[x]

look into the airi want to tell you a story. i want to tell you a story about silences and long drives and saying no so many times that it made me stronger.

so it started with this woman, right? this woman who had long white hair and she was missing three teeth. she was my grandmother and she didn't know everything, but if anyone on this planet knew as much as god it'd be her. because even god doesn't know everything. for one, he couldn't tell you why people don't believe in him. it makes him cry to think about it. anyway, so my grandmother was smart as hell. she never said anything. and i know what you're thinking. you're thinking 'if she never said anythin

on prosetryok. can i be honest with you? i wanted to be an alloy. i wanted to be a mixture of two imperfect metals that made something completely different, completely radical, completely
decomposable.
and you were the imperfect metal to my imperfect metal, this is: nerdy girl mantra take one, and i can even dance for you while i sing it, if you'd like- you are the imperfect (hip tilt) metal to my (lip lilt) imperfect metal (hair whip) and the heat of the summer (panty slip) binded us together- (irish jig) and for the ever-present pressure (eye flit) that would have crushed us separately, (tongue flip) it would have only held us, (shoulder bit) close

how do you sleep, prickskinny stoned bitch
is standing up now, tryin' to do this thing with her hips. standing in front of the mirror
with her bare back breaking bum-ba-bum-bada-dum-da-dummdy-dumb
standing in front of her ghost
her ass in the face of this ghost
i have, too, seen you, somewhere-
somewhere, blue.
and he says miss you are mistaken.
she said your eyes are gone, have you gone gun shy?
fun, sly, pun shy, and he is lying. to her
she can't think with this fucking song!
turn off the fucking song!
she screams, almost shyly,
slyly, and highly, i have loved you-
and i have seen my body
admit this anomaly
more readily than i do. you arms were b

the better things

1. break the bones that burn under your skin, but believe in the blood that warms it. we are forever changed by the sweeter songs of the stars we fall from.

2. i won't look at you, or you, or you, and i know tomorrow when i sing for her you will all trip over the tile and your tongue but nothing will change outside of you. or me. we might miss each other terribly for two seconds, but we will be the same and i thank god for that

3. winter treats you well, orange ash boy. vermont expands your diaphragm and the girls are aching to fill it. (i am aching to fill it.) your freckles are there and not here, and i realize that i love you

4. i was c

the year of the rabbitto matt:

calling into question every conventional way of being,
i am two or three or sevens solar poppings away from
a complete degradation into separate cells of matter

what i am really trying to say is that all this
bullshit with the dollar is making me mad. not the
sweet, rampant mad that leaves flowers in its rear
and churns the dirt into dust into dreams but the
silent, steady mad that will cause the body
to do horrible things to itself. if i was asked a
question: what is your soul's deepest desire?
i would respond: well, i would go to california
and work a shitty job and rent a shitty room that
has windows with beautiful th

on being scattered

i hate the people who say 'jesus saves'
on their shirts or on their bracelets
or on their blogs or on their faces.
i hate the people that jesus actually
saves and all i want to do is call you
up and tell you how much i want to fuck you,
and how wrong i know that is, and how much
i don't care, and how much i think about it
when i'm fucking myself, and how long it's been
since passion has owned me-
my passion is untapped, hanging loosely,
flowing bluely under my skin.
what is needed is a small scratch,
a tiny prick, a sharp slap-
it would flow and
belong to you.
i want to be provoked.
i want to be reminded of the unbridled
f

'til deathit occurs to me that maybe i will grow up and get divorced. i will love you as long as i can and eventually, we will wake up and not love each other anymore. i guess it won't happen overnight but it sure as hell will be intolerable one day.

our kids will be grown. they will be surprised because they often saw us drunk together at family functions and honestly staring into each other's eyes. and they sometimes heard us having sex. and they found the love letters i wrote to you in high school. i will be brushing my teeth and you will be smoking a cigarette and then we will be looking at each other in the mirror. i rinse my mouth out and look u

if god was a color it would be uglyspherical, my world is
and two fetuses could easily fit it
.
i am a child
in women's clothing. i do not
fill out my bras.
.
it's a yankee scrawl
or a southern drawl,
it's an easterner's briefcase,
or a westerner's silent wit.
and two fetuses could easily fit.
.
..
....
...
..
.
.
...
do you remember when i had a lot of hair?
do you remember the dress that i would wear?
the cat has fallen from the tree.
the rose has grown up without thorns.
the middle-aged wage slave has given up porn.
and do you remember the thoughts you had, there?

and do you remember the sun.
the sun remembers you. it is hard
to tell whether look

on hindsightif you would have told me

i will love you conditionally,
when i am feeling good, but not too good
because when i feel my very best i will
not need you, when i am feeling bad,
but not too bad because at my very worst
i will hate you.
i will stand with you provisionally,
so long as i do not have to stand very long
and i can take breaks from you as i please-

i will look into you tentatively
and reach the decision that i am better than you,
that you are one big fucking joke, that i have
a higher calling to marijuana and making
temporary homes inside of nice, but stupid
bitches.

if you had told me that now when we talk
it's onl

the bitter things1. three months is a long time for something to be gone she says. three months is a long time to keep the bones in my back a secret and she would be the one to find them. she says they're structured like they're beautiful and maybe they are, but it makes me sick

2. i listened to her loving me and it would only make sense that i'd listen to her love him as well. it would only make sense that it would happen like this. i think about falling asleep while he's spitting breath all over you and it's not right, it's just not right. the saddest part of it is that i'm not mad because i love you, i'm mad because it's not fair that i couldn't have it.

on being a woman'what's a pretty lady
like you doin' smokin' cigarettes?'

'if i fucked you
for every time i've
heard
that
one,
you wouldn't think i was such
a lady anymore,
and what's a clever fella like you
doing minding my business for me,
anyway'

i am not a lady-
i do not curve my appetites,
i do not curve through the waist and hips,
i please for my own pleasure,
i soak in my own sweat,
i fuck for my own glory.

tiddly tum, hidden harems and come,
i am the singular player in my play,
i am the prologue, intermission, and final act
every love i have known has been fueled by
my own fury, every discovery dug up by my own
destiny, ev

cherry rumyou are playing with tape on the walls. my head is on your chest. my stomach curves to your side, you are warm and every breath you take is a miracle. any breath that anyone takes is a miracle. i ask you what you're thinking. you say nothing, but i know better, because i know when you are thinking nothing, and this isn't one of those times.

well first let me describe your room. i am evident everywhere. you bought that flaming lips poster with me, i drove you there and held you back because you tried to cross the street when a car was coming. and you told me something that made me mad, i don't remember what it was, but you said something abou

catharsis IIhave you ever climbed a mountain? in the summer where the trees keep you a little cooler, but you're still sweating and you're out of shape and you stop at every bench for a cigarette break. you look so thin, he says. and your hair is so long. you think you're never going to find the top and you packed sandwiches for the two of you. honey and peanut butter on white bread with water and granola bars. then you turn the corner and there it is! you can see for so many miles and you're not really sure where the sky starts and the gentle green ocean stops. he turns on music and you close your eyes and he grabs your hand. that is all you need in the

small musingpeople are always so
sad about caged birds
but
what about
the fish in the bowl?
the nature of the soul?
the arrow and the bow?
the turtle, a slave to his shell

never running, always hiding-
walls, small devils and taut strings.
i am not so sad about the bird
in the cage.

what i am most sad about is
the look on my own face when i heard
you said you wanted me out
of your life for good.
i am a slave to old
grudges and i am
too proud to
feel any
different.

on dying youngdeath is senseless, and in this
infinite senselessness there is a loss
of words. a loss of hope. a loss of
humanity.

the Great unifier- the uninhibited
inhibitor, the petulant bird of prey
soaring over all heads, landing and plucking
from our masses the young, the old, the
wicked, and the innocent- the fortunate
and the unfortunate alike.

i have walked myself through eighteen years-
a small, contemptuous age: bent on destroying
everything, and keeping all the rest-
a timeless, weary age, popular culture demands
that these are the best years of life, when you
have not yet known it. and i am not denying
that i have lived-

many

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anticipating tomorrowtomorrow i am sure
will be full of
a lot of things
we've been through
before. but

i want to fuck you the way
that i yell at you
i want to touch you the way
that i beat my head into
a concrete wall because i was feenin and
your empty-headedness was even more obnoxious than usual

i don't want to cry until after.
i want to put my hands on both your shoulders and
slide them against your skin. it will come off
if i rub too hard, you have the casing of a snake.
you walk around in different pseudo skins
thinking that no one will be able to tell what
you are underneath but i know what
you are underneath.
you are a slimy litt

body tunefor matt, still

lay still
in the dark.
you will hear
the quiet hum
of your body.
it is vibrating
with potential.
with unspoken
prophecies.
with unthought
of thoughts,
with the tender
love of each season.
this is a call
to strengthen the hum-
trust nothing,
but believe in everything.
challenge the barriers
of skin and claim the atmosphere,
stroke your nature
and become a radical,
radical in the sense
that you're doing
what you were meant to
do, which is never what
they want you to do,
become a radical in the sense
that you can lay in the dark
and hear the quiet hum of your body.
and know all that it means

on 'getting over it'you're crazy, and i mean bitch-fever crazy.
you know how when a bitch goes into heat,
she'll fuck a tree limb to get rid of the itch? well that's bitch fever
and you've got it

on being sorrythere are days when the beauty in me is suffocated by the senseless rage in you. i sense this rage in you. i watched you unfold into something i could hold on to, something that grew and made sense. i watched you pick a dead butterfly up from the ground and then you gave it to me and i kept it for the longest time, over a year, and i still have part of it. i watched you climb a mountain and hold the sky in your mouth. you gave that to me too. i watched you water me until i grew right alongside you. we were an unbreakable pair. roots all tangled in with each other. i watched you cry because you loved me so much. i cried too. i watched you make

sentamentalitiesyou remembered the song
that was playing the
first time my bed
became our bed
because we
shared
each

other in it,
even though i didn't remember and

last night at four in the morning
your stepbrother told me he was
glad that i was part of the family.
and he hoped i would be for a long time,
and he said you were lucky to have me.
and that some days your head is so far
up your ass that you can't see it and
i know. and he said i've just got to bear
with you because you love me.

maybe one day i will get tired of treading
water that chokes me but for now
i am grateful for you and the troubles
you pose. i love you.

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keep quietby ~diddlyhohum

Photography / People & Portraits / Self-Portraits

nothing comes as easy as you.

~Blessfullyshocked Jul 15, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

AHAHAHAAH

~diddlyhohum Jul 16, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

FUCK YOU

~Blessfullyshocked Jul 18, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

hehehe

~piKulLP Jan 1, 2012

i find it hard to believe this was you.

glad to kinda know whats you.

~diddlyhohum Jan 2, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

haha that was a long time ago... something like four years

~Reverberations Apr 18, 2010

sceney?
you're beautiful beautiful
i love your blonde hair

~diddlyhohum Apr 18, 2010 Hobbyist Writer

that was an awkward era of life
thank you
it might come back for the summer
i think it will make me feel lighter

~Reverberations Apr 18, 2010

you should see my awkward stage

!Damn-ViscidJokeKnave Jun 16, 2009 Interface Designer

beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeautiful

where did you find pink duct tape? lol

~diddlyhohum Jun 16, 2009 Hobbyist Writer

_{It was my friend's and she stuck it on my guitar notebook.
And I tore it off and put it on my mouth

I think she got it at Walmart?}

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