purple-proze:

Tavi Gevinson by Petra Collins (from Petra’s instagram)

2:30 am  •  13 April 2018  •  70,492 notes

johnnymartinmaher:

sb: do u like the talking heads :)

my shitass brain: 

me: yes

BIG SUIT BYRNE

(Source: johnmaher)

12:14 am  •  12 April 2018  •  2,332 notes

showspace:

FLYER OF THE WEEK

Friday: Opening reception for Married To Art: Espi Frazier. 6 pm @ Gallery CA

6:05 am  •  16 March 2017  •  3 notes

I shudder to imagine working
at a pet store and having to scoop
out whichever little goldfish
my tiny customer and matching parents
decided to fall in love with.

I picture the claw machine-like game
where I chase the bugger around
with a flimsy net as all his friends
scatter in a flurry, preventing
his death sentence capture.

My spectators watch
as if it were the television in their living room—
only without the beers or wings,
those aren’t allowed in the store—
and cheer on the net, or inform me
of my poor technique.

When I fish one out, the child
will cry that it is not the right one—
I wanted the one
with fins and orange scales—
in a key that tears a note
from my last nerve string.

Instead, child, you take the net,
because when I first fell in love,
I chased that goldfish around all by myself
and I want you to know what it’s like
to miss.

Andrew Mayton

1:35 pm  •  3 March 2012  •  1 note

I was going to
go out.  Instead I stayed in
and covered the Cure.

12:05 am  •  3 March 2012

10:44 pm  •  2 March 2012  •  1 note

I like redemption. Redemption is good, right? Repairing what was destroyed is always good, right? But I also like new things. New things are fun and exciting and shiny. Sure, you need to read the manual all over again, but that has a certain mystery to it and I kind of like that too. Although, new things come with a lot of unknowns; unknowns that require specific combinations to decipher; its easy to miss something, to misinterpret something. Before you know it you’re back to contemplating redemption vs. forward motion. But is that where I have come to? A fear of the unknown? That doesn’t make sense, seeing how I set off with my adventurer pants on. Back then I wasn’t afraid of the jungle. I had my machete and I had my boots laced tight and I was ready to blaze a trail right into the demon’s maw.

That was before, this is now. Now I look into the labyrinth of trees and feel insecurity flooding over me. I always walk right up to the precipice, ready to venture back in, before I sense the cold air of a gun pointed directly at my chest. There is someone there, I know it. They are hiding in the brush ready to pounce and slash at my scars with red hot irons.

Sometimes I can manage to keep that paranoid, little monkey off my back long enough to plunge head long into the void I was once so familiar with. I stay as long as I can but every time a point is reached where I focus solely on exposing the dangers and pitfalls that inevitably live there. Over there! That tiger has vicious teeth and camouflaging stripes! I run back the way I came, passing the beautiful flowers and scenic waterfalls that infatuated me before the beast appeared. I almost stop again to enjoy them once more. Their essence could easily wash away the gooey fear and doubt that caused me to flee, but I end up telling myself that they are poisonous despite their beauty and just as dangerous as the teeth laden, death machine that was most definitely chasing behind me. It was still chasing me, right? Was it ever chasing me? No time to stop and think about it now, I’m still being chased.

I reach the clearing. I am back home. Everything is exactly where I left it, safe and far away from deceiving beauty and gnashing teeth. There is an addition, though, something that was not there before my trek. Its

10:44 pm  •  2 March 2012

thefortressofsteezhood-blog asked: If you haven't downloaded my new album 'The Fortress of Steezhood' get it here: http://bit.ly/lFbir5. I think you'll like it. Thanks for following. -- twitter.com/iammovershaker

Thanks

10:44 pm  •  2 March 2012

we shared a beach together, the first sand of the season caught between the spaces of our toes.  pebbles of the river small and many, knowing the sea to forget it in the same breath.  we spent the hour tossing and relocating them off of the pier.

the sky was oppressive, and the clouds almost groaned with their movements, as we stood under it all and called ourselves True Romantics.  There was a lot of sighing.  The river laughed.

True romanticism knows sadness- a vague and shapeless sadness, written and lost in the heat of the Summertime, over and over again.

11:48 am  •  8 July 2011

I have gone to the extremes and back
on a search for definition.
My mission, my vision is to shed light on the apparition
The ghost of lies-past.
Everyday, I see the shadows growing
Leaving everyone assuming and never knowing
Whether good is prevailing or if evil is cloning.

Listen to the man who has painted his house white
Because if you don’t he will steal all of your birth rights.
But, if that man should stumble and you happen to see it,
He will play it off cool and say that he didn’t mean it
as he pulls out a tray of water colors
and paints the Mona Lisa over top of the gutters.

His minions and descendents further his independence,
which worsens our dependence on our friends and foes.
In a world where we come to blows rather than solve our woes
It would be nice to know where the rabbit hole goes, or
where it ends.
Because this is definitely not what the doctor recommends.
Where are the people not pressed about gain and spend,
but with goodwill towards all men?

Everyday the truth is left bashed, bruised, and bleeding
and then covered by words designed to be misleading
just to keep big wallets from seeping and demons’ asses from freezing.
There is always someone scheming and skewing the meaning
to make it look like the destruction is cleaning.
Read the fine print and listen to tracks backwards
so you can see how the swoosh went in off the backboard.
Keep watchful eyes open and beware of the fiends
who try to get the best of you and hide the message in between.

11:49 pm  •  18 May 2011  •  1 note

First we cleared rocks

from the pit

because apparently

someone tried to put out

the last fire with them.

Then we packed two full loads

of sticks and brush,

hopefully dried out

since the last rain,

into the green trailer of a green lawnmower. 

When we needed something

to start the flame

I went inside and grabbed

the 2009-2010 yellow pages.

No one really needs this, right?

We stuffed the pages filled

with actual phone numbers

into the wood and lit them–

all the little people–

into a bright funeral pyre. 

All the little people wailed

and the pages turned black

and when we flipped the wood

the burnt papers rose from the pyre

and flew across the yard,

filling the air with a swarm

of black pests, who were presumably

all those charred people reborn,

furious at having had

such an untimely death.

They almost made it to the house

where I imagine they’d wreak havoc

before they settled on the lawn,

now a swamp of black and green,

their final resting place. 

–andrew

5:58 pm  •  17 May 2011  •  2 notes

We’re in the trees; we’re in the trees.

From the ground you point and laugh.

You cast our sticks and throw your stones

But we remain unchanged.

From the ground you point and laugh.

You try and knock us from our branch.

But still we remain unchanged.

So mock and make jokes they cannot reach us.

You try and knock us from our branch,

But our stance is strong and we like the view.

So mock and make jokes; we see what you don’t.

We are different; we’re not like you.

Our stance is strong and we like our view.

You cast your sticks and throw your stones.

We are different; we’re not like you.

We’re in the trees; we’re in the trees.

10:52 pm  •  16 May 2011  •  1 note

saint peter held his hands like a cross, trembling with waves of nervous energy that broke at his groin.

the martyr hung himself grinning between two women, a sleepy snow moon the only witness.

the forest lit up like a living room last night, its inhabitants bathed nude in the ice of a yesteryear .

2:55 pm  •  19 February 2011

Come up soft

to the stop sign

and brake but not

because the law 

says so

but because there are

cars coming from

both directions

And now I’m waiting 

to turn left

It’s fine

in the meantime

I’ll just listen to music

air drum and tap my fingers

on the wheel

dwell on some thoughts

and let them sift through

the filter between my mind

and mouth

because I’m waiting

to turn left

and what the hell else is there to do

It’s fine though

I’m in no rush

I mean I’d like to get 

to where I’m going

but it’s not an emergency

but I’m about done

with thinking about things

my mind is only really interesting

for about five minutes at a time before I start 

remembering horrible truths about everything

and oh my god I just remembered

that I’m still waiting to turn left

where the hell are these cars coming from

and where do they really need to go this bad

seriously though

you are all just wasting gas

and time and listening to awful shit

that is rotting your mind

and you’re all stupid enough 

to turn the radio on anyway

I am not making generalizations

because I know this is what you are doing

especially that asshole with the Bush sticker

on his bumper who probably believes

that the trickle-down effect is effective

and he’s probably listening to rich white men

talk about how black people smell funny

I am not making generalizations

I’m probably right

especially about that asshole

driving the Hummer

whose sole purpose in life

is to make sure his kids

don’t grow up to be queers

and makes them play sports

they don’t want to

and tells them to “man up”

and “quit being little bitches”

because clearly

crying is what women do

not men

and oh my god

I can turn left now

yes

2:16 pm  •  13 February 2011  •  1 note

damNATION

This was created by friend Silas because he fucking hates facebook

2:16 pm  •  13 February 2011  •  1 note