1. undeveloped-apathyy:

    One day I will write something that will mean something.

    Change a heart, produce a tear, stir a mind.

    So many years I have been swimming, forgetting, not remembering that my heart is made of ink, words splayed on its surface. So long I pushed off my words for things too insignificant to chase…


  2. When You Read


    Dragons dance with faerie queens
    magic spells and time machines
    astral planes merge with asteroids
    robots, starships, humanoids
    dinosaur extinction from long ago
    fun facts and trivia you didn’t know
    romance, intrigue and mystery
    geography, politics, world history
    God, evolution and the universe
    Tolkien, Tolstoy, mummies curse
    great for recreation or education
    the art of war and meditation
    do it my friend, but do take heed
    your world changes when you read

    (via mikefrawley)

  3. cleowho:

    "I have no sword."

    Robot of Sherwood - series 08 - 2014

    (via marymorstarn)

  4. bbcone:

    Imagine if the Doctor was your school teacher.

    (via acceptance-and-details)


  5. "

    This is not fantasy, this is our life.
    We are the characters
    who have invaded the moon,
    who cannot stop their computers.
    We are the gods who can unmake
    the world in seven days.

    Both hands are stopped at noon.
    We are beginning to live forever,
    in lightweight, aluminum bodies
    with numbers stamped on our backs.
    We dial our words like Muzak.
    We hear each other through water.

    The genre is dead. Invent something new.
    Invent a man and a woman
    naked in a garden,
    invent a child that will save the world,
    a man who carries his father
    out of a burning city.
    Invent a spool of thread
    that leads a hero to safety,
    invent an island on which he abandons
    the woman who saved his life
    with no loss of sleep over his betrayal.

    Invent us as we were
    before our bodies glittered
    and we stopped bleeding:
    invent a shepherd who kills a giant,
    a girl who grows into a tree,
    a woman who refuses to turn
    her back on the past and is changed to salt,
    a boy who steals his brother’s birthright
    and becomes the head of a nation.
    Invent real tears, hard love,
    slow-spoken, ancient words,
    difficult as a child’s
    first steps across a room.

    — Lisel Mueller - The End of Science Fiction (via foxandthefawn)

  6. Missing In Action but Still Alive

    Dear all / anyone who still follows me.?

    I have been quiet for so long now that I don’t even know if anyone will read this. I have maintained my erratic lifestyle for the past year or so - extreme highs and suicidal drops. The death of Shedding Petals (some of you followed her, I think) had a major impact on my mental health. She was one of the most prestigious young talents that it has been my privilege to read and to know that her words were so desperate, so despondent, and that I didn’t react to them has left a residual guilt. I pray that she is at peace and that her next life-cycle is a happier one.

    Anyway, I decided to leave this blog as it is - the hiatus in time is too great a gulf to bridge - and have started a new one named ‘magpiesandrainbows’. I would greatly appreciate any support, advice, constructive criticism that you can offer. 

    Love, light and peace 



  7. being human


    people were born from hypocrisy 

    we are cruel

    we are loving

    we are selfish

    we are altruistic

    we are imbeciles

    we are brilliant

    we are mortal

    we are infinite

    so what else could we be but human?


  8. My latest ‘interrogator’ is French and speaks English with a heavy accent. He mumbles his thoughts on me into a recorder, speaking in his native tongue.

    What he has failed to realise, or read from my notes, is that I speak fluent French.

    "Un imbécile enseigne le farceur"


  9. Just because I am a Jester who wears harlequin

    and I face the world with twisted smile

    does not mean I am a fool! 

    "ne me traitez pas en tant que clown"


  10. And in the end..


    I am done with you now. You shall hold no more power in my universe, nor shall you occupy even one more moment of my time, one more beat of my heart. Was it worth it? Not particularly…


  11. Chaos City


    This damn city! Do suppress the brickman-
    He thinks he’d build a tranquil Castle in the Air.
    But he’s as crazy as the fervent children
    Putting plastic trinkets in their hair!

    What do we adorn! Oh, litter, hills, dales-
    Chaos does prevail. With a broom, no one
    Drags our war to heaven, and streets weeping
    With the bare remainder of the broken sun.

    (Source: etherlighter)


  12. Yellow


    Tendrils trace the tender branches,
    Limbs that loop around ten suns.
    Dandelion rise, hot currents
    Waft as strings around each one.

    Weeping honey for the punters,
    Choir of the supple sound.
    Drenched and dry the trees are yellow;
    Simple yellow all around.

    Chains of perfect pipes skim students,
    Leaking galvanized arrays!
    Yellow willow hollow mellow-
    Smile on the mayor’s face.

    (Source: etherlighter)


  14. Nomadic mariners set adrift  
         faceless names in failing ships  
              endless tacks with little breeze  
    lonely barques on a cyber sea. 

    Two bows brush in darkest night  
         two hands touch in briefest flight  
              two souls meet unwittingly 
    explorers adrift on a cyber sea. 

    Two crafts merge as a single ship 
         wanderers joined in passion’s grip  
              undiscovered ghostly entities  
    loosely anchored on a cyber sea.

    Grasping sailors cling ‘til dawn 

       when both breath and site are gone.

          Love’s mystery carved out so brutally 

    forever separated on a cyber sea.

    Spectral lovers fleeing their pasts  
         two bleak futures lashed to the mast  
              return to port as love’s debris 
    floating…..burning on a cyber sea. 


  15. I’m exhausted, love…utterly worn down, ground down, ground to dust. 
    I don’t need to be held so much as inhaled. 
    Rolled in. Dusted over your skin after a long hot bath. I want you 
    to walk about in the world lightly scented 
    with a fine, dry coating of me all over, smoothing your skin.

    I want there to be nothing left behind of me 
    when you get up and dress again, to 
    play a vanishing act, that’s what, 
    by sinking into your pores.

    And you’d blow the specks of dust all back 
    together again after you’ve gone past customs at the end… 
    and kiss my lips back into warm, beating life… 
    I think I could want that, at length. 
    Reconstitution. After a suitable amount of mindless, selfless repose 
    within and all over you.