sleeping pills

Sleeping Pills and Lazy Bones. Jazz Records and a Glass of Whiskey on the Rocks.


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certain notes of the piano ring through the upstairs.
like echo told the river. what echo wished he told her
instead of the water. if only the woods weren’t so hard
to run through and escape unscathed.
i am writing you a letter only i’m not exactly there yet.
never was close. if you need me i might be underneath
the couch cushions, have you seen how big the mosquitos
are this year?

if you play certain notes though, here i am. its less about
the wick than it is the wax. what remains, right?
as long as you leave a footprint.
this time its clouds instead.
if only the woods weren’t so close maybe i’d have something
to wish to get lost in more than your epicenter.
the woman who lives down the block sits outside now,
but there is still smoke puffing up from the chimney.
certain native american reservations still permit the use
of smoke signals throughout.
maybe a steady stream means i miss you
means hey look, i would build a park if i had the land.
if i had a blade to cut the underbrush, if these
legs were what they used to be.

i was writing you a letter but i stopped because
i decided to call you, tell you i love you.
to tell you i dreamt about winter. again.
if you come to rescue me please bring two cases
of citronella. if you need me then need me…

(via: ululates)
“And suddenly, I looked at the bull. He had this innocence that all animals have in their eyes, and he looked at me with this pleading. It was like a cry for justice, deep down inside of me. I describe it as being like a prayer - because if one confesses, it is hoped, that one is forgiven. I felt like the worst shit on earth.”This photo shows the collapse of Torrero Alvaro Munera, as he realized in the middle of the his last fight… the injustice to the animal. From that day forward he became an opponent of bullfights.

“And suddenly, I looked at the bull. He had this innocence that all animals have in their eyes, and he looked at me with this pleading. It was like a cry for justice, deep down inside of me. I describe it as being like a prayer - because if one confesses, it is hoped, that one is forgiven. I felt like the worst shit on earth.”

This photo shows the collapse of Torrero Alvaro Munera, as he realized in the middle of the his last fight… the injustice to the animal. From that day forward he became an opponent of bullfights.

(Source: padbury, via lesvoyageursperdus)

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

“The Last Lie I Told” - Saves the Day

I’m in a parking lot by myself. It’s a quarter ‘til nine, and I’ve been here since 5:45. Oh, there’s no one, but I can see some flickering lights. I can hear some dogs barking in the backyards, and I smell gasoline. I wish the sky were open because if there weren’t those trees, I think I could see for miles. The city is just beyond those clouds. I guess this is what it’s like to be really down and holding out for something. Remembering the warmer nights. Remembering the open arms of two years ago. Oh, there’s nothing like this parking lot and seeing the stars in morning. Because I can see them from where I’m lying. I can feel the cold pavement against my skin. It’s tingling.

caughtinaparadox:

Lets have sex and talk about death

(via space-dildos)

I had no religion but I knew he ought to have been baptized. But what if he never breathed at all. He hadn’t. He had never been alive. Except in Catherine. I’d felt him kick there often enough. But I hadn’t for a week. Maybe he was choked all the time. Poor little kid. I wished the hell I’d been choked like that. No I didn’t. Still there would not be all this dying to go through. Now Catherine would die. That was what you did. You died. You did not know what it was about. You never had time to learn. They threw you in and told you the rules and the first time they caught you off base they killed you. Or they killed you gratuitously like Aymo. Or gave you syphilis like Rinadli. But they killed you in the end. You could count on that. Stay around and they would kill you. Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms (via doctorsax)
Man, I was thinking about unrequited love. I figure it’s best to just walk that shit off. Find someone else to be excited about. It’s like if you love ice cream but your ice cream man friend won’t give you any. Maybe he’s got a good reason. It cuts into profits. Who knows? But he likes you as a friend and wants to hang out anyway. It just drives you crazy to hang out with that dude, even if he’s being reasonable from his point of view. So don’t hang out with him. What, you ONLY like ice cream? It’s ice cream or nothing? Don’t be an asshole. Learn to love donuts. Joey Comeau (via caramarieterlep)

(via thetreeskeepgrowing)

The sheets are twisted and strewn about as if we just made love. You have been gone for days. The milk is still in the refrigerator spoiling, and the grass is still growing. I’ve been smoking too much and have not brushed my hair. That job I was going to take has gone to someone else. I keep picking at my cuticles and rearranging the pillows on the couch. The phone quit ringing. I threw it against a wall. Everyone is moving on, moving up, and I am listening to ambulances pass by in the dead of night. The sirens’ long wails tells me that it’s happening all around. You have been gone for months really, but I have not changed the pages on the calendar. It is still June for me. It is still our month. I’m bleeding between my legs and take pills. I get stoned and listen to The Smiths. I pull the blinds aside and realize it is raining. The sound of the earth pulls me in closer, and… Christi Atkins

i love puking. puking is the best proof of emptiness. everyone is spending time with their families and i’m staring into a toilet, it’s hilarious and everything makes sense. 

(via syndrome)

Using magic to fight drug abuse.
My part of Oakland is full of poor people. There’s at least one murder a week. Old creeps pimp out teenaged girls in broad daylight. You can buy crack or heroin 30 feet from my door, and two of my neighbors have been held up at gun point this summer. And the City of Oakland says they don’t have the police to stop any of that. But a bunch of people protesting the fact that rich people got a bail out and everyone else got nothing? The city shuts them down tight. Bang. Done. Riot act. Do you ever get the feeling you’ve bean cheated? I do. Every day. @el_gallo on BoingBoing.com (via lordmoudemort) (via offbeatorbit)

(Source: alfredodistefano, via birdiegulux)

It’s that the world changes beneath your feet. Things go slow at first and the change is so small that it’s almost imperceptible, and you pay it no mind. And then later, years later, the change seems huge and it seems to have occurred overnight. Suddenly you aren’t the person you were. And then, where once you thought not wanting what you used to want was punishment, suddenly you think it may be a blessing.
And things stand still.
You watch the moon reflected on the swarming gulf water and you think, that’s enough, that’s all I want. I just want to sit on this broken-down deck on this night in this cool weather with this breeze blowing over me and watch this moon lift into the sky—remarkably oval, remarkably pearly, remarkably aloft. And you want to think this in just these words, and you know the words aren’t right, they aren’t even close, and that doesn’t matter. The deal is that it’s just the moon in the sky reflected on the gulf, the water hissing and receding, and you’re in the middle of it, and you’re just a small part, an unimportant part, but a part nonetheless. Your job is to be there so the moon can hit something when it shines at the earth. You are something to hit. And that’s the way it is for the rest of the world, too. What people say and what they think, who they are, what they think about you, what they ask of you, what you want, what you give them does not matter. It’s that way for everything—the sounds of the night, the breeze on the back of your hand, on your knee, the shoe hanging off your foot, the pressure of the plastic chair against your elbow or your forearm, the sound of the light waves falling on the beach, the twinkle of lights on the oil platforms offshore, the smells, and all the stars in the sky, the shadows that crawl past—you’re something to hit. You’re a receiver. You’re an antenna.
Frederick Barthelme (via sunsssmudged)

(Source: illuminatedbeing, via boltinthenight)