goodbye to sleep

neil-gaiman:

amandapalmer:

waking up alone

the infinite possibilities of the entire cosmos flood into my head before i open my eyes

every particle collides and every life-form borns and dies

waking up alone

the day is endless and untainted and has more hours than a year 

waking up alone

i think that i might finally finally finally go to the isabella stewert gardner museum and even though i’ve paid full admission to see all the art just pick a single chair overlooking the indoor garden and write in my journal  

and maybe go to the museum bookstore and buy her biography and then read that sitting in the chair too

waking up alone

i let my thoughts trawl and crawl and stay disconnected from lists and from people and from my body electric and i shine into my own brain

waking up alone

i look out the window and see a world i never see once i’m out the front door the 

unique and abominadle shapes and sounds of things

and how color can look like music and

the way the sun light falls blinding on a tree branch and the wind is failing to knock off those stubborn dead leaves

and i get

that people need to believe in god 

waking up alone

i think i might spend some time today drawing or learning how to paint

waking up alone

i never want to touch my phone or my computer again

waking up alone

i am a brain i am a lone i am a lert i am a ware 

waking up alone i make my self giggle and wrap my body deep within the quilt cocoon and stretch like a bored cat and bite my pillow 

waking up alone i let the phrases of the day before unstick themselves from the walls of my memory and arrange themselves into threesomes of lyrics

waking up alone 

i think about the idea of undertaking everything

and i think about how an undertaker is for the dead

and then i think about overtaking

and i think about giant mack trucks crashing on the highway

and i think

undertake

overtake

undertake

overtake

and i smile

waking up alone

i write volumes of poetry as easy as adding boiled water to instant fucking oatmeal

and throw them away

and dont care

waking up alone 

i consider my trace of a hangover from a unique perspective

waking up alone 

the only thing

in existence

is me 

and my awkward fleshy pre-corpse headed to our little death and the ecstatic joy in countdown while gravity nails me to this spinning bed 

waking up alone

is basically

masturbation.

……………….

waking up with neil 

the universe collapses into a single white hair on an unshaven face

the blade of grass

the man i love

the sleepy-toothed

mad

man 

waking up with neil

i violently wrap my limbs around his body like a coat of paint 

and wonder

is it possible to get closer closer closer

maximizing the surface area of our bodies connecting to each other

waking up with neil

the light from the window

reflecting off the dead leaves

exists only

to illuminate his eyelashes

his lips

which are a moon-curved line

a half-a-parentheses

leaving his face an open-ended thought 

waking up with neil

the endless possibilities are only what i can love 

there is no end there is no boundary there are no rules there is no spoon there is no dana there is only neil

waking up with him

i fall into the cult of two

the sweet and intoxicating dogma of the other

i am the owned i am the owner i am the luckiest 

girl

in

the

world

waking up with neil

the real estate of feet and earlobes and chests and backs is totally foreclosed

the deal is done

waking up with neil

i want to use a person as a blanket

i want to crawl inside his mouth and go back to sleep inside his lungs

waking up with neil

i think in the poetry of my hands and not my words

i write without a pen of the mind but with a trace of a finger and the means of every romantic lyric i ever imagined has ended in the final ideal

waking up with neil

i keep my eyes closed but i don’t go in

i stay out

there is no sweeter sensation

than being admired

while not fully conscious of where your body begins and ends

 waking up with neil

our narcissisms swell and collapse like rogue waves

and we forget the planet

locked in its orbit

and we forget the day

locked in its calendar

and we forget the room

locked in its house

and we forget ourselves

locked in each other

waking up with neil

is basically

sex.

 ……………….

waking up with a third party

is a

whole

nother

poem.

I read the poem and found myself blinking back tears. 

We don’t write poems when we’re together, only when we’re apart.

Then I looked at the photo and thought “We have new bedroom furniture!”

I love being human.

Good god, I love these people.

(Source: amandapalmer, via neil-gaiman)

portailblog:

redvelvetjones:

Memento Mori by Damara Kaminecki

(via seabois)

(Source: swanss)

iplaywithsickfires:

by Dave Olteanu

(via duchessofcunning)