1. thats not real is it


  2. my life just got 10732786987236592834750274650781623708412x better
    i think


  3. today i texted my brother to ask him to make a beat (and write some lyrics about “me with my sleeves rolled up”) and this is what i got in return. we haven’t really had a strong/collaborative relationship for almost a year now but i still feel like we have a true connection because he said things like “u got me all excited by responding!” and sent me a screenshot of his iphone notes and i dunno if he looks at my tumblr or what but i feel like he gets it (even if i dont)


  4. (Source: higherprimate, via efdfight)




  7. [Trying to see the proportional relation]
    Trying to see the proportional relation
    Of one memory to another
    One is so strange, and then
    To try and see what looms
    And doesn’t for the other person
    Who was there, it gets stranger,
    Especially when you’ve read
    His email.
    I don’t know how people
    Understand their lives, measure
    Their sensations against “objective”
    Or so-to-speak democratic estimations,
    Whether people accept the externality
    Of events, “events,” as things
    That happen to them. I refuse
    To accept some coagulate
    Of other people’s
    Impressions in exchange for this
    Privacy, no matter how flawed it is.
    This is lyric poetry. It has to be. It has
    No other hope. What was it
    About you and me that made whatever
    Happen to us. In New York
    Everything fell apart. What I dreaded
    And expected.
    But still. Tonight
    It is dark and the weather is cooler
    Than it’s been. It has taken
    A while for Fall to break; the global
    Warming kept me in summer
    Love with you like I was under a
    Fermata. Now that the times
    Are changing, I feel
    Even more for you; or I feel nothing.
    I can’t tell; it’s kind
    Of scary. I was sick of thinking
    About you this morning but
    I was listening to Bob Dylan and Leonard
    Cohen in order to think about
    You for literary purposes.
    When I feel nothing for a person
    I get scared I’m losing my humanity
    And that turning cold means
    My heart’s been botoxed: we’re
    All fucked.
    I watched a movie on YouTube
    Called Ladies and Gentlemen, Mister
    Leonard Cohen that was made when
    He was still just a poet and only
    Famous in Canada.
    He’s a pretentious little nerd
    In it, self-important, teacher’s pet wit.
    I think that, making music, he became
    So much nakeder, much more desperate.
    The talent, real, even pure, even
    Natural, had to ripen in
    The artificial man.
    Alain Badiou, on the day
    Of his class, said, “Because an event
    Is pure rapture, an event disappears
    Immediately: it does not exist
    Objectively, but only by appearing
    And disappearing.” This is both
    Precise and vague; it is attractive
    I guess. I guess since you and me did not
    Disappear immediately, it was
    Not pure rapture, not in these
    Terms, but my smile
    Was real each time I swallowed
    Your cum. Getting
    Fucked by you was great; I could
    Feel it in my organs, but
    You didn’t make me go insane
    Except for maybe once
    Or twice. Actually maybe I am
    Being unfair. Maybe the fucking really
    Was that great. In this moment I
    Can’t remember.
    I just read a poetry
    Review in which the reviewer
    States that a certain book
    Made his cock feel as though
    It were tall as a tree. That’s
    Nice. I have no idea
    What it feels like to have
    A cock. Sometimes I feel
    As though I’m getting close
    To understanding and then
    Something happens to make
    Me have no clue again. When Sinan
    Fucks me, we lose our individuality
    So severely it’s like we’re both
    Gasping after an animal that’s his
    Cock that is beyond us and I lose
    All sense of the world. His cock’s
    Not even him, and he’s not him either
    And we aren’t anything.
    It’s strange, the possessive. Didn’t Thomas
    Mann write a book called Herr
    Und Hund or something like that?
    Man’s best friend. What belongs
    To him. Me and Sunder
    Talked about how scary and arousing
    It is to watch men masturbate, cos
    Everyone relates differently to his.
    Like dicks are always almost but never
    Quite another. Je est un autre,
    Said that brat Arthur Rimbaud.
    I am definitely in love with you
    As I write this. You are so petty
    And superfluous I cannot stand
    You. Sinan is definitely
    In love with me. I know, because
    I saw him tonight. I love
    Him too. You are gracious
    To accord me the space and time
    In which to develop, or to elaborate
    Upon, as the French say, these
    Extreme emotions I am, despite
    The odds and certain lapses,
    So capable of feeling.
    It was good to slap
    Your face and to admit
    That your asshole
    Made me nervous.
    Your eyes had a way
    Of going soft and shiny
    When you said the really
    Tender things. We admitted
    It was intimidating
    For us both to hear each other describe
    People we’ve fucked and been
    In love with. I’m proud of what
    We accomplished together. Alain Badiou
    Ended his class with a reading
    Of “Ariane et Barbe-Bleue” which
    Is an opera by Paul Dukas. You
    And me had gone pretty far
    By the time this day came, and
    Something very fragile in me breaks
    When somebody says my name, or
    Even a variant of it. I was tired.
    I think Badiou discusses “Ariane”
    In Being and Event which
    I have not read. In class he said
    That the story of the opera is
    About the relationship between law
    And freedom, and that it shows
    That the desire for freedom is not
    So simple. Ariane experiences an Event
    That causes her to demand freedom, Badiou
    Said, but she is unable to convince anybody
    Else, any other women to want freedom; she ends up alone.
    She genuinely falls in love with the wicked
    Bluebeard at the beginning. Bluebeard
    Who previously got women by having a castle
    To lock them in. This woman Ariane
    Does not have to be taken
    By force. When she enters
    His castle he hands
    Her seven keys, six
    Of which he gives her permission
    To use, and leaves. She hears the cries
    Of his other, imprisoned wives,
    Coming from behind a door. So she uses
    The forbidden key, releasing them.
    Meanwhile Bluebeard is assaulted
    By the local peasants, who want
    To free Ariane, fearing her fate will turn out like
    That of the women who came before her.
    But Ariane is already free
    In herself, and proves this freedom
    By bringing the wounded Bluebeard
    Home, caring tenderly for him, and then
    Declaring that she’s leaving him for good.
    By the end Bluebeard’s shattered, sobbing,
    Bleeding. Ariane
    Invites the other wives to leave with her
    In a wrenching aria, pleading
    With them one by one to taste
    With her the freedom awaiting
    Them, The World. But they all prefer confinement
    Even though they had longed
    For freedom before Ariane opened
    Their door. Once liberty arrived they were no
    Longer capable of it, preferring to serve; even a gutted,
    Hollowed-out power. Ariane exits
    Alone. The end. Badiou narrated
    This with emotion and
    I cried. Maybe cos I was tired and
    That thing about my name or because
    I am not heroic or free.
    I had missed half of Alain Badiou’s
    Lectures messing around with you
    On the couch by the fire; in the women’s
    Toilets; up on the hill. If this were a suitable parable,
    And it isn’t, I would try to tell myself
    That those very early mornings in Brooklyn when I sat
    Up in your bed feeling wrong and
    Got dressed and walked away, I should
    Have stayed away cos I don’t need you.
    Maybe I don’t need you. But I want
    You. Maybe I don’t love you. But
    I am getting to know you. Maybe
    What made me cry in class was how tired
    I was and how sad and hard
    It is, and how rare, to undertake an act
    That’s truly free, and not just a response
    To a confused surge of drives and fears.

    Ariana Reines, “[Trying to see the proportional relation]” from Coeur De Lion


  8. spending your 15 minute break in a public restroom charging your phone, deciding whether or not to. (nobody knows what i’m doing in here, they wont even grab the door handle with their clean hands.)





  12. darvinasafo:

    #FERGUSON protestor returns tear gas canister back to sender…

    This is Amerikkka 2014


    (via jaysonscottmusson)




  14. mashatupitsyn:

    Excited by is the not the same thing as excited about.

    About is relational, implies a being with, being for, going for, answering to.

    Which means you do something about your excitement for someone. You make it responsible. You make it a gift. You get past yourself.

    That’s what makes love about Two. Becoming two. Becoming because you (learn to) make it that.


    (via dddreamy)


  15. this blue & hallucinogenic flowers