Jomul7

J'ecris donc je suis.

None of these images are my own.

Ask and you shall receive
Submit and surrender!

Dust twirled in the streets

The wind howled between apartment buildings

My fears and hopes fitted nicely in my suitcase

The day I left home.

The sky was naked blue

The sun beat down on the blue Peugeot

That drove home out of me

The day I took the ghosts within me.

Trees were standing guard on either side of the streets

Gorgeous big birds were chirping

And the afternoon light has never been as sad as

The day I left home with the ghosts.

Dogs were howling at the blazing sun

Memories walked up and down the streets

And doors have never been more closed as

The day our blue Peugeot drove home out of me.

Posted at 8:11pm and tagged with: poetry, spilled ink, poem, personal, creative writing, free verse, home,.

Jamaica Kincaid

Posted at 6:55am and tagged with: Jamaica Kincaid, See Then Now, interviews, one of my favorite writers, materialism,.

And I mean, that’s the thing, you just end up with shit! That’s what we guard. That’s all we do! We guard our shit, and we kill a lot of people so we have a lot of stuff our kids can throw out when we die. It’s sad.

My mother just graduated suma cum laude with a Bachelors, if this can’t motivate me to be all I can be, what else can?

AND she’s the best mother!!

Posted at 2:44am and tagged with: graduation, I can't say it enough how proud I am to be her son,.

Epineux

Les épines d’angoisse repoussent chaque matin

Bien qu’ils tombent de ma peau le soir d’avant

Je les balaye un après l’autre le soir

Mais elles repoussent le matin suivant

Ces épines sont fines et dures

Elles sont l’objet d’une enquête scientifique

Le thème de conférences littéraires

Et le sujet des poèmes contemporains.

 

Et pourtant il me faut vivre

Et pourtant j’ai soif

Et je reste assoiffé dans cet océan d’existence

Il est vrai que je souffre d’incompétence

Pour vivre proprement ma vie

Mais je sais rire comme un dieu

 

Et quand le soir vient

Apres une journée d’angoisse

Je ris comme un dieu

Les épines se mettent à tomber

Une après l’autre

Et ce rire, je vous le dis,

Résonne contre le firmament

Secoue mon corps de la tête aux pieds

Et me laisse parfaitement blasé.

Posted at 6:55pm and tagged with: french poetry, french poem, poesie, personal,.

artchipel:

Marcel Christ (Netherlands) - Big Bang

After graduating with honours from the Academy of Photography in Amsterdam, the Netherlands, photographer Marcel Christ has shot for numerous multinational brands. Working between New York and his native Amsterdam, Marcel is known for his mastery of still lifes which lend and unmistakable life-force to ordinary objects, transforming jewels, shoes and liquids into sleek art forms.

[more Marcel Christ | artists found at showslow]

it’s all there…

Posted at 6:15pm and tagged with: what a name, art, marcel christ,.

Congolese rumba is embedded in my DNA, I can spend months without listening to one song, but when it comes on, I feel like I’m possessed or some, can’t explain it, but I feel at home right away…

Posted at 1:10am and tagged with: ok as you were, ramblings, congolese rumba,.

I read this and I recommend you should too.

Have you done it?

Ok I will wait.

So reading it made me think of this poem by Langston Hughes:

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does is dry up

like a raisin in the sun?

or fester like a sore—

and then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

or crust and sugar over

like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

like a heavy load.

Or Does it explode?

This is I think the poem of my generation…

Posted at 1:11am and tagged with: langston hughes, dream deferred, poem, student debt, internship, meritocracy my ass, capitalism,.

Richard Avedon - 1988 (via eduardoizq)

Yo I need this

Posted at 12:47am and tagged with: motivation, work, hustle,.

I believe that you’ve got to love your work so much that it is all you want to do. I believe you must betray your mistress for your work, you betray your wife for your work; I believe that she must betray you for her work. I believe that work is the one thing in the world that never betrays you, that lasts. If I were going to be a politician, if I were going to be a scientist, I would do it every day. I wouldn’t wait for Monday. I don’t believe in weekends. If you’re headed for a life that’s only involved with making money and that you hope for satisfaction somewhere else, you’re headed for a lot of trouble. And whatever replaces vodka when you’re 45 is what you’re going to be doing.

The absence of father is the color of penumbra

This ache has a fine and familiar texture to it

I could rub it endlessly for hours

Breaking my heart into smaller and smaller pieces

Until it turned into a fine red powder

To be dispersed by the four winds.

Loss is an empty bowl

You hold with two hands

Close to your chest

And you sip it slowly

Always leaving behind enough for later

Saving your loss for the rainy days.

Nowadays my soul lasso(e)s itself around love

And glove every hole with love

From the sole of my feet to the tip of my head

I patch and haste every light in life

Because the penumbra comes without fail

And I would watch, my heart on my lap

Father ‘shadow pass me by.

Posted at 10:00am and tagged with: poetry, spilled ink, personal, loss, ache, father's day,.

Mes souvenirs pleuvent de temps à autre

Et mouillent mes moments avec mélancolie

Ils ramènent à la vie des revenants

Et le passe avec ses précieuses banalités.

Ces jours légers mais bien lourds dans ma mémoire

Avalent sans effort mes petits ennuis

Mes espoirs d’adulte alourdissaient mon cœur d’enfant

Et l’extasie des jeux les évanouissaient aussi vite

Mais mon pas est devenu lourd ces jours ci

Je n’ai plus le cœur léger

J’ai le rire d’une femme stérile

Et le sourire du condamné

J’observe ma vie passer

Avec l’espoir d’y participer.

Le passé est amer sur ma langue

Mais bien doux dans mon cœur.

Le passe est l’utérus de mon futur

J’ai du mal à le reconnaître

Mais les papillons ne reconnaissent pas non plus les chenilles.

Je sens finalement la mer mugir en moi

Et je comprends que même assoupi

La galaxie qui est en moi ne cesse de s’accroitre.

Posted at 9:05pm and tagged with: poesie, french poem, personal, melancolie, french poetry,.