To be sensual, I think, is to respect and rejoice in the force of life, of life itself, and to be present in all that one does, from the effort of loving to the making of bread.
Frederic Fontenoy - Fusion (1992)
those days that celebrate parents can sometimes feel a little fucked up when you’re lost from your parents in whatever way…
i miss my mom. it’s been eleven years now i think. unbelieveable, really. almost half my life.
guru died at what.. 40 something? not even? and his fuckin kid man. is sure as hell younger than i was when i lost my mom. crazy to think about. this world and it’s souls. crashing through life. with love, if we’re lucky.
“It takes a lot of LOVE and UNDERSTANDING
to LIVE and LET LIVE,”
Matthew Stone . Unconditional Commitment to Sacred Love.
Indigo Myths, 2012.
You Don’t Have to Bend the Whole World, 2012.
Energetic Level, 2012.
Ordinary Mistic State, 2012.
woman knocks lightly on door.
man answers, she opens the door.
“are you busy?”
“maybe.. what do you want..?”
“mm, you know, to chat?”
woman takes pause. is unsure how to respond. makes snap decision.
door closes. woman walks away, does things unremembered. has realization. goes back to door, knocks lightly.
it sounds pained, dreadful of something expected. she doesn’t strongly want to, but she opens the door.
“you know why. you’re not stupid.”
“are we ever gonna talk about this?”
“sure.. just not right now..?” his tone is loaded,
an arrow in the quiver, undrawn.
“that’s fine,” she says, and shuts the door.
too hard, which bangs into the ether
sound waves are proof
of fools and their sex
but she feels the pull
to her power,
her lack of power.
she walks home
in the slowly crawling dark
warm wet wondering
if this will be called
an indian summer
it rained in broad daylight today
while the college kids sat outside
shirtless and drinking beers
ignoring the children next door
at the halfway house
while having inane one-sided conversations
about the power broker and
american history and
and some other shit.
while someone else’s child
less than knee high
sat a stone’s throw away
for some attention
that had come so easily before
from that one stranger across the way
across the yard
across the culture
of white and black and fuck-you-oreo
and felt quietly inside
a shred of hope for us
human - us
before some adults inside
cracking the yard
the liquid leaves
what life those kids will lead
never knowing the hope
they gave a stranger
for three minutes
will make or break us.
a white man talking shit
about how god
to the prayers of mortals.
fuck you, white man,
the white-skinned girl thinks
she walks home
as the dark crawls upon the city she loves
train tracks arcadia creek
church gardens coffee shops
broken parking lots
summer skies are coming on strong
its in the lilacs
and the urgency of the birdsong
throbbing through the air
the night is over but still
the feeling that something is still to happen
before this sun sets
unnoticed until it was over
in a few words,
and a handshake.
but she never turned down a handshake
from any man
What the city is missing: Thierry Cohen photographs cityscapes and then photographs deserts at night, combing the two to show us what our cities would look like with the lights off. The stars are not enhanced, they are actual photos from relative latitudes that would expose the same starry sky view if it weren’t for light pollution. Click on each photo to see which city it is.
Amazing each n every picture
Happy 80th birthday to the Red Headed Stranger, Willie Nelson.
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