I write
Install Theme

Inhuman fixture

It’s so simple

 

to listen to the words in your brain and do what is required to make those words permanent.

 

It should be so effortless, rewarding, and sublime.

 

If one sits too long in their chair, they become that chair. They won’t move. They’re just a fixture.

 

The time spent sitting will take twice as long when the subject yearns to become human again. After being still for so long, the simple act of moving fingers requires the energy to commit, the energy to evaluate, and the energy to keep consistent all while carrying the weight that composes the body. This momentum bleeds out when the subject is at rest because the energy is not being used. It will find a more reliable parent to host its power.

 

We are heavy

 

with thoughts and ‘what-ifs’ and personally-made imaginary movies that screen in our heads when we are sitting comfortably.

 

We watch movies when we are comfortable. We will watch the projected life we want to fulfill and do it for too long because naturally, the pain and discomfort of our personal criticism can be filtered, cut out, so that we feel confident and unafflicted. Disturbance is not welcomed as something to dwell in because it brings out insecurity, which erodes the shell of a self-constructed high social status and elicits paranoia.

 

I enjoy pain


but I can’t enjoy being discontent with the picture I see. Immediate displeasure causes me to think and challenge the events that caused the feeling. I can be upset that I spilled a mug of coffee on a table but that table could be the place I sit at for too long, watching the film I’ve made for myself: the projected, perfect, fluid life. The life I want to direct on a stage so I can explore and make it active, tangible, and genuine. Fleeting moments of pain are action. Fleeting moments of pleasure are action. I cannot physically live through the ideal projection in my head when I am sitting.

An Essay on Adventure

It is what we do with our time given that establishes the breadth of personal experience and observation. A week of repetition can feel like a fleeting second because it is void of depth and discovery. There is no viable material that can come from a length of empty activity that will elicit cultured development. It is a pile of finely cut dust that leaves a residue but is easily brushed off with time. You may disagree with me but hold on.

 

I spent years trying to shake off the accumulating pile from my head. Anything that has enough quantity to it will become too much to handle, even with something as weightless as specks of dust. After a while I lost the energy to pick my hand up. And I did not look like myself anymore. I felt heavy, dry, an empty husk. I could move the corners of my mouth to gesture but it was not genuine anymore.

 

When I lost vibrancy to my creative intuition, I realized that this idle state of being was a manifestation. Immediately, I uncloaked myself from the shell I hid in and drank the life I had fasted on. The relationships I had with friends solidified and new minds were sought after. I discovered the energy of people that were not in my life during my idle period and I felt rejuvenated.

 

During a time of self-reflection and discovery, things happen quickly when the subject wishes to pursue their objective quickly. I met wonderful friends who wanted to discover and play and drink the vitamin of life. I did not care to take my time. This was what I wanted.

 

Coincidentally, I met a partner who runs fast to a source of adventure, who reworks the way I laugh, who colors his eyes in the same shade as mine. I felt a line of resistance tug the momentum of my self-discovery. I wanted to examine every piece of his energy, the cadence of his voice, the way he emoted.

 

We began an exhilarating romantic relationship. The time since we committed to a partnership has been only for a few months on this day yet it has been gushing with dynamic experience and never-ending play. It is effortless. It is rejuvenating and compassionate. The time we mold as a union is respected and challenged. Through this mutual understanding, a rigid foundation is cementing itself through the weight of the days we spend together.


I do love you. My time with you so far has been illuminated and I look forward to the adventures we have ahead.

To richieblackshaw

brian-louis:

thepeoplesrecord:

Columbia student will carry her mattress until her rapist exits school
September 2, 2014

While most students at Columbia University will spend the first day of classes carrying backpacks and books, Emma Sulkowicz will start her semester on Tuesday with a far heavier burden. The senior plans on carrying an extra-long, twin-size mattress across the quad and through each New York City building – to every class, every day – until the man she says raped her moves off campus.

“I was raped in my own bed,” Sulkowicz told me the other day, as she was gearing up to head back to school in this, the year American colleges are finally, supposedly, ready to do something about sexual assault. “I could have taken my pillow, but I want people to see how it weighs down a person to be ignored by the school administration and harassed by police.”

Sulkowicz is one of three women who made complaints to Columbia against the same fellow senior, who was found “not responsible” in all three cases. She alsofiled a police report, but Sulkowicz was treated abysmally – by the cops, and by a Columbia disciplinary panel so uneducated about the scourge of campus violence that one panelist asked how it was possible to be anally raped without lubrication.

So Sulkowicz joined a federal complaint in April over Columbia’s mishandling of sexual misconduct cases, and she will will hoist that mattress on her shoulders as part savvy activism, part performance art. “The administration can end the piece, by expelling him,” she says, “or he can, by leaving campus.”

Read more

As painful as I know the constant reminder of attending school with her rapist must be, I’m glad she won’t be the only one forced to remember. I hope the rapist drops out immediately…or better yet, I hope he faces the justice he deserves. 

MOTHER FUCKING PERFORMANCE ART

my first piece was about my molestation, and my attacker was in the room. I FUCKING LOVE HOW POWERFUL ART CAN BE.

Damp Under Drought

there we sat

consuming the same air

 

we cracked open our barriers

safety nets

and funneled old familiarity into each other

to stifle the violent silence.

 

a look I once knew as home

is now something new to discover

and though we rest in different beds

I acknowledge the walk we took together

to become who we are

separate entities

feeding off shared experience.

 

we split apart and

snapped our vessels

so that we can cultivate

our own lives.

 

and that is fine with me.

 

attach yourself to the sticky surface of the water

where we once stood to warm our feet

let it be a net and not an anchor

 

let us arrange the slides

the photographs of our new journeys apart

so that we may present them

in a solitary room

plush air and humming static

and feel proud

in place of discomfort.

 

we shared time and carved trails

to hoist ourselves into

the skin of who we ought to be

and I thank you.

michaellottner:

as ink steps over
from pen to page
my window shows the path
no more than
a few dust
ridden steps
to the west

and i’m free
from your hands

as i pack my bags
i’m leaving
for good

flip through my
notebook
every precious thought
in between lines and
bindings

i could never leave it behind
and in every word
i have hidden all of you

i could never leave my words behind
and so
no matter if i cross state lines
into valleys or crags or
mountains covered in pines

you are a part of me
that i can never let go
.

One of my favorites of yours

Breath gives body

you committed the time to rework every emotion i have

to spoon compassion into the dehydrated cracks of my linework

to shake the tunnel of your throat and produce sounds

that lower the ragged edges on my skin

and coax light into my eyes

to see the world like glass

reflecting every piece of matter

in a visceral showcase.

 

the breath of another living entity

soaks its energy into my hands

to tie strange shapes into vessels

that gives body to shapeless thought.

Fall From the Linework

confirming you’re there

i release tension from every nerve in my hand

to rest onto your back

and glide over the dip that found its way closest to your spine

the parent to your fluid nerves

that taught you to stretch your body

as tall as skyscrapers

while acknowledging the fertile garden

your foundation is planted into.

 

i break my tension and fall into

the dip of your back

to reconfigure my foundation

richieblackshaw:

caseythecat New York City

Downtown wanderer

richieblackshaw:

caseythecat New York City

Downtown wanderer

richieblackshaw:

Freedom Tower

richieblackshaw:

Freedom Tower

Innocence cannot comprehend corruption

the last thing she saw was a radiant light

it was beautiful and jarring

and it was met by a noise

that bellowed throughout every vein she had

 

she examined every stimuli

and balanced ash on her fingers

and thought of her mother’s smile

and tasted iron in the air.

 

her body did not feel the same

she did not feel small anymore

the outline of her frame shattered

all familiarity with her limbs spilled onto the ground.

 

her eyes lost color

she thought she was dreaming

and that snowflakes fell into her eyes

which was why she felt cold

 

she dreamed of clocks dropped into honey

she felt time was stuck

and that she was in control

and was bending her reality

 

she saw a tall and dark man

and she thought it was a god

who blessed her with these powers

and asked why

 

suddenly, she felt as if she were melting

and her eyes became singed

so she undressed herself from her skin and bones

and followed a radiant light in the sky

so she could see her mother’s smile.

Note:

"I wrote this as a response to the Gaza raids and the intolerable action of taking a child’s life for the purpose of some sort of religious war. I wanted to capture the innocence of every child lost and how these children cannot grasp the initiative and execution of this mindless slaughter. I keep the suffering families in my heart and wish to see the end to this dark time"