lumenmews

[lumenmews]

Find me_

[lumenmews]

bodycave

wind whispers in my ears like breath blown on glass bottles like soft howling at the cavemouth echoes pound within the secret passages the violin voices of my mother and father i am woven of their sinew, their cords and the wind plays me like a bow my body is a cave filled to the brim with its own history overflowing with life poured out and pooling a sanctuary for the visiting bathers who wade to the cadence of my grandmother’s lullaby song whose feet find purchase on soft sand and stomp to the beat of ancestral drums my body is a cave a historical homestead palm prints pressed against my stoneskin as if to say: you are so much bigger than these physical confines shadow figures dance along the fissures of my firelit chamber walls i step inside myself and join the revelry it is a wonder what the bodycave can hold sometimes i forget that it’s all right here i am a traveling, bird-legged museum i am a transgenerational art gallery i am a storied, ocean-salted shelter my hearth is made of stones laid one by one for centuries by those who came before and those who loved them, too come, with your stone and sit by our fire

#poetry

[lumenmews]

nightlights

how the city at night is aflicker with the movement of humans through homes, like fireflies fluttering in the trees, we skip within the redwood skyscraper habitats tripping the light fantastick we play and we feast and we dance and we ignite our anxious alchemies, like hungry beacons, bold in our lust i want to know if the wind that whirs in the spokes of your wheels sounds different in the city, than it does in the countryside if not for traffic, if not for the steady humdrum of humans & machines i hope this lasts forever may you never stop entangling your fingers with mine as we hop scotch across the streetlamp glowrings through the neon expanse seeking shoreline & skyline look at us go burning, pining raging little wildfires

#poetry #love poem #nature poetry

[lumenmews]

Theres so many new things thefleshmuseum.com

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the morning sun is my gentlest lover

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dawn in my palm

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#found poetry

[lumenmews]

June, 1935 Journals of Anais Nin 1934-1939 [volume 2]

[lumenmews]

my hungry heart

how do i transpose you and survive i don’t want to dance with you anymore i don’t want the tug & pull of your strings i want to hold you, i want to cut you out of me, for a moment of respite respirate, feel you pulsate, feel you beat outside of my chest where you will hurt me less and i will love you more kindly thumb touch tenderly while you thump thump thump like a stubborn rabbit slow slow yourself, please i want to put you back into myself i need you to soften no harden make yourself resilient for me, please i am not a pacemaker, stop making haste i will place you into a bag of stones and drown you again and again in the sound of my stinging skin in the silence of my trachea vying vised between two hands that love me louder than you pound i love you, wild beast that burrows inside of me, inside of everyone i meet you are devotion & destruction romance & ruination teach me to tame you intractable & insatiable heart you are eating me alive

#poetry #love poem #cannibal heart #dark poetry #the yearning never ends #drowning in the sound #my heart is not okay #choking

[lumenmews]

wriggling like a worm

#nude photography #skin #movement #feetporn

[lumenmews]

vantage

#nude art #nude photography #cute belly #navel #soft tummy #soft aesthetic #golden hour

[lumenmews]

I am capable of loving big enough to transcend distance. I have spent a lifetime fine tuning this transmitter vessel so that it may radiate with reach. My love does not tire when it surfs the waves; the yearning propels it through barrels, barreling forth, impassioned and alive.

#poetry #love poem

[lumenmews]

In the days that followed my SA, I placed my skin before my camera, as an act of physical reclamation. I was gentle with myself. I held space to feel what I needed to feel. I let my body present itself authentically. My face reads "let's get this over with."

I placed my body inside a cage of shadows and the light persisted and warmed me. The sun's safe embrace, and my resistance to receive a good love. Later, a friend asked me how I was feeling, and I wrote to him: "My feelings are loud right now and things that should be funny or light feel gross and invasive. I took photos of my skin yesterday, as reclamation therapy. I don't want to feel sexy; I want to feel feral. The loudness will subside, but it makes me feel that there is this persistent noise woven in to the fabric of female society; the buzzing of recency is always there, stippled about, in rotation. It feels heavy."

#sexual assault #nude photography #reclamation #radical intimacy

[lumenmews]

I’ve been thinking & reading a lot about loneliness, lately. I saw it so aptly described as living in the gap between the relationships we have, and the relationships we want. It’s never so simple, but The Gap resonates, and is a space I have often occupied in both romantic and platonic relationships. I have been trying to work with this understanding of loneliness to soften its impact on me. I was first wrapped up in this idea that I needed to somehow reconcile these two things, the having and the wanting. It wasn’t realistic, but I felt that if I could step toward the having space and eschew the wanting, that might somehow cure my loneliness. But, we don’t really function that way, do we?

What I am coming to understand is that, alongside loneliness lives inspiration, love, and self-reflection. That which thrives in the place of yearning is the gooey human mess of grief and sorrow and beauty and creation. The Gap is alive around me and within me. And somehow, that feels just a little less lonely.

#art #photography #loneliness #reflection #touch #yearning #longing #poetry #love poem #hope #mood #skin

[lumenmews]

Bourgeois Riddle

It's night-time and I can hear my neighbors' dogs barking, some in unison and others out of sync. What do they bark at? To the moon, to the night, to existence itself? Lots of barks like intrusive thoughts that collide and create the sound of the night, along with the cars and motorcycles that pass in the distance, the crickets, the breeze caressing the trees and the voices of teenagers hiding in the patios smoking cigarettes and laughing quietly so as not to be discovered. Dogs don't bother me with their barking. I feel we have a lot in common. I don't bark or yell, but I write in the shadows illuminated by a lamp. My act is similar to theirs and the response is the same: silence.

As I've been sleeping poorly and having nightmares for days, I avoid going to bed. Because it’s there, between the sheets and pillows, when my eyes can’t close the moment I cannot run anymore.During the day is easier to escape, I fall on my back to consume as many tiktoks I can in the lapse of an afternoon. However, this distraction is causing me to become addicted to social media, the lamest addiction there is.

The other day at night, while I was walking from class to the train station, and I looked at the daily scene of the city disarming, with few cars passing fast through the large avenues, with homeless people wandering through the streets and entering the squares to rest under the trees after walking exhaustively looking for a piece of reason to keep walking. the street vendors dismantling their precarious stalls, and the workers walking through the smoke of the recently extinguished grills. I began to feel my throat squeezing inside me and some tears coming out of my eyes, the first violently opening the way for the others to rundown as if they were falling from an open tap. In those minutes of pure anguish I avoided making eye contact with the few people who crossed my path. I refuse to be seen crying. By the time I sat down on the train seat there were no tears, my eyes felt cold and frozen and my mind exhausted. I slept the entire hour back home with my head against the freezing window. 

The second time I couldn't escape this anguish was at my uncle's birthday party. After mixing wine and gin without eating dinner, I ended up succumbing in front of the toilet bowl. I have never been so embarrassed in front of my family. Three hours after I arrived I ended up in the bathroom, crying and vomiting while my stepfather, whom I call dad, held me. Most embarrassing moment of my life, I still feel like ripping my face off and digging a grave with my own hands to throw myself at.

In the sporadic moments in which escape is not possible, I wonder what’s this anguish I carry with me wherever I go. How can it sometimes seem so heavy? Then nonexistent at other times? Isn't it simply spleen? Or could it be something real? I’d confessed in the past my melancholic tendencies, but these tears are different, heavier and louder, impossible to ignore. 

I asked a friend what loneliness was to him and with his poetic tongue he told me “it is like being an abandoned house waiting to be inhabited by the people you love or are willing to love, but left to a perpetual longing.” I melted into his words, he was right. I do feel like a decaying house sitting on top of a hill, letting the winter wind cross me through my big windows from room to room, freezing every trace of my humanness. Leaving traces of dust and brown leaves sitting on top of the old furniture acquired god knows when, always threatening to extinguish the fireplace inside of my virgin heart. Maybe I’m a little like House of Usher, falling into the hands of madness, guarding over my innocence resting in a crypt buried somewhere deep inside. Or maybe I’m more like Wuthering Heights, inhabited by the ghost of someone I never had but somehow lost. 

I am a loner, always been, but there’s a difference between loner and lonely. To have time to be alone when reading, writing, watching a movie, or doing just about anything creative, is the most blessed blessing of all. To sit with a cup of tea and just be without worrying about the short term and just immerse oneself into whatever world you opened, is a privilege not all people have. That pleasure leisure brings is as sweet as a summer breeze, but rare in humankind as justice in the capitalist mind. This difference lies in that, the pleasure, when lonely it never comes, it is not free time and leisure, it is a sentence you have to go through every single day. It starts when I open my eyes, the sound of birds singing together carry me through the day almost like my personalized torture, a reminder that even them have each other, and it ends at night when I succumb to an unmade bed. In those days I learn nothing, and there isn’t one thing that interests me. I feel devoid of myself, like a shell wandering around the house waiting for the dark. Maybe I did the transition so smoothly I didn’t realize. The truth is I can recall more nights at home, in my purple bathed room, listening to The Smiths or Lana del Rey, or watching some sordid film like Blue Velvet or Christiane F, than nights out with friends and lovers.

One time I asked my mother why didn't she abort me? Stupid question of mine, having in mind that back then it was illegal and most methods ended with the death of the woman. She told me, despite not wanting to have any connection with my biological father, that she knew once I was there in my crib, she was never going to feel lonely for the rest of her life. As tender as it sounded, at first I couldn’t understand how someone so young could give up their lives for something like me, but as I grow older I’m starting to understand her, I guess it is a matter of time for me to do the same. 

I can conclude I find myself in a bourgeois riddle of feelings, perhaps if I didn’t have the time to contemplate life I wouldn’t feel this way. 

[lumenmews]

#photography #nude art #samhain #ritual #reclamation #body art #soft horror #wolf woman

[lumenmews]

Yep I fell in love with this amazing guy Chuck Faerie