#jared carter

[starving-mimi]

i drew jared

he hung it on the fridge

[contremineur]

The rumour begins to obsess them – that there is a hidden chamber, and that it contains a bronze axe head, or a rare piece of Tudor silver, or a first edition by Sir Thomas Browne. They pry into the wainscotting, the plumbing conduits, the brick-lined oven. They tear the elaborate oak panelling apart and carry it down flights of stairs. They order the servants to cart the pieces to the village, where they are sold to dealers and to other agents who begin to show up in order to bid on the more impressive items. The building dwindles away and finally disappears. They set the servants to work digging trenches across the grounds. A few yellow flowers still come up each spring. These may have been dandelions or even daffodils, but they are trodden underfoot.

Jared Carter, Country house

text and image from here and here

[jacketkey]

"Now, cradle me like a baby, and let's put a stop to this bitch's dastardly plans"

-Corson, Desert Skies

[aemperatrix]

Jared Carter

[poem-today]

A poem by Jared Carter

Fire Burning in a 55-Gallon Drum

Next time you’ll notice them on your way to work or when you drive by that place near the river where the stockyards used to stand, where everything

is gone now. They’ll be leaning over the edge of the barrel, getting it started—they’ll step back suddenly, and hold out their hands, as though

something fearful had appeared at its center. Others will be coming over by then, pulling up handfuls of weeds, bringing sticks and bits of paper,

laying them in gently, offering them to something still hidden deep down inside the drum. They will all form a circle, their hands almost

touching, sparks rising through their fingers, their faces bright, their bodies darkened by smoke, by flakes of ash swirling around them in the wind.

Jared Carter

More poems by Jared Carter are available on The HyperTexts site.

[castyourline]

To improvise, first let your fingers stray across the keys like travelers in the snow: each time you start, expect to lose your way.

- Jared Carter

[a-buncho-acred-reblogs]

beard milk😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

That blue cloak thing was made for HIM.

Fight me👁️👄👁️

Wilson is feeding him with his beard milk(???)

[yeahthatsinteresting]

'FIGHT CLUB' (1999)

[neosprites]

[FIGHT CLUB: STAMPS]

pls credit if you use

best seen on dark mode

[cinemoments]

Fight club, dir. David Fincher, 1999

[iconsfinder]

[starving-mimi]

Hey guys thanks again for following me, ily so much i'll share another doodle again!

this is a follow up of this

[90smovies]

[filmheaven]

Fight Club, 1999

[areyou-talkin-to-me]

Fight Club

At first i didn't get it. Then i got it.

🔗 IMDB

[poem-today]

A poem by Jared Carter

After the Rain

After the rain, it’s time to walk the field again, near where the river bends. Each year I come to look for what this place will yield— lost things still rising here.

The farmer’s plow turns over, without fail, a crop of arrowheads, but where or why they fall is hard to say. They seem, like hail, dropped from an empty sky,

Yet for an hour or two, after the rain has washed away the dusty afterbirth of their return, a few will show up plain on the reopened earth.

Still, even these are hard to see— at first they look like any other stone. The trick to finding them is not to be too sure about what’s known;

Conviction’s liable to say straight off this one’s a leaf, or that one’s merely clay, and miss the point: after the rain, soft furrows show one way

Across the field, but what is hidden here requires a different view—the glance of one not looking straight ahead, who in the clear light of the morning sun

Simply keeps wandering across the rows, letting his own perspective change. After the rain, perhaps, something will show, glittering and strange.

Jared Carter

More poems by Jared Carter are available on The HyperTexts site.