Typewriter Poem #149 - My Last Will
Typewriter Poetry #170
Typewriter Poetry #186 by James Andrew Crosby
Typewriter Poetry #187 by James Andrew Crosby
(via jamesandrewcrosby)
La Dispute - You and I in Unison
(via jamesandrewcrosby)
(par foreign films)
(via jamesandrewcrosby)
requested by nycwinter
(via jamesandrewcrosby)
Typewriter Poetry #189 by James Andrew Crosby
(Source: sarcirent, via justanothersuckystory)
“There are two kinds of strengths: the strength to lead, and the strength to follow; the strength to control, and the strength to yield. There are two kinds of power: the power to strip another’s soul bare, and the power to stand naked. Do not mistake following for weakness, for it is not. Do not mistake yielding for weakness, for in yielding there is resilience. Do not mistake the submissive’s need for relatedness for inability to be alone. Submissive women are not weaklings. They are sensitive people who have a great deal of resilience in the face of their particular challenges. Submissiveness is a strength seeking a proper context.” — Yalda Tovah, “The Healthy Submissive” (via her-little-boudoir)
(Source: carnalbeauty, via her-little-boudoir)
“Fear is the primary force upholding structures of domination. It promotes the desire for separation, the desire not to be known. When we are taught that safety lies always with sameness, then difference, of any kind, will appear as a threat. When we choose to love we choose to move against fear—-against alienation and separation. The choice to love is a choice to connect—-to find ourselves in the other.” — All About Love: New Visions by bell hooks (via thechocolatebrigade)
Romila Barryman: Let Love Be Inexplicable. Always. -
We laid on our backs, with our heads hanging off the cold sheeted, cliff edged bed. Life was upside down. I lifted my feet and pretended to walk on the rough surfaced ceiling. He watched the way the curtains stirred gently and I went back to summer’s blanketing warmth. ‘I love watching the way the…
We wake up at 5:00 in the evening, eat dinner for breakfast, shower, kinda do our hair, iron our uniforms, put on boots and pin on our badges, and leave the house looking fresh and ready to do something substantal for the community. We report to station, receive our assignments, ready our ambulances, go to the bathroom, and hit the streets. Our first downtown call of the night hits us before we pull out of the lot. Lights and sirens flip on and petal meets metal as we speed to your assistance; running stop signs, forcing traffic to merge to the right, aquiring road rage when they won’t move. We then navigating to your door step in less than 11 minutes and 59 seconds, regardless of how far away you are and how dense traffic is… And then you greet us at the door. The delta response “traumatic injury” is really a finger you slammed in your dresser. You claim its “the worst pain you could ever imagine” and you insist to be transported to the Emergency Room. I wish I could yell, YOU CALLED 911 FOR THAT?! So, because we’re obligated to, we load you up and take you to your hospital of choice. We take you to the lobby of the University Medical Center and hand over your government funded Medicaid card to registration. We sigh in disgust and relief as we leave your presence, you dirty bottom feeder. Then we load our gurney, finish our paperwork, tidy up the back of the ambulance and notify dispatch that we’re available for the next one.
i’d keep this feeling i’ve got inside forever if i could
unfortunately for me nothing stays the same
soon the cheesy grin and puppy-dog eyes
and hop in my step will cease
leaving me naked and cold in the bitter wind
come what may
i’ll be right here waiting to say
i’ll be okay, i’ll survive the come-down
just promise you’ll return some day
i’ll be counting down
crossing out days with permanent ink
fiending to feel me with you again
the happiness will course through my veins
as you touch my skin
and i’ll feel your heart beating
and you’ll feel it too
like a ticking time bomb
my countdown love