#Poet Reporter

[canyonkingdom]

doing this with a bunch of random smurfs because i can

[the-labyrinth-of-me]

valhalla nursing home interesting findings

(what I've been wondering about: if Tom wrote his work and himself out of existence then why can we find movie posters and newspaper snippets and a part of his film although they're not stored in a shoebox? My guess is that this only applies to the poet and not the filmmaker?

[good--merits-accumulated]

truly like... one good Western away from writing an anderperry cowboy au

[chiropteracupola]

even my epic gamer chair in my epic gamer cavern cannot save me from the brain turn into soup event

[tanunigans]

Back to it ! Only 48 hours away from my tablet and I felt like I was going mad-

Blacksmith and Reporter !

[jodians]

if taylor swift were to exist in the x files universe, i think scully would be a red/folklore/evermore/tortured poets department type of lady while mulder is the type of guy to kick the door down with shake it off blasting on full volume

[adrowningmansballad]

report card

Do you have a heart? Can you feel it beat in your chest? Does it feel ooey, gooey and warm like the early rays of December's summer sun, peeking through your glazed windows when you wake? Like when a shy little girl or boy sneaks glances at their crush in a coming of age film with bated breath while walking to school, concealed by the shadows of wilted wallflowers. Does it flutter like cabbage butterflies that dance around your head as you walk down the cracked paved footpath? Tranquility breaks as you trip pitifully, the crumbling of concrete matches your confidence and crimsoning of cheeks. But you'll have more to be embarrassed about soon, don't you worry. Can you feel it pound as you're rushed by an influx of bodies, washing over you? As you enter school, moving from each class, slowly sinking on that anxious breeze that trails through the tall towering trees. Carrying that distinct scent of eucalyptus leaves that tumbles you dry. It follows you all the way to the end of the day, where you start to feel less alive. Can you feel your blood run cold when you realize what day it is today? When you're handed your progress report, and read the freshly printed Letraset flowing down the page. A column that pummels you into the earth- "A- for Math, A for Science, A for Music, A for Humanities, A for Physical Education...B for English". It's not much, but it's enough. It's enough to justify what will happen next. Does your heart thump hard enough to begin pushing it's way out of your chest? With each step home, do you feel yourself falling over? You might hope you trip again and break your arm. Or crack your skull. Or just bleed. Any reason to distract from what's in your hand. And when you finally get home, do you accept your fate and place the death sentence onto the dining table? If so, you should probably go hide. Wait in your bedroom, with only the melody of your heart sitting in the void with you. Does it drum the same beat of the bedroom door slamming open? Scuff marks signing "please kick here" from the day before. And the day before. And the day before that. And the day before that. And the day before that. There's nowhere to hide and you know that. All you can do is hold your breath. But we both know your heart won't steady. Do you sense the wall shake? The way they vibrate as he comes through the door. The windows rattle, no longer glittering with that warmth you felt when you opened your eyes. Are you starting to feel that sense of doom, as the static that descends like a burning vignette threatens to end you. You're unsure if your heart will burst from the pressure swelling in your chest, but your ears most definitely will; "You almost got an A" "You've really slacked off this time" "Maybe you've spent too much time with your friends" "You did so much better last term". It sounds nice enough now, but your continuing existence pours oil onto the fire; "You're a waste of space, you know that?" "A waste of time even" "How can you be such an idiot?" "That's all you are, and all you ever will be" "How could you be so sly and manipulative, making us think you could actually do something well for once" "Don't give me that look, or I'll give you something to really cry about" "Maybe grounding isn't enough, I ought to-". No matter how hard you try, this is how it ends; No happy love story in sight. It was never there to begin with. The end credits thanks you for your achievements that led us here. Do you have a heart? I have one. But I think it broke a long time ago.

[filmcourage]

If A Writer Isn't Skeptical They Are In Trouble - Chip Jacobs

Watch the video interview on YouTube here.

[fadedrosesblog]

« Language is living history. Language is anthropology with a pulse. »

-Brittany Broski

[tourdion]

chef that usually plays the likes of arctic monkeys and daft punk and balkan rap played a leonard cohen song in the kitchen 😵 told me about his djing and poetry writing...

[dimitrisatticus]

Is this a JoJo reference?

You can't convince me that Taylor didn't binged some Stone Ocean episodes while writing TTPD!

"Fresh out the Slammer" could be a reference to Jolyne's relationship with Romeo who didn't undestand her. She did run back to his home when she was fresh out (of) the slammer although in a totally different context. "He was with her in her dreams" once again in a totally different context as she was thinking of her revenge. Meanwhile she was wearing "gray and blue" in prison, had "fights" and was literally "handcuffed".

It only gets more clear when the next song in the disc is titled after freaking Florida, where of course Stone Ocean takes place. From the "hurricane with her name in it" (a reference to both Weather Report's powers and Pucci's schemes) to "barricaded in the bathroom with a bottle of wine / well, me and my ghosts, we had a hell of a time / Yes, I'm haunted, but I'm feeling just fine" (Emporio and his Stand) and "All my girls got (...) their crimes" (Hermes and F.F.) to "So I did my best to lay to rest / all of the bodies that have ever been on my body / and in my mind, they sink into the swamp" (the swamps where F.F. arc took place). "At least the dolls are beautiful" for Goo Goo Dolls and "what a crash" for the one that kick started Part 6.

Don't get me started on "Guilty as sin?" for Father Pucci and DIO, who was metaphorically "drowning in the Blue Nile" during Part 3, which took place in Egypt. The next lyrics (Crashing into him tonight, he's a paradox / I'm seeing visions / am I bad, or mad, or wise?) describe their entire first meeting. And it continues with "How i long for our tryst" (once more Pucci's plan) / without ever touching his skin (a certain flashback) / how can I be guilty as sin? (as he considers his goal rightful). Finally, a priest is also referenced in "Black dog".

Definitely not the weirdest theory about T.S.' lyrics you have ever heard, right?

[ace-and-ink]

i’ve been haunted since i was a child

by the spirit of the darkness from the corners of my mind

she lingers at night

feeds on my insomniac fears

i swear i feel my mind withering away beneath her

she traces the veins in my wrists

pricks her nails along my ankles

brings my head oh so close to the water

but she leaves just before she breaks the skin

just before i’m submerged

i’d like to think the last bit of my sanity drives her away

but i can’t be sure of much anymore

she leaves me so cold when she’s gone

she leaves me shivering

she leaves me trembling

i’m terrified by her visits

only in hindsight

i don’t feel anything at night

i can see my dead eyes in the blades and the glass

my hollowed cheeks in the empty plates

my red cheeks in the overflowing sink

the terror comes from the fact she visits so frequently

as a concept i can bear her

but i’m terrified by how familiar we’ve become

///

she met me again tonight

like meeting an old friend for dinner

lingering on the balcony

illuminated by the twinkling city lights

looking half like an angel

already prepared to whisk me away

to take me back to my mother

we skip formalities as i join her

feeling only the freezing night air

pretending that’s the only thing raising the goosebumps on my arms

and the hair on the back of my neck

i don’t even know what she’s saying to me

it’s the same message

the same tape on repeat

drilled in my brain over and over again

and i follow her eyes to the street down below

looking at the asphalt glistening

i always loved the way it felt

rough on the skin

road scrapes always felt so satisfying

i shouldn’t love the sting of fragments in the cut

as much as i do

i’d sit and lay in an empty road if i could

felt more therapeutic than grass

but now she points to the ground far below

leaning almost too far over the edge

i’ve always blamed that one florence song

for making me curious

if when i’m falling i’m really at peace

and it’s only when i hit the ground that it causes all the grief

///

i can hear you call my name

just barely over the noise in my head

all the words and urges and cars and sirens

you call for me again before i turn around

hands still gripping the railing

like i’ll fall through if i don’t remind myself it’s there

you voice is soft i think

you sound gentle

at least in comparison to my thoughts

it’s time to go to bed you say

you don’t seem angry

perhaps i’ve helped you come back to bed before

“i can’t,” i say

“i can’t sleep tonight”

you don’t have to sleep you promise

but i’d feel better if you’re in my arms

i don’t know if that’s for your comfort or mine

“the neon gravestones are out,” i tell you

it’s impossible to make out your face

against the harsh city lights

against my harsh thoughts

they’ll seem dull in the morning light you remind me

just come back to bed love and you’ll see

i can feel myself cracking beneath your gentle gaze

i can’t even tell the color of your eyes but i can say that i love them

“i am not a perfect man,”

and you say neither was god

and now the fear is confusion as i tilt my head

“yes he was,” i counter “that was kind of his whole thing”

if he was so perfect you explain

he wouldn’t have left man here alone

left to their own devices

left to their own minds

i don’t notice until now how loose my grip has become

or the tears stinging my dry eyes

come back to bed you repeat

come back to me and my arms is what i know you mean

and i listen

i leave the balcony behind

and the glistening street

i leave her behind

and i leave the terror at the door

for the comfort of a lover

i never know if i’ll know

but as i cry myself to sleep

i can feel the ghost of her hands

brushing my cheeks

until i can feel another body in my bed

— i don’t know you // you’re saving my life

[jokerlennon]

btw im going to write the shittiest essay ive ever written tomorrow first thing in the morning and hoping my natural skills at literary analysis and the fact that the teacher likes me best will get me anywhere. wish me luck

[chiropteracupola]

Experiencing The Joy of Outfit...

[petrovna-zamo]

Snow day activities

[academyoftheheartandmind]

Premature Spring and Other Poems

By Michael Ansara Premature Spring Inexcusable, given the lush conditions of my life, joy has too often been a stranger. Now the sun seems stronger. Mud sucks at my shoes. My body still moving is a blessing. This year, winter was two days when the earth Cracked from the cold. That our bodies still move Together is a rare blessing. Love Poem #40 I wanted to swim in the river of wonder. To…