Epitaph

May. 22nd, 2010 11:18 am
poisonedgrace: (Default)
"Not the next year, not the next one, not the one after that.  But ages from here,

Clad in love stained sleeping bags, dying with feet wrapped in endless shirts and pillow cases,

Crumbling with 99 flakes clutched between thumb and palm, dripping yellow cream from twig fingers,
basking our white haired chests on green grassed parks under purple skies.  Laughing over coffee
after bathtubs of coffee have passed through our guts.  Huddled, lonely, under heaped clothes,

Here lay us..."



campkoala

Epitaph

May. 22nd, 2010 11:18 am
poisonedgrace: (Default)
"Not the next year, not the next one, not the one after that.  But ages from here,

Clad in love stained sleeping bags, dying with feet wrapped in endless shirts and pillow cases,

Crumbling with 99 flakes clutched between thumb and palm, dripping yellow cream from twig fingers,
basking our white haired chests on green grassed parks under purple skies.  Laughing over coffee
after bathtubs of coffee have passed through our guts.  Huddled, lonely, under heaped clothes,

Here lay us..."



campkoala

poisonedgrace: (Default)
“What kind of idea are you?  Are you the kind that compromises, does deals, accommodates itself to society, aims to find a niche, to survive; or are you the cursed, bloody-minded ramrod-backed type of damnfool notion that would rather break than sway with the breeze? – the kind that will almost certainly, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, be smashed to bits; but the hundredth time, will change the world?”


There is the matter, of a roast chicken, and a wallet of pounds.

poisonedgrace: (Default)
“What kind of idea are you?  Are you the kind that compromises, does deals, accommodates itself to society, aims to find a niche, to survive; or are you the cursed, bloody-minded ramrod-backed type of damnfool notion that would rather break than sway with the breeze? – the kind that will almost certainly, ninety-nine times out of a hundred, be smashed to bits; but the hundredth time, will change the world?”


There is the matter, of a roast chicken, and a wallet of pounds.

Enfance

May. 20th, 2010 08:46 am
poisonedgrace: (Default)
"Au bois il y a un oiseau, son chant vous arrête et vous fait rougir.

Il y a une horloge qui ne sonne pas.

Il y a une fondrière avec un nid de bêtes blanches.

Il y a une cathédrale qui descend et un lac qui monte.

Il y a une petite voiture abandonnée dans le taillis, ou qui descend le sentier en courant, enrubannée.

Il y a une troupe de petits comédiens en costumes, aperçus sur la route à travers la lisère du bois.

Il y a enfin, quand l'on a faim et soif, quelqu'un qui vous chasse."



pale animals

Enfance

May. 20th, 2010 08:46 am
poisonedgrace: (Default)
"Au bois il y a un oiseau, son chant vous arrête et vous fait rougir.

Il y a une horloge qui ne sonne pas.

Il y a une fondrière avec un nid de bêtes blanches.

Il y a une cathédrale qui descend et un lac qui monte.

Il y a une petite voiture abandonnée dans le taillis, ou qui descend le sentier en courant, enrubannée.

Il y a une troupe de petits comédiens en costumes, aperçus sur la route à travers la lisère du bois.

Il y a enfin, quand l'on a faim et soif, quelqu'un qui vous chasse."



pale animals
poisonedgrace: (the sigil)
"Freude trinken alle Wesen
An den Brüsten der Natur;
Alle Guten, alle Bösen
Folgen ihrer Rosenspur.
Küße gab sie uns und Reben,
Einen Freund, geprüft im Tod;
Wollust ward dem Wurm gegeben,
Und der Cherub steht vor Gott." 


                  




poisonedgrace: (the sigil)
"Freude trinken alle Wesen
An den Brüsten der Natur;
Alle Guten, alle Bösen
Folgen ihrer Rosenspur.
Küße gab sie uns und Reben,
Einen Freund, geprüft im Tod;
Wollust ward dem Wurm gegeben,
Und der Cherub steht vor Gott." 


                  




poisonedgrace: (Default)
"Howbeit he will not stretch out his hand to the grave,
though they cry in his destruction.
Did not I weep for him that was in trouble?
was not my soul grieved for the poor?
When I looked for good, then evil came unto me:
and when I waited for light, there came darkness.
My bowels boiled, and rested not:
the days of affliction prevented me.
I went mourning without the sun:
I stood up, and I cried in the congregation.
I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls.
My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat.
My harp also is turned to mourning,
and my organ into the voice of them that weep."


rawr


poisonedgrace: (Default)
"Howbeit he will not stretch out his hand to the grave,
though they cry in his destruction.
Did not I weep for him that was in trouble?
was not my soul grieved for the poor?
When I looked for good, then evil came unto me:
and when I waited for light, there came darkness.
My bowels boiled, and rested not:
the days of affliction prevented me.
I went mourning without the sun:
I stood up, and I cried in the congregation.
I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls.
My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat.
My harp also is turned to mourning,
and my organ into the voice of them that weep."


rawr


poisonedgrace: (the sigil)
"I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee,
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep;
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go."



Out of this wood do not desire to go:

poisonedgrace: (the sigil)
"I'll give thee fairies to attend on thee,
And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep,
And sing while thou on pressed flowers dost sleep;
And I will purge thy mortal grossness so
That thou shalt like an airy spirit go."



Out of this wood do not desire to go:

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