2. Develop deep respect
for feather, bone, claw.
3. Place your trembling thumb
where the heart will be:
for one hundred hours watch
so you will know
where to put the first feather.
4. Stay awake forever.
When the bird takes shape
gently pry open its beak
and whisper into it: mouse.
5. Let it go.
In heaven ants are the doormen to the flies I climbed out of one butchered ballroom into another climbing out of my half-life into my new life on earth My brother right behind me Home The ants are a straight line showing us the way out of here The flies are a straight line with wings They live in shit We lived in a little blue house with a maple tree in the front yard One ballroom and then another * I've always wanted my body to work harder at being alive The light you see in veins Eyelids eye lids Snow The wires in the leaves their eyelids turning red blinking on and off My body won't do what I want it to it won't burn It says I hold your hands in snow In my hands I hold your face * What you want to remember of the earth and what you end up remembering The flies get stuck between the single-pane and the storm windows Turning up the volume on everything I could stay here for such a long time And not go anywhere not even with you not even if you were finally leaving But your voice there in front of me where I am going to live
If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,
don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty
of lives and whole towns destroyed or about
to be. We are not wise, and not very often
kind. And much can never be redeemed.
Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this
is its way of fighting back, that sometimes
something happens better than all the riches
or power in the world. It could be anything,
but very likely you notice it in the instant
when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the
case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid
of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.
I am part of the ancient tradition of going away. The art of leaving everything behind. I set fire to my maps years ago when I saw through all their lies. I know north by the smell of buffalo. And south by its tangerines. I am like a slow river. With feet. Pigeons are of interest to me. And violins hurled from attics. Sometimes I become Jack from Boise. Or Arthur from Arkansas. I sleep where I sleep. Eat what I can. I carry a feather in my pocket. But can’t remember why. If you need to get in touch with me, open your window and shout. I’ll tell you a secret about my kind; it starts when you set out on a pilgrimage. Then someone keeps moving the shrine.
—David Shumate, Vagabond. (via underwatergunfight)
"but women have sex organs on their chests! I don’t walk around with my pants off!"
I think what you mean to say is “women have secondary sex characteristics on their chests”, not sex organs
in which case let me remind you that your facial hair and enlarged adam’s apple are also secondary sex characteristics
if secondary sex characteristics bother you and you feel they should be covered up in public, please feel free to shove your entire head in a bag at any time