Sometimes body modification is just a way of telling yourself “this is still my house, I paint the walls and and I hang the art because I’m the one who owns it”
girls dont like boys girls like ice cream and evelyne brochu
You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.
However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.
It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general’s head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.
And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.
It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.
I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.
I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman’s tea cup.
But don’t worry, I’m not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and—somehow—the wine.
i think more than any one thing, i like variety. sometimes i want to get spit on and punched, most of the time i like being told what to do, but sometimes i enjoy the roughness flowing in the other direction. life is long and provides many opportunities for getting weird; it is a shame not to pursue all avenues. for example, it has come to my attention that if someone weighs under 110 pounds i can hold them to a wall by their throat with one hand pretty comfortably. be safe, be communicative, but get so weird.
I respect bees more than I respect white men in positions of power