6.15.15. - cafeteria doodle

Goddamn. The year’s half gone. Where did I go??

Charles Bukowski, texan (via wethinkwedream)

“I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny they are small, and the fountain is in France where you wrote me that last letter and I answered and never heard from you again. you used to write insane poems about ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you knew famous artists and most of them were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’s all right, go ahead, enter their lives, I’m not jealous because we’ve never met. we got close once in New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never touched. so you went with the famous and wrote about the famous, and, of course, what you found out is that the famous are worried about their fame – not the beautiful young girl in bed with them, who gives them that, and then awakens in the morning to write upper case poems about ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ve told us, but listening to you I wasn’t sure. maybe it was the upper case. you were one of the best female poets and I told the publishers, editors, "print her, print her, she’s mad but she’s magic. there’s no lie in her fire.” I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom, but that didn’t happen. your letters got sadder. your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all lovers betray. it didn’t help. you said you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying bench every night and wept for the lovers who had hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide 3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you I would probably have been unfair to you or you to me. it was best like this.“

Charles Bukowski, an almost made up poem

T.S. Keen  (via voagi)

Intro

Excerpt “When the Leaves Fall” T. S. Keen

The roaring rapids have stunted to the flow of a trickling creek. The once alleviating breeze has been fouled by a veil of depression. The rolling hills, once painted with dew and full of extraordinary adventures, have withered to a simplistic eye sore. The flames that once funded ceremonies and lavish gatherings, have grown cold. Nature is softly crying out for help, and a small girl plans to console and nurse it back to health. 

When the Leaves Fall

Excerpt “When the Leaves Fall” T. S. Keen

At the mention of harming Elliana, a massive wooden hand with three fingers, each adorned with rings made from various precious gems, blasts out of the chasm and plants itself onto the edge. “NO TOUCH GIRL!!!”, a voice bellowed from the depths of the chasm. Yet another monstrous hand shoots up from the crevice and crashes down to the ground. The hands grip the edge with tremendous force causing the earth to shatter and crumble as the creature hauls itself to the surface.

When the Leaves Fall

Excerpt “When the Leaves Fall” T. S. Keen

At the mention of harming Elliana, a massive wooden hand with three fingers, each adorned with rings made from various precious gems, blasts out of the chasm and plants itself onto the edge. “NO TOUCH GIRL!!!”, a voice bellowed from the depths of the chasm. Yet another monstrous hand shoots up from the crevice and crashes down to the ground. The hands grip the edge with tremendous force causing the earth to shatter and crumble as the creature hauls itself to the surface.

When the Leaves Fall

Excerpt “When the Leaves Fall” T. S. Keen

At the mention of harming Elliana, a massive wooden hand with three fingers, each adorned with rings made from various precious gems, blasts out of the chasm and plants itself onto the edge. “NO TOUCH GIRL!!!”, a voice bellowed from the depths of the chasm. Yet another monstrous hand shoots up from the crevice and crashes down to the ground. The hands grip the edge with tremendous force causing the earth to shatter and crumble as the creature hauls itself to the surface.

- Mark Twain

My heart's a mess.

“I could have chosen a different life Settled down, made it work with a simple wife Instead I’ve taken my days by the horns And honey, that’s where my problems were born.

I could have slept in a moonless night, Closed my eyes, denying a restless fight But what I did was to gaze upon the dome, Seeking desperately for something called home.

My heart’s a mess,

My heart’s a mess, and my wounds are burning. I could use a kiss to appease the stinging What do I care if I’ll ever be fine ? I just need my rose, and all of its spines.

All I wish for is my mind to be resting But the shifting tides keep heating my blood, Every single thought appears to be bursting Lord have mercy, I’m not that far from a flood.

My heart’s a mess,

My heart’s a mess but my soul will flourish. I have gladly traded soundness to grow quite foolish A genuine smile will appear on my face, Anyways, I’ve chosen to live by that pace.

And now, my rising sun would finally sparkle Reviving my aching wit, warming every parcel I might as well get out of that nervous cell To seize my scarlet rose, honey, I would go through hell.” ~ @ouahibjalal

God. This was great

T.S. Keen  (via voagi)

Allen Ginsberg and Neal Cassady early 60’s

Virginia Woolf, The Waves (via oeut)