Stop Censorship Now

There is a secret that I keep

and a keeper of secrets that holds onto me

with invisible threads

running through the eyes of perilous needles,

stitching interrupted patterns of divinity.

-

There is a secret that I keep

and by this snake I have already been bitten,

a fiery serpent

under the shadow of a bronze image

set high on a holy intersection.

-

There are secrets that I keep,

a wide-eyed sheep bleating at heaven’s door

hiding all types of imprudence

in sycophantic praise of my own frantic faith

and a fateful cry for eternal reward

definitely not as good as Mogwai 

Haha, love this!

Haha, love this!

Tags: Wallpapers

Mogwai “The Lord is Out of Control”

All I want is to be a happy man.

(Source: Spotify)

Tags: music spotify

(Source: zombiesociety, via nearlya)

Ten women, I miss you the same,

while you’re kissing the ring

of some good-timing king

Ten women a fool I have made

"

My cynicism may be phony but the toilet in my heart is for real and you’ll never know just how I feel.

"

Men’s Recovery Project

After a night of drinking in Buenos Aires

The odorless night.

The man at the door says “it’s not time to go in.”

They pass con nadie.

Queiro ir a mi casa

The Argentine youth remains a bit unnerved

and I can’t explain a night filled with liquor and Christian faces

falling farther from the grace of American acceptance into good air and crazy traffic.

Estan mas locos aca pero no tienen mujeres

and I dream of Mariana.

mlktoscl:

WTF??

I want to be a part of something like this

(Source: lickystickypickyshe)

"I came by myself to a very crowded place;
I was looking for someone who had lines in her face.
I found her there but she was past all concern;
I asked her to hold me, I said, lady, unfold me,
But she scorned me and she told me
I was dead and I could never return."

— L. Cohen

"If, as they say, poetry is a sign of something
among people, then let this be prearranged now,
between us, while we are still peoples: that
at the end of time, which is also the end of poetry
(and wheat and evil and insects and love),
when the entire human race gathers in the flesh,
reconstituted down to the infant’s tiniest fold
and littlest nail, I will be standing at the edge
of that fathomless crowd with an orange for you.
– Mary Ruefle, “Kiss of the Sun”"

— Mary Ruefle, “Kiss of the Sun”  (via kdecember)

(via nearlya)