- Nanao Sakaki
When you hear dirty story
wash your ears.
When you see ugly stuff
wash your eyes.
When you get bad thoughts
wash your mind.
and
Keep your feet muddy.
-
B.A.E.: north
a year back in the city
and you forget how to be alone
you forget how to look at things:
the night, an old farmhouse
a bad meal in a small town
the smell of the mill
from across the water
all of a sudden,
you breathe out stress in cigarette smoke.
you need…
What a year we had.
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such love.
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go with muddy feet.
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Singapore.
by Mary Oliver
In Singapore, in the airport,
A darkness was ripped from my eyes.
In the women’s restroom, one compartment stood open.
A woman knelt there, washing something
in the white bowl.Disgust argued in my stomach
and I felt, in my pocket, for my ticket.A poem should always have birds in it.
Kingfishers, say, with their bold eyes and gaudy wings.
Rivers are pleasant, and of course trees.
A waterfall, or if that’s not possible, a fountain
rising and falling.
A person wants to stand in a happy place, in a poem.When the woman turned I could not answer her face.
Her beauty and her embarrassment struggled together, and
neither could win.
She smiled and I smiled. What kind of nonsense is this?
Everybody needs a job.Yes, a person wants to stand in a happy place, in a poem.
But first we must watch her as she stares down at her labor,
which is dull enough.
She is washing the tops of the airport ashtrays, as big as
hubcaps, with a blue rag.
Her small hands turn the metal, scrubbing and rinsing.
She does not work slowly, nor quickly, like a river.
Her dark hair is like the wing of a bird.I don’t doubt for a moment that she loves her life.
And I want to rise up from the crust and the slop
and fly down to the river.
This probably won’t happen.
But maybe it will.
If the world were only pain and logic, who would want it?Of course, it isn’t.
Neither do I mean anything miraculous, but only
the light that can shine out of a life. I mean
the way she unfolded and refolded the blue cloth,
The way her smile was only for my sake; I mean
the way this poem is filled with trees, and birds. -
so great.
-
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I said to the sun: Tell me about the big bang. The sun said: It hurts to become.
— Andrea Gibson -
people keep telling me to smoke pot and i’m trying to but it’s not working???
(Source: goblinhoarder, via toocooltobehipster)
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(Source: developmentryangosling)
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When someone tries to wake me up in the morning
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Verily all things move within your being in constant half embrace, the desired and the dreaded, the repugnant and the cherished, the pursued and that which you would escape. These things move within you as lights and shadows in pairs that cling. And when the shadow fades and is no more, the light that lingers becomes a shadow to another light. And thus your freedom when it loses its fetters becomes itself the fetter of a greater freedom.
— Kahlil Gibran -
whip my hair…
-
holy shiiiii I want this.
(via high-speed-french-train)
