i grow tired of tumblr for the massiveness and perhaps diversity of its community
why? cuz…i dont know…it’s overwhelming and there’s no way to avoid stuff i just don’t care about. it just feels LOUD here.
so if you liked my writing when i was active, i’m setting up camp at hellopoetry.
When does the year begin?
Can one truly discard old hands
on whim? I shudder to think
I can. But does it blossom
shyly, then—imperceptibly
until the bend has taken man?
Do we notice only after
sweet things pass and give
their way to bitter ones
what parts have died?
Is it only then that one
can recollect? I feel imbued
with false resolve sometimes to think
that recollection makes me wise.
I think I waste my time with these
untimely thoughts. Yet fast I brood.
What matters can be solved without
some casualties? And which are those?
I’d sooner give my heart away
to prose than to some careless man.
I’d sooner give my soul up
to the tireless and wan of life.
After all, this one is mine.
I only pause to—carefully—
consider time because I can.
When does the year begin,
alas? Does it simply turn
with the turn of numbers
people name, a settlement
of arbitration? I’m
too hot with indignation; let’s
suppose I should not wonder.
this just about says it all folks
(Source: theinsanerobin, via cobrall)
Everything below this post is old and probably of dubious quality at best.
Everything above this post shall be recent writings and my active attempts to keep myself focused on my craft.
Toodles for now!
HEY. HEY, FRIENDS! THE HURTING OF ANIMALS IS SERIOUS. HALLEY UNDERSTANDS. HALLEY MAD TOO, IT’S NOT NICE TO HURT A DOG. NOT NICE TO HURT A CAT. NOT NICE TO HURT A ANYBODY!
BUT IT’S NOT NICE TO HURT A PERSON EITHER. DON’T SAY THE THINGS LIKE THAT. DON’T SAY THEY DESERVE A HURT…
(via cobrall)
I am not lonely; I am jealous:
My oneness is not “unfeeling”—it is
grating.
I am not careless; I am affectionate:
My touch is not caustic nonsense—it is
deliberate.
I am not demure; I am volatile:
I am detached, and you are
a project.
I am not indecisive; I am cautious.
I will love you beyond oblivion—
you will not love me.
I am not complex; I am hurt—
I am simply a guarded reflection
of you.
I am not you.
I am not myself.
I am the gatekeeper.
To protect cats against feline AIDS, the Mayo Clinic and colleagues in Japan took monkey genes that block HIV infection and injected them into cat eggs. Kittens born from those eggs produced AIDS-resistant protein in the same cells that get infected, effectively shielding them from the disease. Their offspring are also immune.
To tell the treated cats from the untreated ones, scientists added another simple ingredient to the mix: jellyfish genes, which make the modified cells glow a green color. ”It allows you to tell whether the gene of interest is in the cell without having to do an invasive test,” explains Dr. Eric Poeschla, a molecular biologist with the Mayo Clinic. Scientists simply turn off the lights and shine a blue light to tell which cats have the AIDS-resistant gene.
The cats don’t feel a thing, Poeschla says. “They’re healthy and happy and they’re playful.”
(via reddeadvixen)
zjamesmiddleton replied to your post: To None his Lone Affair
I enjoy what you’re getting at in this. You should consider your line breaks though. Hard consonant syllables are the best places to break, some even recommend you end as many as 70% of your lines with that type of word. Anyway, great work!
lovely to hear. your advice is invaluable. i edited it a bit :) thank you so much.
Oh, God
I feel myself resigning to it,
becoming enveloped by it—
And oh! that fleshly foolishness
which leads my heart by hook-and-leash
lends little hope
to any hope of self-sufficiency—
lends little hope
to the greatest among us;
how little, then,
to the meek is lent?
But oh, this heart of ignorance
if—and obviously—blasphemous,
still encapsulates
my kind, shrouded in its weakness—
still encapsulates
the Earth, at core, and all such human things,
then how much more
the Love of God encompasses!
—
Eugene Onegin, Alexander Pushkin (via i-starchild)
more should discover such poetry. consider thyself reblogged!
(via danilova)
Suspended just above total apathy and yet just short of truly caring, I find myself unable to decide if I should more or less or not at all.
May 11th 1988:
Rachel was sitting on the grass with me, whimpering, as we watched the car sink into the canal. She was holding on to my knee a moment ago, but now she’s making noises and eating her hair.
I looked over at the big pale blue pipes extending over the water. Just yesterday, I was…
so enjoyable i actually reblogged a piece of writing.
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Hi I'm Karen. I write.
Lots of things might happen. That’s the thing about...
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