hello there sir pleasure to meet you
*next guy*
whats gucci my nigga
The definition of codeswitching in one gif!
Codeswitch instant. I fucking love being Black. Sue me.
(Source: damninternet-youfunny)
Myrtle
Sitting on the beach
with the warm afternoon sun
kissing your skin
while the cool island breezes
sift through ur hair as you listen to
the Romantic waters
~ Sasha
“You only get shitted on, if you let them shit on you.”
Perspective
Red and Black and Green
Is the Artist within.
I love life and nature,
But I also love gore and death.
Violence, (xtreme), is my Passion:
But Peace is my ROMANCE.
Sometimes
you’d feel words fail you
when you need them the most
to purge
your thoughts
your pains
your longings
they’re not there
gone for a holiday
not knowing
when they’re coming back
what time of the day they’d
crawl back into your ebony veins
but worry not
look around you
breathe
inhale
exhale
breathe in
breathe out
be still
be quiet
lay your empty parchment
down a peaceful ground
and words shall rise
into the atmosphere.
Sense
fly out the window
every time I see you or
hear your name.
The sun spills water
and the sea spits fire.
Tomorrow ends today.
I only want to say hi
& not goodbye. Perhaps if
you go blind you’ll notice me.
Perhaps if I go deaf, I’ll hear
you say my name.
I normally don’t share actual writing on here, but since it’s the 75th anniversary of the Golden Gate Bridge opening, I thought I’d post segments of a creepy short story I wrote a few years ago.
—-
On the first day after a sixty-day cycle, Tom mounted the bridge to begin again. He climbed up until he sat amongst the floor of the morning fog. Tom took care not to look down. Even after a year or so on the job, he hadn’t gotten use to the heights—the dizzying motion and loud screams of the cars cutting up the world beneath his feet, fixed on a tumult of flowing ocean. The worst was when the clouds moved, and Tom would begin to feel in his gut that the world was pivoting around him as it rotated and revolved. But today was at ease, the fog like a still cobweb, and he had only to take a few calming breaths to relax and settle into painting. For the next two months he would be working on the Eastern suspension cable. Normally, he didn’t like the go this high on the bridge, but it was his turn now, and he liked to be fair with the other men. He knew that they did not like him, and so with them he always kept to himself and gave little fuss.
Thirty-eight painters worked on the bridge, along with a smaller group of ironworkers responsible for fixing corrosion of the steel. The process was continuous and never ending; the men proceeded along the bridge in a slow-moving train, creeping their way from the San Francisco side and heading North, painting and fixing until they arrived on the Marin side exactly sixty days later. Once they checked in, gave their reports, and signed off on the work they’d done, the next day it would begin again, the team moving from San Francisco and making their way toward Marin. The process was continuous and never ending; the bridge was always new. Paint had only two months to dry before it was covered up with fresh vermilion.
Chris Cantwell posted a great short story called “Rust” today. The first part sucked me in and I read the other 9 segments on my phone on the back porch after dinner. What a nice way to finish off the day, spending a little time with some fantastic writing.
I’ve seem to be hitting writer’s block far too often now. My grade in my creative writing class is suffering because i don’t turn in anything because i’m never really satisfied with anything i do. all my good ideas seem to turn into bad ones once i write it down. How do you get pass writers…
