Thursday, January 12, 2017

so how do i post unsecure content? it just reads all gibbris on the secure link

this blog was dead before birth, but it tried. still love the header pic the ghost girls in the hallway and the idea of small changes reverberating through time




how sad, no mo unsecure hotlinks. how do i link now? to even secure content? sigh. nice try.
let me try some test text right here after the carat slash a slash carrot
yes!success. i hyst have to learn a brand new kind of html taglines and i'm in business again. but no one like hotlinks anymore. everyone's secure. though my old links still work-at least on my computer
so i keep wanting to link to this artist-not the one who did this artwork, it's just stand-n finger paints i did- because someone actually found this place and likes curation enough to ask for a link.
so without further ado here is a good link for sally man and i'll even try a pic of hershttps://www.artsy.net/artwork/sally-mann-kingfishers-wing-1 see this is what i mean. no more hotlinks to pictures or something. bleh. at least i made a link to the page

Sunday, April 1, 2012

choose your next addiction wisely

( Spring issue, slightly delayed )


















scratching myself--
I wish you were
the mosquito


arms akimbo--
you have not enough
hands to shoot



sting on my right foot--
did you cut me?
are you the wound?


surviving,
you lift your own hurt
to soothe theirs


waiting,
I am where
I never was


to let you turn
the other cheek,
he slaps you


holding what cannot
be held--
a torch


sitting--
he and you
alike


carrying an ant,
you tiptoe
slowly


laughing loudly--
for me,
for you


in love,
you look down
not because of him


whose face
do you see--
writing, thinking


which part of him
am I
the rest?

sorry to disregard
you--my hand
still on yours


who do you want--
someone like me
or me?


this is the question
you ask
to be alone


you talk--
he talks
to listen



~Jill Chan



















































o where


o where are all the ones
that used to
get me up at night
and make me scribble notes
on scraps of things
in the bathroom
lest morning come and we part
unnamed unremembered
except for
one strange color or another
or the look in some emily's eyes
but every brief evening now
the things that pass me by seldom pause
even to say hello
and whoever it is
comes knocking tonight
will only be there
to remind me
i really really do need
to go pee

~james lineberger










2 by Venus Jones


COMPUTER LOVE


Listen I love you and I really don't want to overlook
But I have so much to read and watch on facebook
Loving thee is great, but this photo must be scanned
Let me finish this last level in this game, c'mon man
We can create a playstation but there's a message on my Wii
Plus there's a comedy series on youtube first I wanna see
How do I love thee, you say you need me to count the ways?
Hmmm I do stare at a computer more than you most days.





















THE RETURN OF SPRING


she removed dead leaves from branches
he watered dry roots with love and care
they nurtured what was once beautiful
after a tiny green leaf emerged giving hope























how to make love last



when the bloom begins
to fade, we rent
a convertable, put the top
down, and at the highest
point of land leading
out to the sky
hold hands , punch the gas
and learn to fly.

~lynze


























Blogger Hector the Crow said...

synthetic peace

life's a bitch, but she's got a soft spot
a light touch on the death-bed, let's say
through this tube, it reads as peace to me.






















cloying
existential
afterglow
erotocrats











Thorsten Hasenkamm

















Strange

How a bright day can cast
too many shadows

Not a bird aloft or singing
or gathering that shining fish
in the glittering water

can break a mood

-suzy martin


Thursday, March 29, 2012

title?






I would have existed yesterday
if only to to spiral into/out of obscurity and/or
mangle the notes of ubiquitous songs I have
only occasionally
failed to hate.

- - Stop -
- - Wait -
- - Think, just... Not about that, you see
we've already exceeded the
limits of uncertainty, exposed all
major deities as mad-gods

driven the entire universe
completely
sane.

***

- - Sometimes -
Note: I broke my coffee pot.

Something about thermal dynamics.

***

"Besides," drag on a cigarette, exhale smoke of
arbitrary color, "You can never really
torture yourself
too much."

She stopped caring a while ago, blithely
destroys the world with eyes like
gutted cliches.

He knows this but likes to pretend otherwise
esp. when he's
constructing trivial
realities,
mythological cocoons of a
somewhat more or less
quasi-deterministic nature.

"So, I mean, I'm only guessing here but
I don't get the impression that this makes
any sort of sense at all to you."

He pauses, scratches his nose.

Inhale.
Exhale.

She laughs, "You must've missed it. I
vanished last week. Did you know?"

"I know... Does this I've gone insane?"

"Not at all. It's just sort of counter-intuitive.
Unless you take into account survival instinct."

"..." Cough. "Wait... What?"

***

On one hand it's perfectly
reasonable to quantify copious
drug use, except of course in terms of
any sort of cost-benefit analysis.

On the other hand, an in the
strictest sense, the drug addled mind has
no real connection to the tangible to
begin with.
In other words, similar to states of
quantum superposition, the drug addled mind is only
presumed to exist on the basis that at the moment
no other plausible alternative presents itself.

***

- - Anyway -

Whether you like it or not, I will,
with alarming frequency, perhaps,
over abstract.

You'll work it out though.

I have faith in you.

***

"But I wasn't finished..."

She's colored her hair all
(unregulated) microwave frequencies,
accecpting interference from only
select sources.

He's creeping up from behind himself,
almost ready to...

"Stop that," She steals a ray of light,
rolls her own laser beam, hits him square in the
left eye.

"Hey, what'd you do that for?"

"Nevermind. It's not important."

"Are you sure?"

"Just thank me."

"Thanks."

"Now...

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Monday, February 14, 2011

the giganitic how do i love thee issue


Jana Traboulsi







blogger chels said...

untold it
was delicious,

but all that's
left on lips
is the rubber flake
of

eraser wishes.

already all dissolved,
the sugar

on my tongue.






































Anonymous said...


sometimes

i wonder
who is who
in these
blue pixels
that
devour






































Blogger Brad said...

3:15
white
buttons floored
hard curves
Σ
3:29
pink
dew soft
autumn cloud






































Leo's Song from impactist on Vimeo.





















'Brunch'


she

sliced

one

tomato

while

the boy on the radio
sang about love

anonymous

























In Fairy Tales


we walk through our snowy world..

don't blink

why?

there are colder places in your eyes &
I want to catch them for the map

--Anonymous















meredith dittmar








































post-it notes

i am lost -
have you loved me
lately

~~~~

too late -
i'm going back
to hating
your

~~~~

if only i
believed
you -
i would surely love
you

~~~~

don't mind me -
i'm just your backseat
lover

~~~~

without my pussy
cat
i'm just a dog without
a bone

~~~~

when i’m gone
you’ll wish
i’d never told the
truth

~~~~

i said never -
and i’ll never say that
again

~~~~

i watch always now
the place
you left me behind

~~~~

you asked
for the truth -
i should have known
better

~~~~

you said you’d be
back
but never said when -
i wait, still

--alan itz








Pencil Vs Camera - 16

ben heine














the philosopher's stone

ramalinga turned into light
and tried to give it away

a recipe:

1) dissolution
2) a raven's head
3) albedo
4) a peacock's tail
5) distillation
6) a fixation
7) polish the stone with sun


sitting on the chaise
taking in light, she walks by
she's new
golden haired in the parking
lot an hour later

imagine pulling out
of the universe, then
diving back in.


































Affairs of the Heart


It is poetry
when the wind murmurs
Slav melodies in your ear

It is poetry
when your finger forms her name
on top of the water

It is poetry
when the thorn turns
to the pink of a rose

Poetry is
giving a name
to a river that separates us
and doesn’t exist

It is poetry
when the barb of the arrow
brushes to the side

the air molecules
at the surface of your forehead
and for a split

visual moment you read
on the tip of the arrow
I love you
as it pierces
your third eye
and heart

~~~


Alex Nodopaka January©2011
AD Something

















2 by
burning moon



sometime during the night
rain begins to gather

in misty sheets
wrap trees in gossamer halos

drift in starlit mantles
to cover the grass

cast a grey veil over strangers
wandering home from unknown nightlives

Mercury slides down the barometer
like a stripper down her pole

you cuddle behind me
like a blanket of sunbeams

and we watch the sun
burn night from the sky

--Rae Pater




















Missing Piece

I saw in you a place cut
to the shape of me
and thought I spied
finally
a place where I might fit

summer ends
where fading light
delineates
a paper cut in the sky
that almost fit
the shape of I











geof kern via le clown lyrique















a love match of opposites


Cancer woman & G mini man

I say

Hello

&

You say

Goodbye







Marc Hoppe via le clown lyrique













3 by blogger Tasha_Klein





User Friendly



please don't drink till I'm home


I'll call you from work


hit me when I come


you were upset


we sit in a coffin

I told you that your hair looks good,
5 times last nite!




































a broken space
in an empty room
far from town
under him
small as dust

or -

the slinky anagram
the forgotten password
a soft bullet
don't sleep yet
your crescent tracks
crack
his head

.




















I go to bed

wearing nothing

but

your cold weather

I see

into the window of my pillow -

you are sketching

my heart

in small circles


























gut wrench


: broken car

mum
holds, his
hand, until

: the end

--blogger brad




-geof kern

















blogger burning moon said...


In your hands I am made
and unmade. A tiny doll
spun in the circle of your eye.
Tucked in your dimple
the sparkle from my smile.
You feel like home to me.
Like the shore upon which
the sea arrives
at journey's end.



Cecile at the Seaside


lily white bear





















2 more
by chels





i know i sing
at the edge
of silence

when the breath after
we breathe says
content. read me

the lines beyond
my eyes in
the dark, the stars

caught in my eyelashes.
the way my hair
feels softer, softly damp
against my pillow.

i have been
struck, i am
a ripple, a movement.
a wave,

i never rest; i
am only a heartbeat,
ceaseless.
lapping at your
shores.














you move me
in toe-curl,
it feels like yes.
voice in my ear
building
perfect distress.

i am a teacup,
rim touching lips,
in your hands
cradled; careful-
draining sips.

sculpted by
fingertips:
your monument, i'm

broken
by your blows.
we rebuild me
each time














-jonathan leder via leclownlyrique



















to you-know-who-you-are -

one of the cruelest people I have ever met in my entire life.

and now

I will
eat
a soft piece of
delicious
nutritious

wonder

bread

&

go back to bed.



--an0n




































untitled


the bottomless sadness
of being an object;

I cannot escape the shape
of my own imprints

-- by peterlord








florence berluteau















what not to tell him -


that he is a dead-beat dad

and has no hair
under that hat/cap

that he has a disease
called
pedophile do cryptic

that he wouldn't know a spider from a cat.

that you can cook every thing around him
better than that

..


that he is the only one who ever checks in
twice a week
to make sure you aren't dead.

that his mother wasn't asleep under the kitchen table,
she was just passed out like that.

..

that he is a coward, a thief and
if you had brothers in the area
they'd kick his ass.



-- anesthezia
































Ode to Nina's Skin



There was her arm, my first rose
holding her while she withdrew
into fever and trembling, my prayers

three buckets of water to clean
her kitchen floor while she slept
how she said she'd bone me
and with what we never kissed

how i swallowed it all
without choking
forever changing my ability
to walk with God


--this so called flower



chris lindhout



















if

love is all you
if love is all

you

if love is

all


you

need then
what is need


--anonymous


Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Friday, January 28, 2011