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[deerskulls]

9.2.2024

Eight year old eyes

Devoured their senior

Citizen love, their

White picket fence

I was thrift store clothes

And skin wrapped around

Need, they never knew

The way they fed

Worms into my

Bluebird mouth,

Never saw me

Flutter in the trees

[deerskulls]

[6 ways to draw a circle on wikihow]

[deerskulls]

POST-MAGIC

you are real i hold onto this even though nothing else was

i hide in a room full of plants

for what else shall i do? the other rooms were dreams

you pass by me and it feels like passing through

what am i? please don't say ghost

i still have to live with this the waking up

and you did cross that room and now again for someone else

how i wish i could go back but then i realize--- to what? you met my eye more than once--- how far was that?

[deerskulls]

Night Poem, Leila Chatti

[deerskulls]

are old bad men ever afraid of weather? cause youre most susceptible to nature when youre at your youngest and your oldest. like when the thunder gets louder and closer and youre standing alone in a quiet house and you feel the sound in your vertebrae. if i had people under me that i knowingly wronged i think one day and one thunderstorm id fall to my knees and stay kneeling till i bled out. be wondering if any of those were sent down to scream at just me

[deerskulls]

My tenth wish

Was to die

But now I am fighting time

To keep the back door

Closed

As dogs gnash

At the glass

And a dog finds his way

In through the front

And you won't even hold him

Down.

[deerskulls]

Empty Houses / Empty Stomachs

Sources: Kitty Horrorshow, "Anatomy" 🏚 Josh Quissy 🏚 Wikipedia (Abandonment - Legal) 🏚 Ashe Vernon, "Love Disorders and Other Heartaches" 🏚 @/churchrummagesale 🏚 Kitty Horrorshow, Anatomy (Transcribed by @/a-missing-ache) 🏚 Kitty Horrorshow, Anatomy 🏚 @/churchrummagesale 🏚 Wikipedia (Desire) 🏚@/churchrummagesale 🏚 Wikipedia (Hunger - Physiology) 🏚 Wikipedia (Desire) 🏚Emma Rebholz, “No Good Bloodsuckers" from The Misanthropy 🏚 @/zegalba

[deerskulls]

The body, the haunted house.

Those Times by Anne Sexton // Dream House by Shanice Bloodbloom // Walking House by Laurie Simmons // Ash by Tracy K. Smith // One need not be a chamber by Emily Dickinson // Deconstructa III by Tania Font // Housewife by Anne Sexton // Femme Maison by Louise Bourgeois // The Haunting of Hill House by Mike Flanagan // My House by Loren Siems // The Architecture of Deconstruction by Mark Wigley // Anatomy by Kitty Horrorshow

[deerskulls]

pink moon.

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Ghost sculpture in the castle of Vezio, Italy.

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Anne Carson, from Autobiography of Red

[deerskulls]

they told me to eat a lemon peel and wait 45 minutes, for euphoria, and what did i have to lose by biting through that bitter rind other than a lingering acrid taste on the back of my tongue, like bile in the back of my throat. low risk for the reward of activating the pineal gland, of being washed over by euphoria, opening that elusive third eye of perception.

but nothing happened.

now i am high as hell in a bed not mine, alone, after my baby brother's wedding.

still waiting for the valve to open, for the flow of that ancient greek pneuma, that breath, to tap that unassuming pinecone of an organ of excess and delirium open, calling to the goddess of strife and discord through the taste of zest, to channel this incessant rage, turn chaos into coping.

the stars are so far away, unable to be caressed as they're dying, already dead, light taking ages to fade, to blink out of existence. so far away from here, in a black sea of nothing, abysmal and freezing. poke holes in me, pinpricks, i wonder if i too can shine from within, if my void holds any light that won't be noticed when it fades.

@nosebleedclub June 29th - Lemon Rind

[deerskulls]

It's about devotion and obsession. It's ALWAYS about devotion and obsession. And hunger. It's love with teeth.

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Art by Essi Välimäki

[deerskulls]

I AM 17. I HAVE A LOT TO SAY.

by Jackson Holbert

My mother was around all the time back then, always walking in and out of rooms carrying stacks of  laptop computers. She spent most of  her daylight hours blowing dust out of circuits, fans, motherboards, daughterboards. Sometimes her little canister would die and she’d have to use her mouth. My father was gone all day every day getting repetitive stress injuries at the newspaper. He was a journalist and everyone hated him, even his friends. Nothing really happened during my entire childhood so he ended up spending most days shooting paper footballs through a miniature goal post he kept in the locked drawer of  his desk. He was rarely kind. And in the few, short instances he was, it still didn’t seem like it. Something about his mouth made everything he did seem either sinister or inept. He was completely inscrutable except for a period in the spring of 2004, when he was just sad. I was young that year and my sister was older. She came home from college for the whole summer of 2005. I was 14. She told me not to worry about other people, not to worry about war, not to worry about a thing. That was the greatest summer of my short life. I had no friends. Oh I had people I talked to at school but once summer hit it was like every school bus had crashed headfirst into a wall except the one that was carrying me and my silver trumpet. I had that tall kind of  joy that you can only feel when your bones still have another few inches left in them. My sister and I would watch three movies a day and never go to the lake. Everybody says it seems like summer never ends until it does. But that’s a lie. I knew so little back then but the one thing I did know was that all my friends were coming back and I would once more join them in the hallways, in the classrooms, once more join them for hours after school in the far part of  the parking lot and would continue to do so until I turned 16 and got a job cutting my fingers on the cheese grater at the Pizza Factory. After that everything was all work work work go home Jeremy get your feet off the sofa  Jeremy work work math homework band-aids and on a good day a little trumpet and on the best days all trumpet. I wanted my life to be about music but in the end it was about getting B’s in subjects such as Spanish. I don’t know, sometimes it feels like those summers really did never end, they went on forever and just got progressively worse. We like to pretend that one day we just walk into our adulthood like a congressman walking into the ocean, but we all know that’s not true. What really happens is we walk into the same building day after day, but every night some crew comes in and replaces something little — a lamp housing, the chair of a conference table — until nothing is the same, until the building is not as we remembered it at all, until the building is stronger, up to code but a lot less fun, and the lighting, the lighting is fluorescent and obscene.

[deerskulls]

@Poetryisnotaluxury

[deerskulls]

— Jenny Holzer, Living Series: IT’S AN EXTRAORDINARY FEELING…, 1981

— Grief Slut, Evelyn Berry (via)

door / by / von, florian hetz (via)

“We met our wounds in each other’s bodies.”

— The Chronology of Water: A Memoir, Lidia Yuknavitch

— Crash, JG Ballard

Jenny Holzer, Survival Series: WITH ALL THE HOLES IN YOU..., 1983

Jenny Holzer, Living Series: SOMEONE WANTS TO CUT A HOLE IN YOU..., 1981