asuwanglo-blog - Tumblr blog

[asuwanglo-blog]

i get so good at denying and then to be a spring to a spring gives me a sense of true peace in a world without water or supposedly drained of this lustruous wealth but i see wealth in dirt as is the rightful owner and bringer of anything gold could we be naive as to forget? the roots of this world which is not yet annihilated by the thoughtlessness of greed? my eyes are closed and so where is 

but i digress as always and i frogot what i  was saying anyways i am sober and very sleepy and warm jasmine b bbbb rolls in my stomach ever so lightly to ground me to what is a warmth i can feel for myself i

don’t allow myself ever any warmth because i am expected to rovide it always and such a ntural talent but one that cannot replenish it self really i spent my entire life sleeping alone so my imagination is darling especially in

silk soft tecture smaybe different kinds maybe layers and if the layers don’t feel coaxing i rearrange them in different spices and notes of old clothes forgotten but cherished i crave softer textures now and it is my downfall, a form of dependency so to speak but not something that can’t be mimicked by calm almost dissipated breathing knocked own to a .... 

i hold my breath with ease at the next sign of 

but could you do you

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i’ve been blamed a lot for my very nature and i always took it lightly because i don’t listen to unwarranted opinions of others seriously but it confused me just enough to wonder what the fuss is all about 

attention is a fickle thing. misattention. re- tensing. my attention is clear in every direction as far as the eye cans see and beyond that so i  guess in a way it can drive every one around me “m a d “ be cause a te ntion t is a ... frm of .

but i was never one track minded and to expect something of that nature is to expect nothing, an illusory hold on a moment that belongsto the moment alone

maybe you can feel energy or give energy but ... that’s too much effort nowadayz to even not listen just yeah

i play any role because i detest every role except perhaps: hermetic, recluse, bruja, misguided daughter, know nothing son, protective, softhearted openhearted openfaced expressive 

maybe oncei  was someone else but every timei would reveal that to most even, before, “lovers”, instead these “loves” guided me away from “love” to a “place” of “solitude” “love” safe guarded from the “evils” of the “world”

the anomaly of seeing a flower in person drive people to an unforgivable curiosity at t imes but i never saw myself as anything at all and not in a rude or diminishing wayi believe that everything and kharma keeps me safe in the reigns of what i could never even handle even goign thru mootions i detest and speaking inways to calm others always but a whisper is too intimate 

my whisper is my real voice and the voice of the world demands sultry yelling always. i could give neither on demand and i refuse the monotony of other devices.

[asuwanglo-blog]

now tuning in... 

[asuwanglo-blog]

it was cool to shirk off desire to even pester myself with a passing glance in any direction

collide-a-scopic-nerves

looking in to look out burst

but it’s just the way it looks, refracted

momentarily. wow? 

i guess again, in a way without meaning to

an image from a facetime from awhile ago from

a store from a state in a city 

okay, now what do you see?

well, i see. no, hold still.

wait, is that light or color?

i was watering the ground sheepishly, meagerly

a loosened pulse of 

the dust was not mine to disturb so i stopped

and looked up at the night sky fondly 

absentmindedly

[asuwanglo-blog]

and so to call forth but it was never mine to begin with?

i was just mistaken as much/such for the way i could make others feel

it was alright, it did not bother me lest they would reveal

as all burdens do, boundless pain and suffering unraveled at 

a moment’s notice oh my god, are you?

no, it’s okay and then, scuffled remarks. ungrounding.

descent. bouncing of 

and so yeah, that’s how it

went no, i meant well

okay, so tell me? but you never meant to be?

the openness scares me more than

i guess, yeah, right? but to be pent into 

a fragment of 

i mean shards of glass melted down to sand

[asuwanglo-blog]

the burning would feel light?

er? but where did you put it, and no,

not the red one give me the black if you can’t

no, not the one with the receipt torn off i don’t 

can’t have that one i don’t care if it’s peeling

i don’t smoke i flick my lighter at anyone 

who crosses me, in vain to redistributed

the hatred of the unknown against itself.

or so i thought? maybe ..... i just wanted

to be warm, warmth in my pocket at a

moment’s notice but no one noticed the flame

lick my fingers

lick my fingers?

it doesn’t burn?

it doesn’t burn

and in that moment, to be noticing the magical

properties of 

and so to reveal

and so on

[asuwanglo-blog]

so called upon no morality but a return to what always

and so i

confounded by the garden of my youth to be replaced

by the gardens of today which is

are greater than by volume but no

sheeerly veluptuously calling on a

precipice

verbated by my stalling in

the

back corner, near a pelican’s old house

fragmented wires of renowned rust

a makeshift house of

sick pigeons, and i stowed away all darkness

i mean light i mean past i mean to throw out the garbage

of what never could have stayed, for a day

i kept in this corner, a secret

never kept and never

never

[asuwanglo-blog]

sporadically dumb/ping on myself images of faith or is that just rain?

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a storm is coming i can’t say when but to be looking out at it from a tower will be interesting. not that i care for towers unless the window is large. it is. and the trees have grown larger. like boats. 

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dessicated prowess / valour / redound / “coagulability of the semen” / mutatis mutandis / vis a vis 

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I’m a social vampire u gotta invite me into ur conversation or I cannot enter

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undefined

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Gyokusen Mochizuki (1834-1913),  Black Bull.  Ink, colors and gold on paper. 

[asuwanglo-blog]

I’m so easily revitalized by small, loving gestures

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song doesnt pick up til minute 4

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i went home after it all & was v quiet by darian stahl