MEAT SHACKS AND TEETH STACKS | ART BY GEORGE REDHAWK

Whenever I feel happy again I fear it will end.

Left alone: the wolves, the wolves.

Christian-Martin-Weiss_6

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Edmund was a Donkey

This is so so so so so good, it makes my heart tingle. Check out this guy’s blog, it’s cool

Summerlad

Edmund was a Donkey, directed by Franck Dion, 2012. Courtesy of Franck Dion .

Edmond is not like everybody else. A small, quiet man, Edmond has a wife who loves him and a job that he does extraordinarily well. He is, however, very aware that he is different. When his co-workers tease him by crowning him with a pair of donkey ears, he suddenly discovers his true nature. And though he comes to enjoy his new identity, an ever-widening chasm opens up between himself and others.

Last week, I had posted an article about Learned Helplessness a condition that occurs after a traumatic experience, be it physical, psychological, or both, affects an individual in which they fail to avoid repressive stimuli, eventually succumbing to morose, and learning to accept the pain rather than avoid it due to their perception of its inescapability. This in turn leads to a change…

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Never Again the Sunrise King | Art by Nathan Ota

Nathan OtaI’ve been waiting for the signs,

Waiting for them to lead my life but oh,

My my,

I’ve been waiting all night long.

 

I’ll be sitting under lights,

In the cool early morning sunrise, oh,

My my,

This night’s moving along too slow.

 

Soon I won’t be moving at all.

Don’t call on me for tomorrow,

Don’t call on me at all.

first time in long time: Love Defrosting

Thank you to everyone who’s liked anything I’ve written. Thank you for following me. Thank you so much even if you’re just reading this. I can’t believe how grateful I am, how much love I feel for you. I haven’t felt happiness in such a long time. I know it’s weird, ’cause I have no idea who you are. You’re probably gonna unfollow after this, I sound like so soppy, but I can’t help it: thank you

Tomorrow’s Kingdom

Be my shield for when they come for me.

Shade me in colours   of wood and dust and grey,

And open my belly,

My belly made of clay.

 

A scatter of sunmites crawl on your chest,

I see them, and want them for morrow.

They might be knights united in this forest,

Vomiting the past,

Our lovely past-aches.

 

Stiches of orange string stitched across your smile,

When will you let me stretch them out,

And maybe cut them loose.

 

I want to search your eyes and pluck out your iris,

In this city where we are homely,

And forever, eternally, alone.

 

Smoke on my furnace forever, doll.

Patch me up quickly for your harvest.

Fourth Echo

My wrists look like they’ve been sliced by a bread machine.

My wrists look like a bread machine’s sliced them.

My wrists are cut by a bread machine.

A bread machine’s cut my wrists.

I’ve sliced my wrists with a bread machine.

 

 

What did you say about that kid?

What did you just say about yourself?