Tonight. I am the mosquito that keeps hitting the glass… fly a little higher, try one more time and you can get closer to the light, to the hot flesh.
Tonight. I am the mosquito that keeps hitting the glass… fly a little higher, try one more time and you can get closer to the light, to the hot flesh.
Anonymity only lasts so long, don’t waste it because then you have to start all over again. Quickly; every action placed me into a context, every confession revealed me, and every friendship held me accountable. I moved out here to be free- unplugged- noncommittal how quickly i tied myself into NYC. necromantic yuppie crocus, neurotic yellow cunt, negligent yonic caterwauls. What makes me want to define myself, I wanted to be understood so badly that I lost my dream of blamelessness. All those dark fantasies are buried with the bulb of crocus, dripping wet cunt left unsatisfied and caterwauling.
Blameless
Empty, weighed down with nothing.
(Source: lackingempathy, via mermaidcunt)
As I sit here in the library, looking out the large paint flecked window onto the skeletal trees and still air, I miss you. I think about how your smile, your tattoos, your dirty hair would be like here. I miss the part of me that gets to exist when you are with me. I miss the moments that are created by our relationship. Then as I think of you and me, I think of all the other friends that are missing. I feel like I cannot be fully me without them. Who here could talk to me about feminism and get me to go to a pig roast, who could bring me into a place of such doubt about the possibility of the artificial as natural because we made it? How can I be me if I am not strapping you in to your car seat wiping off the spit-up from your tiny button-down? If I am not chasing your waving tail as you chase squirrels? If I am not listening to you tell me about aliens, about how you and I are spirit beings come back to earth to help others pass into another dimension, has it been replaced with the classroom dialogue I hear now? What am I if your energy is not being absorbed into my skin darkening, freckling and burning it? What has happened to me now that I do not stand in the light of a white sky raining embers smelling of burned?———-I am not a self a single separable ‘person’, I am a collection of responses and relationships——- But I could never give up that which I get to be now. Dancing with them in bars with low ceilings, sticky floors or men in suits like statues. Reading Patti Smith’s poetry as you speak to the gallery owner and learn about the past pressed in ink onto all kinds of paper. How will you/they know me, if you cannot see all the me’s? Walking in the snow, kissing on the subway, cooking plantains in my apartment? What about the me’s that exist in New York, How can I be real if I can never combine the two? by the canyon lady
Who? I am one: I am many
(Source: lightfeathers-stiffboards)
The power held in the support of multigenerational interactions of women is irreplaceable. However, it is rare to find the connection of supportive nurturing women. This practice can unleash more than just a way for women to learn to love themselves and eachother but will also become a network of information sharing. The Information shared between women could dissolve the cloud of ignorance about the feminine - sexual information, childbearing and birth, our own anatomy, how the moon and other women affect our periods, menopause, being a woman leader, loving men, loving other women… There is a general lack in society of knowledge of women and the dubbed “feminie” aspects of humanity. Being one with one’s body- flowing with the rhythm of nature allowing our bodies to change our minds-oscillation and change is seen as something to dominate into stability. Let us not be hushed, let us re-focus our social abilities into creating networks of support and learning for one another. -ladies of the canyon
Women Circles, women are circles
Dream Catch & Release
(Source: lightfeathers-stiffboards)
Once you are my memory are you supposed to keep growing? I thought you would always be the way I left you. My mistake, many mistakes behind. If my past reimagines itself why can’t I smudge away my harsh moments and venomous words… can’t they too grow into something new? And you turn to me and say they have- they turned into you. -your canyon lady
I feel like I am failing the test of time.
You want to be seen/ but when I try to look it’s all hidden desire\ twisted wanting.\ What can we become? / if your intention is not clear/ I believe in sexual beings not a fetish’s deception, _________________________________ without sexualizing one can achieve sensual reception\ but you are too fast/ and I forgot how to be still\ I want to love you // will you let me? intimate dancing within the fibrous lace of your soul/ there are many kinds of love\ can I help you untangle / without becoming tangled myself , -by canyon lady
Your twisted wanting
(Source: lightfeathers-stiffboards)
"A NOISELESS PATIENT SPIDER, I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated, Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding, It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself, Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them. And you O my soul where you stand, Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space, Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them, Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold, Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul."
- Walt Whitman
P A C K
(Source: pushthemovement)
sideways view of my room from the bed/ sideways drool from mouth to bed/ sideways knees press together/ sideways me strewn across my bed/ left big toe and right littlest toe touch/ and I just cannot keep the liquid inside my right eye/ the radiator sighs/ but the sigh continues for minutes without pause/ it too releases sideways tears as moisture warmed up/ -by -Canyon Lady
upward tears
