Paradoxical Paradigms

Something smells like pheromones.

Slick.

(Source: snuh, via generic-eric)

Tormentor of Christian Souls
by Dimmu Borgir

There is an astonishing amount of music I hate in my iTunes library.

(Source: ifillmyheadwithghosts, via fuks)

Old poem is old (but not bad).

High-strung Social Maladjust

Hands holding
Cash holding
Value holding
Lives holding

Men and women
Holding hands, holding hands, holding hands, holding hands, holding…

Discrectionless glassy gazes
Burn holes into glassy glowing lights.
Which burn back

Emotion-deposits, for the over-stimulated

A necessity for more things:
Transparent and hard. Retaining nothing. Breaking easily under pressure.

As long as it holds attention for the span. So we need more than we need.

I can hear them saying, ‘If it stays too long, it’s dangerous’.
Glasstic and cellophass. My hands are better suited for skin.

Just wrote a poem at the park. Here ya go.

November clanks into gear
The last holdout in the face of fear
As All Hallow’s Eve subsides.

A month to the day
After zip-cuffed hands
Tied me down to a hopeful future.

Now I ride in the front seat.
Prone to distraction.
Not gaining traction.
Writing words instead of singing.
Sending messages instead of bringing
Everything I feel to light.

The Golden Hour praises
As the toothy air bites and raises
Goosebumps beneath gray threads.

Colors of layers before in my mind
Confronted again by a poetic bind
In which my solitude races
Against the hastening tempo of time.

Halloween Costume #1 Hawaiian surfer dude. Hang loose, bro!