Author: tomorrow started

de torres | Sade | nothing can come between us

 

it’s the feeling i’ve got right now.

 

but so often, how steadfast i should be. and the tired presses against the weak. the faint’ the brittle. come back to me, i would have to say so. even if it meant nothing to you. they’re just words. they burn some clarity away from assumption.

rightfully so, though once they are mine i make them what i want them to be.

 

—

 

or do you not think those things? or that none of this ever happened? instead that i was just so wrong, so plainly false. that i lived something flashing along a blunt edge, something in passing I held so close. placed a mark so off i could not walk it back. and that you gave it no second thought. that you did not leave at all. that could be possible too, i guess, and time makes me only wonder. is this still brave? do you need me more at all? maybe you know just how much I can hold and have never doubted. so you do not worry. and when you come back, i would not ever have either. you would find me as i said, calm. patient. proper. because I’d be right then, that i was once again foolish. pretending to something foreign only totally. and that is why. like a return. something i should expect to happen. and maybe you would never ask what i did in the meantime. and we would not wonder. that I could tell you i will not ask you either. and that would make you certain. that you would be sure to never again. because we are bound. by some glad marrow.

in a breathless cadence

 

—

 

 

 

for you to keep. i have all i can hold already. place them in my arms. like so. and it would feel like that i’m sure if this was ours. by lsd

 

CATEGORIES: art, music

Notre dame de paris | Collapsed Crane | 籠屋 | something that lasts

 

carry into the future something that lasts. like accidents, disasters, and cruelty do.

 

 

there too – i think about lean-ness and efficiency. desire to cut down ever-further toward a solid hardened state. confusing venture, no less impossible and vile.

 

 

little left but to take away is an irredeemable position. i wish no more. i take all. once it is mine. i surely dream.

 

 

they were just constantly flying in circles.
constantly flying in huge circles.
(laurie anderson, the beginning of memory)

what about the ten thousand year clock, or the pyramids of germany, the practice of caving. these mass projects of human dominance, in which we take into the unknown (profound or unfounded) the meager seed of our ingenuity. keep mine my own. let it be said that i was there once. such and such. as it were.

if we fit everyone in – just how much could we think, together? the box in the home becomes the home. and what if we stopped living entirely? i was recently told about tangential metamorphosis – how i could no longer be human only without transformation – a neutered permanent alter-state. conniptive reluctance. trespassing human crowding by removing ourselves from humanity.

 

 

and if it all went ahead, and then came to an end? do we have the chance to really see it through? lines drawn like aching joints do. by lsd

 

CATEGORIES: art, musings

Guilt Ridden | As it was | Tangle-drain

 

drawing around to rediscovery. trying to legitimize a known document, or maybe revel in its acknowledgment that extends past those it concerns. that it would be truer then if others agreed. it could congregate so sweetly i would think, cemented as having happened were a record be made easily available to the document in front of us. at once great, and so always so.

then how disappointing to find no such thing. at a grasp only closed doors, something not so quite itself since it lacks the exact piece that makes it whole. that is, the one sought after. burning hay stack like upheaval. nestling itself in disbelief is also anxiety. that we cannot trust our senses, they are unfulfilled by the realization of our mind – nowhere else but here is this true. fact only in presence. the skeptics worst nightmare. do without them, i whisper. then what. you know. such conversation would surely liberate even the most stubborn of grievers.

 

 

and i had a lovely evening. i spent it in friendly company. testing each other out – digging deeper outward, and so, in the most revered sense, inward. it could have lasted a second, or kept going into further eternity, without changing its effect. it was perfect. i’m happy to share with others in this solace – that hidden, protected, room. it becomes so much more that way, i think.

and it’ll keep happening for a long while, at least. by lsd

 

CATEGORIES: musings, Uncategorized

beethoven’s ode to joy | burne-jones’ golden staircase | it’s june now

the golden staircase, edward burne-jones, 1880

 

 

in no way do i feel remotely like this toward any of this.

but after the last post it only felt right.

 

i don’t care about the 21st, i don’t care about your seasons. this is summer. because anyway it’s all fake, julius and augustus – more like julyuck and augussuck as far as i’m concerned. june is the last real month preceeding five months of lies and smokescreens. september, october, november, december. you do the math.

and i can’t capitalize on this godforsaken website. they won’t let me.

and it’s beginning to become too hot for my morning bike ride through the park to my studio if i wear my backpack (which i must). so now i have to invest in a panier but the rear rack will have to be compatible with a mud guard, and both need to be quick release. that means making a big decision as to getting disc brakes or keeping my pad brakes that barely work (but do work). and i’m thinking of switching both cassettes and both derailleurs as they don’t work (for real), and i want disc brakes but that move away from pad brakes is spiritually akin to getting the new iphone every year. and what if my frame can’t house these things, and then i have to get a dumb new bike that i won’t love nearly as much.

my brakes work. i could use the work-out of not being about to shift gears. who cares if my back sweats i’m tall and strong. i want to use capital letters. they’re fine. capital letters work. i need a mudguard. it’s summer god damn it.

 

is what i would say..

 

but after looking at the golden staircase and resting my eyes on the masterpiece for a few moments – i want to wish you a great first day of june. i hope that you enjoy it and look forward to the months ahead. rocking and brimming.

the painting itself is perhaps the most potent representation of hope and tenderness in burne jones’ body of work. his pre-raphaelite ties are wonderfully displayed in the painting – yet he grounds himself firmly in the ideals of the movement, we can identify a master pressing to the edges. moving away from what was too often a retread of old virtues de facto we have here a painting of true invention. a thought that careens toward contemplation. then, true observation. wherein the players and their environment are in harmony. sublime. by lsd

CATEGORIES: art, music

Amyl and the sniffer | guided by angels

 

thought to end may with the outlier good contemporary punk song ..

 

 

ksenia dronova paintings, lull me into june sweetly, and forever ..

 

 

 

and they are taking me – hummed softly only. that is the case here, anyway. by lsd

CATEGORIES: music