#poetry of a sort

[moth-like-habits]

Thinking about the way Pix’s “My name has been Pixlriffs” implies uncertainty. Has been, an ongoing thing. It has been Pixlriffs for this time that we have seen him. As if it’s an active process. Continuous, yet not constant. A choice. It has been Pixlriffs because he wanted it to be. Thinking about an archeologist in a ruined world. Restoring the past and seeing it in front of him. How does he know what it looked like unless he was there? A man who is facilitating the story of others. “It wouldn’t make sense for me to be there” because the historian of the ancient world does not have a place in the present, or so he would like you to believe. Thinking about a knower-of-other-worlds. Someone who saw people he never met come through the riff rift and knew them anyway. A man who knows another world in more detail than it’s inhabitants- who could know the lives of every hermit? I’m thinking about a man, Pixlriffs, he decides, that is ever changing by nature. A king, a historian, a teller-of-tales. I’m thinking about the importance of names. “My name has been Pixlriffs”

And so it has.

[captainpirateface]

I love crows, ravens, and blackbirds.

[journalofanobody]

Unhurried

I.

sage

eucalyptus

the soft purr of the ocean

rain-damp pines

a deer.

it is still, that deer,

and so am I

we watch each other wide-eyed,

waiting,

then we go our own ways.

I remember that moment

the deer has likely forgotten.

I wonder why,

the memory comes now.

II.

waking each day

in no hurry to rise,

intriqued by the day barely begun.

sourdough bread,

chamber music over coffee--

the right sort of cafe

and what else?

the possibility of love?

a sudden adventure

presenting itself?

possibilities for men

much younger than me.

III.

the sea,

giving me time,

I won't hurry,

but I'll be along,

after a pause,

a wait,

then gone my own way.

-- Michael Boiano

[imperfectskeleton]

Thinking about how you convey lingering and pause with movement.

Because you can’t see things without negative space.

I can’t quite communicate the thought but basically, in my mind, there is this little animation playing. You can’t see the healing without the pain. You cannot linger in the sun without the knowledge you must go inside.

If you could stay forever, it wouldn’t matter that you want to.

[pytas-poetry]

It's. . . Odd

I'm deeply Appalachian

Fundamentally claimed and cursed and part of that mountain chain that's older than words and hides and traps things older than that

Those mountains were my womb, where i first hurt and where i first held, how i learned to heal and harm in turn

Those mountains are the spine of the world, sinking under the weights of ages, settled in their rage and power but no less dangerous

These mountains are flash in a pan

Young and loud and tall and prouder than they should be

They take and take and take and forget that if you want to keep taking for long then you need to take less and more kindly

These mountains are barren in a way that Appalachia never was

Stripped of life and all emotion except numb fury

The things living in these hills aren't tricksy and wily and powerful, they're injured animals on the run and they're cornered in by the press of toxic humanity

They don't know me

And i don't know them

But they see me, sense me, look for me

And I'm afraid sometimes

I don't dislike them

They're alien

They're wild

They're not home

But i could learn to work with them

But also? I miss clever jack, i miss the plants i know by heart and smell and sight

I miss the ghosts of those who should've never been there but dug in deep anyways

I miss the AGE

I feel old my dear

I've been around too long, this is not the first meaty church my spirit had occupied and these mountains make me feel old and weathered and like I've walked into a party i was not invited to

but my heart went west so now thats where we make our home, itll do for now

[llovely]

here's a fake interview about my me & my girlfriend that i transcribed from my head. enjoy!

[loathsome-sickness]

what does one do with the wretch once it is caught, the flesh too rotten to touch, a walking corpse that does not know the monster he is or the harm he had caused

a hunt; completed but with no end

[fixing-bad-posts]

but in all seriousness, please watch my favourite performance of this monologue of all time

[mindthewitch]

It's like lightning and the thunder that always follows. You see it first, out of the corner of your eye. That quick purple flash under clouds. And then you know it's coming. The sound is inevitable at this point. The thunder shakes you from your very core, no more prepared for it than you ever are. It rumbles and fades like it's reluctant to leave. Then, you wait for the next flash and hold your breath. That's what we are. You're the lightning, the warning. I'm the thunder, the inescapable reaction to you.

r.m.h

[arsonarena]

Can't tell if I like this one or not

[moth-like-habits]

(Pixlriffs lore in which I experiment with iambic pentameter)

It takes not mortal blood to trick a god

And as such “My name has been Pixlriffs”

Is not a claim made from a mortal tongue

The god of Stratos knows not who he meets

In truth the miss is not his fault alone

His immortality is not yet old

And memory seems not to serve him well

The past- a copper king and mesa home

Are lost in mist from rising to divine

The archeologist hopes the flood of power treated his friend well

Yet he remains under a spell to hide

How would how should how could he tell him now

This life is not the first that they have lived

How could he speak of humanity lost

The end of empires similar to these

The end of the world

This burden need not land upon his friend

Indeed the truth of time takes tolls to learn

For now, the god may believe in the lore

The emperor of past will watch him grow

And as such: “My name has been Pixlriffs”

Uncertainty within the tense he chose

His friend, his kin, his kind might yet unmask

An answer for a question he won’t ask

[captainpirateface]

[fandom-trash-goblin]

myths & martyrs, and what they leave behind.

transformers comic (source by @mythgradeconstellation, fellow ORV lover??) // André Malraux quoted by Mary Gordon in Joan of Arc: A Life // Gregory Orr // the tragic hero; michael kinnucan, the gods show up // Loss, H.D. // Margarita Karapanou // Hélène Cixous, The Selected Plays of Hélène Cixous // this post // it's hard to be a saint in the city, Bruce Springsteen //  i know it’s over, the smiths // unknown // on earth we're briefly gorgeous, ocean vuong // unknown

[girlhud]

this too is poetry

[maximumgraves]

content warning for self-harm and institutionalization. a comic about "gay yearning".