he gives and he takes away: and I break-down.

I have to hold it All. Until I die.Until the Earth ends. 

Until my bones break from the weight.

Every sign says to kill it.

Every warning says to end it. 

That is why I hold it. 

The Idle Knife. The Empty Pistol.

The bullet feels so light to everyone who claims they've felt it. 

But they don't know the weight of it. 

How could they in the first place?

In lou if it all being more than I can bare

I will keep it like a secret.

I will cling to it just as it clings to me.

It haunts me in hallways. 

It crushes me daily. 

It follows me home and takes its place 

in my room-

above my bed

under my pillow 

then into my mind

It travels into my soul and

sinks deep into my bones.

Lord,

my God

you give

and you take away

but this time

the loss feels like a mistake

the pressure

the heartache

the earthquake

was I the one meant to break?

our greatest pain is often God's tool of choice for our transformation.

a miracle is here.

night birds

"I'm the bird with the piercing eyes whose mind is wider than an ocean and you:
You are just silent. "

one penny left

be the spirit

Yoko Ono has written a collection of instructions to the universe,i won't try to define her spiritual currents/below are my thoughts on the matter of spiritual development:


train your mind to control your thoughts. rid yourself of constant worry. what is your motivation. treat yourself to honesty. tell yourself only the truth. if you fall in love with someone research the definition of love-fast for a few days,pray constantly. train yourself to think like a spirit,the spirit that you are. you are not a human,you are a soul thoughtfully placed inside a body,a shell that is temporary. treat this shell as though you are borrowing it,as if it is not your own,the creator has lent it to you. imagine the word pure. rest. drink some water. care for your brothers spirit.

the way this goes

there is no training camp
for love like romances
for heart quakes and heart aches
how to stop and go-on demand on and off course
read my face and tell me,tell me its not a face that longs for you.
i have waited.and i have ached.
for the wrong ones,and then the right,and whose to say you or you or you have ever loved me
each flaw
each misake
unconditionally?
insane.

oh the forest of my feelings,

my sweet sweet love,my moonchild mystery.

barefoot -branches pushing deep

into your skin.

moonbeam boy,i was: 

tree bark shoes and bug soup

you were consuming. you mammoth heed.

the days

long with the sun 

beating down -upon our baby shoulders

we look so new with our brown skin

I was looking -into the river at my reflection

crying for the pale

you were kissing me on my forehead

and then we began to speak of potions

our collections,our hauntings,our burned up memories

Dear moonchild,

How has our hair grown to be this long?

the very length of the daisy chains

we made the summer everything changed.

on tuesday: you are sleeping

by a lonely fire

and i am sailing,days and nights,and i was waiting:

for just one more moment

of time.

you fragment

you freak.

THE MIDDLE EAST - Blood

older brother, restless soul, lie down
lie for a while with your ear against the earth
and you'll hear your sister sleep talking
say 
your hair is long but not long enough to reach
home to me
but your beard
someday might be.

lone

"I could live there all alone, she thought, slowing the car to look down the winding garden path to the small blue front door with, perfectly, a white cat on the step. No one would ever find me there, either, behind all those roses, and just to make sure I would plant oleanders by the road. I will light a fire in the cool evenings and toast apples at my own hearth. I will raise white cats and sew white curtains for the windows and sometimes come out of my door to go to the store to buy cinnamon and tea and thread. People will come to me to have their fortunes told, and I will brew love potions for sad maidens; I will have a robin..."



— Shirley Jackson (The Haunting of Hill House)

kissing you at the bus stop was sad each time

• why don't you see yourself how I see you?
• good smells only
• darker skin,missing pale
• the forest fantasies
• the boy with the dark hair and almond eyes who reminds me of almond milk
• almond milk is good for you and something i always look forward to
• your darkness is shallow,which is not something to boast about
• the witches that turned into ghost that turned into braids in my hair
• the mountains were weeping so i fed them soup
• space of hearts
• the townspeople who only saw magic as a bad thing......
• daisy chains
• sketching only babies
• missing less,missing more
• the letters
• the road,the lesser
• the moon children who found them selves:kindred. well fed with life
• the book that kept on giving
• my heart is shaking
• you are quite beautiful,i think that almost everyday,i might never tell you. I'm sorry.
• yes,i went to the graveyard....but i covered my tracks
• the quiet and the darkroom
• grey hair gray sky 
• the haunting walk to the train that i miss/always lost 

APPLEPIE: by ALEX CHAPMAN