notes
odinsblog:

"Looting and Rioting"
First, people need to understand something about the “riots” in Ferguson: I get the feeling that a lot of White people are somehow thinking “Wow, those Black people just stood up in their living rooms and basically set fires to their own residences”
Not the way it works…
You know what neighborhood businesses typically get burned? The ones that aren’t Black owned. You’ve seen them — the pawn shops, the quick-marts, the pay-day loan stores, the liquor stores, the third tier rent-to-own stores…you know, the kind of stores you rarely see on every other corner in middle class White neighborhoods. In short, all the businesses endemic of profiteering and structural poverty…the same businesses that like to follow innocent Black people around in stores for no reason. The businesses that won’t hire many of the Black people living in the neighborhoods they’re profiting off of. The businesses that charge twice as much for the same goods & services that are half as expensive in White neighborhoods
THOSE are the businesses that typically get burned in impoverished neighborhoods. Now, while I’m not necessarily advocating riots, I will repeat the words of Martin Luther King Jr, “I think that we’ve got to see that a riot is the language of the unheard”
Second, Other than corporate media outlets repeating what the police are telling them, I haven’t seen much hard evidence of honest to God unprovoked “rioting”…but what I have seen is lots of white police firing tear gas and rubber bullets at peaceful protesters. I’ve seen militarized police aim guns, tanks and sound cannons at unarmed civilians in their own neighborhoods. I’ve seen police not interviewing, but arresting key witnesses. I’ve seen people getting gassed in their homes—THEIR HOMES—for committing the crime of what, being Black at home?
The media goes on and on about “looting and rioting” without focusing too much on the police’s strong-arm tactics, they’re complicit in furthering the ratings meme of “unreasonably angry Black people” 
False media narratives: do the words match the facts?

odinsblog:

"Looting and Rioting"

First, people need to understand something about the “riots” in Ferguson: I get the feeling that a lot of White people are somehow thinking “Wow, those Black people just stood up in their living rooms and basically set fires to their own residences”

Not the way it works…

You know what neighborhood businesses typically get burned? The ones that aren’t Black owned. You’ve seen them — the pawn shops, the quick-marts, the pay-day loan stores, the liquor stores, the third tier rent-to-own stores…you know, the kind of stores you rarely see on every other corner in middle class White neighborhoods. In short, all the businesses endemic of profiteering and structural poverty…the same businesses that like to follow innocent Black people around in stores for no reason. The businesses that won’t hire many of the Black people living in the neighborhoods they’re profiting off of. The businesses that charge twice as much for the same goods & services that are half as expensive in White neighborhoods

THOSE are the businesses that typically get burned in impoverished neighborhoods. Now, while I’m not necessarily advocating riots, I will repeat the words of Martin Luther King Jr, I think that we’ve got to see that a riot is the language of the unheard

Second, Other than corporate media outlets repeating what the police are telling them, I haven’t seen much hard evidence of honest to God unprovoked “rioting”…but what I have seen is lots of white police firing tear gas and rubber bullets at peaceful protesters. I’ve seen militarized police aim guns, tanks and sound cannons at unarmed civilians in their own neighborhoods. I’ve seen police not interviewing, but arresting key witnesses. I’ve seen people getting gassed in their homes—THEIR HOMES—for committing the crime of what, being Black at home?

The media goes on and on about “looting and rioting” without focusing too much on the police’s strong-arm tactics, they’re complicit in furthering the ratings meme of “unreasonably angry Black people” 

False media narratives: do the words match the facts?

(via myshoeistalking)

1 month ago
2,178 notes
dreadqueer:

Reports of mcdonalds being broken into and looted need to take into account why


And, moreover, why the media is more concerned with the protection of the private property interests and concerns of one of the largest, and assuredly most well insured, corporations in the world than state violence and suppression of one of the historically and systematically most oppressed human populations in the country and arguably world. Fuck McDonalds and the police state

dreadqueer:

Reports of mcdonalds being broken into and looted need to take into account why

And, moreover, why the media is more concerned with the protection of the private property interests and concerns of one of the largest, and assuredly most well insured, corporations in the world than state violence and suppression of one of the historically and systematically most oppressed human populations in the country and arguably world. Fuck McDonalds and the police state

(Source: cisyphus, via myshoeistalking)

1 month ago
18,966 notes
Put another way, one was constantly in doubt as to whether Murakami’s characters lived in a magical world or were simply out of their minds.
Matthew Carl Strecher - The Forbidden Worlds of Haruki Murakami (via murakamistuff)

Close to home. I promise I’ll put more writing up soon, I have a fun project milling around in my head

(via alexanderraban)

3 weeks ago
127 notes
theparisreview:

“The world needs its Artauds now more than ever.”
Dan Piepenbring on the French writer, who was born today in 1896.

theparisreview:

“The world needs its Artauds now more than ever.”

Dan Piepenbring on the French writer, who was born today in 1896.

3 weeks ago
190 notes

September 2, 2014

Chiapas is breath inspiring

San Cris

A cow howls
in the middle of the road

Those of us in sight are stopped
before her, who is
everything
for that then

the moment
spins slowly around her

We leave again

There are
countless
tiny cans of fire

maintaining the divide
with clouds

Voracious
they try to climb higher

to where we are

but burn away
with sight of the sky

A cool breeze rushed past my skin

A slow motion fight
erupts

We watch the sun come
over the long switchback
to a distant church

The air smells of spirits,
and pines

3 weeks ago
1 note

heteroglossia:

"For language to have meaning there must be intervals of silence somewhere, to divide word from word and utterance from utterance. He who retires into silence does not necessarily hate language. Perhaps it is love and respect for language which imposes silence upon him."

— Thomas Merton, “Disputed Questions”

(via notjustcookies)

3 weeks ago
323 notes

August 20, 2014

Yes it’s late here. Unrelated; here is mexico city

Pride land

A city looks different at night

It’s a glow worm
coming down the metro tunnel

you spot exotic tequilas
made from sinning crystal

strewn across fields,
glimmering poppies

that sprout across the erect skyline
and haze instead of mountains

As you place yourself
in the role of penthouse

the skyline is never so
threatening as a stranger,

perhaps a Colombian swamp,
that you lose

in the convenience store distance
The cups king rules here,

any desert of relationships
that bridles your wild taxis,

like these packs of hyenas
held people this far into the dark

You are an antelope, a wildebeest,
some animal I’ve never heard of

The sky crackles
in a tire fire, you scream

1 month ago
21 notes
Non-violence is a piece of theatre. You need an audience. What can you do when you have no audience? People have the right to resist annihilation.