Last Seen Blogs
dylansprousesource
DYLAN SPROUSE SOURCE
good-morning-moon
Trans Rights!
brainstobimbos
Sans titre
darkpi-evan
Art Dump Blog 馃拃
Text
6 notes
路
View notes
Text
0 notes
Text
.
dazzled by the darkness
standing on the tracks
hypnotized
by the light
at the end
of the tunnel
hoping
for a miracle
- train wreck -
7 notes
路
View notes
Text
.
a recreation story...
The god of blank pages well supplied
Appeased by the cream
Spiral bound to the ribs
Waiting to be sacrified
A savior to the lowly thoughts
Desperate for a resting place
Unbidden or solicited in the night
Hoping to be rescued by the light
The god of blank pages offers themselves
Opportunity splayed out
A banquet at every turn
Understanding the hunger will never be
satiated
Yet willing to hold the mercurial desires
Offering a vessel to be poured into
Open hands to drink from
A cloth to wash the discarded
A spine to bear the burdens
The god of blank pages knows what's
coming
Accepts the blemishes and covers them
when needed
Ready to hold whatever truth lies in store
Willing to be torn apart when shame requires
it
Able to decipher absence and intent
.
3 notes
路
View notes
Text
.
The cradle of my arms and thighs
Holding what is left of you
Rocking in time to grief and misery
An attempt to soothe the ghost of you and I
To shush away the distortion of memory
And the accuracy of our distance
.
4 notes
路
View notes
Text
.
When art projects gather more dust than steam...
The angel of inspiration
misplaces their wings
Can't come up with a concept
designed to duplicate the feeling of flight
Drowns in an emptied well
.
1 note
路
View note
Text
.
To the God of right now, hold my gratitude like a set of hands, clasped gently around a fleeting treasure
To the God of yesterday, release the binds which hold me back (the yoke of forgiveness is generous and abiding )
To the God of tomorrows, may we never meet, yet admire eachother endlessly
.
1 note
路
View note
Text
.
The fruit of procrastination
drips down the wrist
patience licks it off in time
before a stain settles on the skin
just before a reminder to hurry up
becomes indelible
.
1 note
路
View note
Text
.
the child in me wants to come out and play
the adult in me thinks it's time to start
day-drinking
the wisdom in me tells me I'm an idiot
I agree, I can do it all
.
2 notes
路
View notes
Text
.
isolating the consolation prize...
Pick through the debris of the unwanted
Til a treasure bobs upon the surface
Reach for it
Make your hand into a metal claw
Plunge into the heap
Learn to love whatever you catch
Especially Nothing
Learn to love that your hand can become a
Metal claw
Which can plunge into Nothing
And be satisfied,
Consoled
.
2 notes
路
View notes
Text
.
ambition starts packing their bags
determined to get somewhere
gets distracted
part way through
someone else's success story
tantalizes, captivates, enraptures
they sit down to watch it
to take it all in
to learn from their experiences
the bags sit, half packed (again)
a comfortable chair to rest upon
no laurels in the way
.
0 notes
Text
.
From my asshole
to someone's ears
I shit you not
we're all gonna die, eventually
.
1 note
路
View note
Text
.
The as of yet not dead
trace the paths of future haunts
impressing and imposing
shedding the atoms,
the molecules
the skin cells
whatever matter-s
leaving a trail to remember themselves by
.
1 note
路
View note
Text
.
Thanks God...for this gift of listening and letting something flow out. For making a vessel for this whatever I am to animate and (occasionally) revel in. Thank you for the eyes to seek joy & the heart to try and share it. Thank you for the ears to hear the whispers of wisdom & the sense of humour to (occasionally) ignore it. Thank you for the mouth, crooked gigantic front gap-teethed and all, and the helpless grin that showcases them (occasionally) against my assumed will. Thank you for the brain, with its strange stew of meat & chemistry that sometimes crafts a delicious line and balances it out with a _________ ... Thank you for this body, (occasional) warts and all, it's waxing and waning energy & strength and it's mostly ambulatory (for now?) abilities. Thank you for this environment, the dumpster & tow trucks & stoops, the forest & beaches and valleys, the broken van views and skyscraping vistas. Thank you for the chaos, for the organization too. Thank you for the darkness & all the light. Thank you for the music & the silence inbetween. Thank you for the suffering & the contrasting joys. Thank you for you.
God bless yerself :) <3 Paula
.
1 note
路
View note
Text
.
Turns out
There was one smoke still left in the pack
One sip left in the mason jar
Two in the can
Maybe six in the glass
The can can agrees with my mouth
The glass ... I don't want to argue with
The smoke, it's bent but not broken, good for
a light & a laugh
Looking akin to a pipe, by accident
The water will come to bed with me
For the company, of course
Those late to middle of the night desperate
moments need lubrication, as does my
throat (I'd wager a guess)
Now that I am lingering (hoping it's not the
mal- sort ) the sips of wine are stretching
the maths of imagination
I could see myself, here, still -ish
A while from now
Trying to figure out the equations...
1 dropped smoke + two more sips - an hour
or so of sleep = may as well have another sip,
yeah?
Math hasn't been much of a language for
me, unless you counts the attempts at
making sense
In which case I'd bet something er other
Frig. I've frigged it up
A few more puffs left
This chest has deflated a goodly portion of
its ego, what with the lack of accounting &
the crooked dart and the as of yet untotaled
sips of wine not malingering on the stoop
with me
.
1 note
路
View note
Text
.
A deck of cards hopes to hold meaning til the
mornings come
A set of glasses working overtime
Whatevers left of the lungs working overtime
too, while the water vessel becomes a resort,
at last
The pen clinks against the stained glass
Pretends to imagine teeth
Imagines em
Bares them in response
The lips wrap around the smoke
Guiding it to whatever lung is left
The muscle-y memory reaches out of habit
to lift the spirit of the day & night
Hoists it onto tomorrows shoulders
A reflex
The aging eyes are grateful for the lenses of
a wiser drunks generosity
The Dear Charlies are willing to stay pent,
though never penitent
Another day looms under the moon & we
shall cheers to it with water, er, whatever
math is left in the glass
Bon nuit (s'il vous plait)
.
2 notes
路
View notes
Text
.
There once was a giant
Imposing and grand
Articulate in neon
Covered in crowns, crowns, crowns
Street rambling with the waxed ease of a
turned table
Poets blood trickling and laughing down the
fist to the wrist that gently held a tailor-made
above the well-crossed leg dandling
generational curses to sleep
There once was an alley
A crac in-between the walls, really, that
flamed to life & fueled a parade
Which annointed innocence in its wake
Which bullied art into work & crafted
concepts which reigned over the indignant
streets of a sulfuric city
There once was a blonde
All power and brakes
Doling out acrylics & canvas alongside asides
that stuck to the mind in its plastic ways then
offered to manipulate the mood
There once was a pair of leather jackets
Wrapped around a teenaged union
protecting it from growing too old
Comfortably holding hands and sharing
beers while offering encouragement and
excitement
There once was a widow
Looking out of her window
Deciding that life wasn't over despite the way
she felt at times
Choosing to document failings & successes
Celebrating each surprise with a slow
cheshire grin
Pouring out kindness to those that hoped for
it and sharing cleverness with those who
didn't anticipate it
There once was a wild woman
Still young
Eager and mercurial
Prone to howling and disappearing acts
Re-emerging with a nibble & a
head-tipped-back full body laugh from the
tips of her toes to the ends of her
ginger-esque hair
A woman worth throwing rocks towards if
only to land against her window to garner
some attention for a while
.
Le Crac
1 note
路
View note