The Lucid Dream

BAD POETRY IN TWO LANGUAGES. THINGS I CARE ABOUT.  

Do you dream while you sleep or is it an escape from the horrors of reality? 

There is no escape. Not in this life. Not in the next.

Look around. They will all betray you. Flee screaming into the forest.

You resist. You cling to your life as if it actually matters. You will learn.

At the bottom of the ocean even light must die.

That is not dead which can eternal lie and with strange aeons even death may die.

dalislikes:

fuck all ya’ll iphones and shit i want this 

dalislikes:

fuck all ya’ll iphones and shit i want this 

(Source: goth-memes, via frightscrest)

pagewoman:

Caerlaverock Castle, Caerlaverock, Dumfries and Galloway, Scotland

pagewoman:

Caerlaverock Castle, Caerlaverock, Dumfries and Galloway, Scotland

(via castlesandmanorhouses)

You are strong palms, tired bones, you are good foundations out of stone.

You are asphalt and where you grew up, you are the swingset and the night sky. You are the smell of toast and your mother’s coffee.

You are forge, you come with bellows and fire and bronze. You are granite. You come with hard history, witches in your hair and sickness in your heartbeat. They made you death. They made you dying.

She is clockwork systems, she is malfunction, you can see her strum her own funeral aria. She is crying over her tiny lily headache, she is trying to explain why she’s always coupled with a misty cloud of complete self-hatred.

You hold her hand. You breathe life. You know how cold space is, you disintegrate it. You bring her body against yours until her trembling stops. Her arms are a shaky circle around you. She murmurs a thanks you don’t feel you deserve.

She is shadows, you are light. Without her, you are not defined.

She is static, but you are radio. Wherever she is, you find yourself home.

Magnesium: black, part 9/9 in the rainbow series // r.i.d  (via inkskinned)

Turf houses in Iceland

Turf houses in Iceland

(Source: frncsczkv, via dream-and-disappear)

He had wisdom and a comely face, he will not come again;
He is gone into the mountain, he will not come again;
On the bed of fate he lies, he will not rise again, 
From the couch of many colours he will not come again.

The people of the city, great and small, are not silent; they lift up, the lament, all men of flesh and blood lift up the lament. Fate has spoken; like a hooked fish he lies stretched on the bed, like a gazelle that is caught in a noose. Inhuman Fate is heavy upon him, Fate that has neither hand nor foot, that drinks no water and eats no meat.

webofgoodnews:

Hunter rescues 20 abandoned puppies in a field
“As I walked up, they all just kind of looked at me and I guess my moose hunt was over. I just said, ‘OK, come on,’ and as soon as I said that, they all come running to me,” he said.
He counted 20 puppies left in the field.
"I saw two puppy heads sticking out and the rest of them had their heads buried in each other," he said.
Zubiak says he knew some of the 20 puppies, who range in age from approximately 3 to 6 weeks old, apparently needed some extra warmth after being left out in the field, apparently left with just a blanket.
Read more
Webofgoodnews.com

webofgoodnews:

Hunter rescues 20 abandoned puppies in a field

As I walked up, they all just kind of looked at me and I guess my moose hunt was over. I just said, ‘OK, come on,’ and as soon as I said that, they all come running to me,” he said.

He counted 20 puppies left in the field.

"I saw two puppy heads sticking out and the rest of them had their heads buried in each other," he said.

Zubiak says he knew some of the 20 puppies, who range in age from approximately 3 to 6 weeks old, apparently needed some extra warmth after being left out in the field, apparently left with just a blanket.

Read more

Webofgoodnews.com