NoOneLeft toSpeak

Of Monsters and Men - Little Talks 

(Source: youtube.com)

Stephie Coplan & the Pedestrians “JERK!” 

(Source: youtube.com)

One winter afternoon
(at the magical hour
when is becomes if)
a bespangled clown
standing on eighth street
handed me a flower.
Nobody,it’s safe
to say,observed him but
myself;and why?because
without any doubt he was
whatever(first and last)
mostpeople fear most:
a mystery for which i’ve
no word except alive
—that is,completely alert
and miraculously whole;
with not merely a mind and a heart
but unquestionably a soul-
by no means funereally hilarious
(or otherwise democratic)
but essentially poetic
or etherally serious:
a fine not a coarse clown
(no mob, but a person)
and while never saying a word
who was anything but dumb;
since the silence of him
self sang like a bird.
Most people have been heard
screaming for international
measures that render hell rational
—i thank heaven somebody’s crazy
enough to give me a daisy

dizzypurr:

To self-soothe, I take off my bra first. 
With every button I undo, I also take back 
a bad word I have mumbled about myself or someone else. 
Then in the dark, I massage my naked body
on the bed, which I imagine in someone’s dream
must illuminate under the moon’s hot breath.
And I forgive her, my body’s slopes, and all of its guilt which 
I sometimes place on her for no better reason than to 
keep the blame from some other girl.
I think of the disease that had crippled me, the black tar
that filled my pupils with hollowness; 
to remind myself how strong I have been, 
I recount the pain and fear I have endured for weeks at a time.
The tears feel light, like gold passing through a window. 
Then I re-read what I have written and I recognize the ‘I’ as me
and I hug my body. I sing the words.

Do you remember when we met
in Gomorrah? When you were still beardless,
and I would oil my hair in the lamp light before seeing
you, when we were young, and blushed with youth
like bruised fruit. Did we care then
what our neighbors did
in the dark?

When our first daughter was born
on the River Jordan, when our second
cracked her pink head from my body
like a promise, did we worry
what our friends might be
doing with their tongues?

What new crevices they found
to lick love into or strange flesh
to push pleasure from, when we
called them Sodomites then,
all we meant by it
was neighbor.

When the angels told us to run
from the city, I went with you,
but even the angels knew
that women always look back.
Let me describe for you, Lot,
what your city looked like burning
since you never turned around to see it.

Sulfur ran its sticky fingers over the skin
of our countrymen. It smelled like burning hair
and rancid eggs. I watched as our friends pulled
chunks of brimstone from their faces. Is any form
of loving this indecent?

Cover your eyes tight,
husband, until you see stars, convince
yourself you are looking at Heaven.

Because any man weak enough to hide his eyes while his neighbors
are punished for the way they love deserves a vengeful god.

I would say these things to you now, Lot,
but an ocean has dried itself on my tongue.
So instead I will stand here, while my body blows itself
grain by grain back over the Land of Canaan.
I will stand here
and I will watch you
run.

(Source: librariesandlemonade)

(Source: Spotify)

(Source: Spotify)

(Source: neverstopdrawing)

Beats Antique “Mission”

Through the Roof ‘n’ Underground—Gogol Bordello

(Source: paranoiac-in-reverse)

‘for where two or three are gathered, I am among them.’