School was about learning how to process information, not people.
Labels: one-liner
Feed me scales
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Where did you come from little bird?
What is this blackness stuck to your wing?
My home is hidden and built of the laughter of my enemies.
I've come a long way and am in need of fill.
I've come a long way and am in need of fill.
Where did you come from little bird?
What is this blackness stuck to your wing?
What is this blackness stuck to your wing?
My nest is empty.
None have come to admire what I've done and my feathers are split with proof.
None have come to admire what I've done and my feathers are split with proof.
Where did you come from little bird?
What is this blackness stuck to your wing?
What is this blackness stuck to your wing?
The great distance between morning and night.
Above this green chaos, I'm decorated with burdens and blame. Can't you see?
Above this green chaos, I'm decorated with burdens and blame. Can't you see?
Where did you come from little bird?
What is this blackness stuck to your wing?
What is this blackness stuck to your wing?
A boy fell from his mother's arms. His father tipped the candlestick. Daylight turned into stoplights, where tears did spill on the lungs that did split. I escaped quickly through the plumes of smoke and reached the forest in time. I have cut all I can to build this tower of sin. Nothing is kept within for I am always protecting the boy; I lead him to walk across the desert where he can be everything. I shine with every hidden branch that I've bent and with every feather collected. Can you help me with this last trick? I need to show him.
Where can I take this little bird? His coat is tattered yet it glows with beads of blood and tears. Is this your heart, little bird? Why have you left it covered, under this cloak of bark? Your fight has blinded your body to your soul. This soul of wind and sun. Here you are, in this cage of dust and silence where the hands have stopped. Where do you want to go little boy? Shall we pull the branches apart and sing of how the rain feeds your flight? Can you fall, patiently, to the earth poised to welcome you home?
Labels: curiosities, random, visuals
posted by Primessa Espiritu
June 25, 2009
0 comments
Dirt devil
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Diego was in love with Amber. Amber was in love with Diego for years until yesterday when she could no longer handle the dirty dishes that had been sitting in the sink for two weeks.
She left a post-it note on the stack of cheddar covered Dollaramo china after coming to the conclusion that a cell-text would not translate as well as yellow on yellow. It read: Please clean out your baggage before calling me out.
Diego only found the note a few days later in the bottom of the tomato sauce covered sink. He stood above the dishes for a short eternity thinking about how Amber used to snore on the couch while he quietly made a mess in the kitchen. She sounded like an old rackety lawnmower.
Clubs and drunken women were the only way he could drown out the silence that was thickening his living room walls. Amber was still his first thought no matter where he woke up.
One Saturday afternoon he found himself in a household alley in a department store looking for something new and exciting. The neon lights made everything look quite cool and most of all unemotional. A large box in his arms he returned home and decided to finally text Amber on her phone. The note read: Don't forget to buy some dishwasher soap.
It was his way of reaching out to let her know that he wanted to hear her snore while he cleaned house.
All he had to do now was get the new vacuum cleaner out of the box and put the user manual in the recycling bag.
She left a post-it note on the stack of cheddar covered Dollaramo china after coming to the conclusion that a cell-text would not translate as well as yellow on yellow. It read: Please clean out your baggage before calling me out.
Diego only found the note a few days later in the bottom of the tomato sauce covered sink. He stood above the dishes for a short eternity thinking about how Amber used to snore on the couch while he quietly made a mess in the kitchen. She sounded like an old rackety lawnmower.
Clubs and drunken women were the only way he could drown out the silence that was thickening his living room walls. Amber was still his first thought no matter where he woke up.
One Saturday afternoon he found himself in a household alley in a department store looking for something new and exciting. The neon lights made everything look quite cool and most of all unemotional. A large box in his arms he returned home and decided to finally text Amber on her phone. The note read: Don't forget to buy some dishwasher soap.
It was his way of reaching out to let her know that he wanted to hear her snore while he cleaned house.
All he had to do now was get the new vacuum cleaner out of the box and put the user manual in the recycling bag.
Labels: love, mechanical, notes, phone
posted by Primessa Espiritu
June 24, 2009
0 comments
