Rather slipped out of touch with time and days and the normal naughty ways. This is ok, I do not really understand how things arrive, and so it becomes enough to just check that the floor is still there and your chest is still gently rising.
Rather slipped out of touch with time and days and the normal naughty ways. This is ok, I do not really understand how things arrive, and so it becomes enough to just check that the floor is still there and your chest is still gently rising.
A human being is a part of a whole, called by us ‘universe’, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest… a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.
–
Albert Einstein (via physicsandchemistryrevision)
if only this were easy for everyone
That immediate sadness you can feel on the dance floor
It takes root and won’t let go. To be surrounded by strangers can be both exciting and terrifying. To be surrounded by friends and acquaintances can feel surreal. There is a loss of knowing your place and why your there and how to feel good. It is the disruption of place. You’ve been taken away from the music and brought back to your thoughts. You don’t want to go back there.
“Yikes. I just farted and my head feels better. That can’t be good.”
To ask middle-class Americans to see American culture as Jesus would see it is to ask them to vote against their own privileged position in society…
and then there’s this
carolein smit
Soiled Tapestries
Soiled tapestries
hang in the Death tinted caverns
scattered with Loose nuts and bolts
we have Worried
free from
the Furniture in our home.
White light is too blinding
to our un-Finished thoughts
almost too Old to rehash
in the midst of our Most tender
bare currents baring Corners
of intentional infidel, inquiring of
Shapely sirens. The one who
Haunted our earliest moments
of this, a hurtling on Railroad
carrying sacred cargo
our trousers around our
Ankles, hasty.
not too Broken
to face the fluorescents
and turnouts as they Drop in
between our sheets, and sheets of sweat
Dreams entice fantasies of relief
from Themselves even, but
only the space between sleep and awake
offers Calm.
