Post with 8 notes
the smell of burning citrus and wet oak mould.
a low hum in the distance and the chattering of something small and dark in the woods.
it’s unseasonably cold, here, but not unpleasantly so, what with summer looming on the horizon.
the right leg, bloodied and bruised with the left remaining uninjured.
foxed pages and warped boards.
Video with 3 notes
illuha- ‘requiem for relative hyperbolas of amplified and decaying waveforms.’
Post with 9 notes
tarpaper ghosts tapping at the windows and a layer of ice upon everything like heavy sand, pebbles.
the smell of a wood fire somewhere in the distance blends with that of garlic roasting in the oven.
piles and rough stacks of papers to be sorted, archived, or discarded.
and through it all the dog lazes about groaning in annoyance when bothered.
Post with 18 notes
seitan, potatoes, beets, parsnips, garlic, and shallots with olive oil, black pepper, turmeric, dried birds eye chili, soy sauce, coconut cream, mustard seed, fennel seed, and feungreek seed all roasting together in the oven while a tamarind vinegar sauce reduces slowly.
the dog watches, hoping that little bits will slip from fingers, unnoticed, to the floor.
miles davis live at the fillmore east on the hi-fi and, perhaps, another pair of socks is in order.
The Black Dog - Bass Mantra
This book is written in blood.
Is it written entirely in blood?
No, some of it is written in tears.
Are the blood and tears all mine?
Yes, they have been in the past. But the future is a different matter. As the bear swore in Pogo after having endured a pot shoved on her head, being turned upside down while still in the pot, a discussion about her edibility, the lawnmowering of her behind, and a fistful of ground pepper in the snoot, she then swore a mighty oath on the ashes of her mothers (i.e., her forebears) grimly but quietly while the apples from the shaken apple tree above her dropped bang thud on her head:
OH, SOMEBODY ASIDES ME IS GONNA RUE THIS HERE PARTICULAR DAY.
Page 1 of 1298