imagination dead imagine

He’s seen trust in all of me, stretched across my shame.
All the torment and the pain
Leaked through the cover in me
I’d do anything ever to myself
Just to have him for myself
Now I dont know what to do, I dont know what to do when he makes me sane. (more…)

Whatever you think, be sure it is what you think; whatever you want, be sure that is what you want; whatever you feel, be sure that is what you feel.

-T. S. Eliot

How I love

The darkwave music
Of a sun’s eclipse
You can’t see for cloud

The saxophonist playing ‘Misty’
In the High Street outside Barclays

(more…)

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I smell of you.

Have you not waited all this while, for a taste of me on your lips? My slow ragged breathing, across your forehead? Did you not dream of me in those nights that left a burning desire to hold me close to your heart? (more…)

Whenever you’re called on to make up your mind,
and you’re hampered by not having any,
the best way to solve the dilemma, you’ll find,
is simply by spinning a penny.

(more…)

Not only does this hurt
You hurt
Intensive care of this situation
Uninhabited
Blackmailed out of this course
And out of line
Trashcans and dustbins
Deserve better
(more…)

Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra. Suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night the ice weasels come.

-Matt Groening

Now that the day wearies me,
My yearning desire,
will receive more kindly,
like a tired child, the starry night

(more…)

Farewell to one now silenced quite,
Sent out of hearing, out of sight,–
My friend of friends, whom I shall miss,
He is not banished, though, for this,–
Nor he, nor sadness, nor delight.  
(more…)

She leaves me with a kiss, then sashays east up the stalls, dragging my soul in the dust behind her.

-DBC Pierre (Vernon God Little)

People often write me and ask how I keep my wood floors so clean when I live with a child and a dog, and my answer is that I use a technique called Suffering From a Mental Illness.

-Heather Armstrong

Everyday as I passed the busy hospital signal, I used to see him. Sitting next to the pavement, aghast, body tensed up. He would keep looking at the road, counting cars. And throwing Bangles. At them. Red. Green. Blue. All of them Glassy-shiney. (more…)

Blessed is he who has found his work; let him ask no other blessedness.

-Thomas Carlyle

I am riding on a limited express, one of the crack trains
     of the nation.
Hurtling across the prairie into blue haze and dark air
     go fifteen all-steel coaches holding a thousand people.
(more…)