♋

This is how it works, you’re young until you’re not, you love until you don’t, you try until you can’t, you laugh until you cry, you cry until you laugh, and everyone must breathe, until their dying breath. No, this is how it works. You peer inside yourself, you take the things you like, and try to love the things you took, and then you take that love you made, and stick it into somee someone else’s heart, pumping someone else’s blood. And walking arm in arm, you hope it don’t get harmed, but even if it does, you’ll just do it all again

— Regina Spektor

I always go into the record store thinkin I’m just gonna dig crates, but I always end up walkin away with some gold.

Today’s finds: Promise by Sade & I’m Still In Love With You by Al Green

I been seriously cravin San Francisco, I gotta get there…sooner rather than later.

without an invitation, this smooth talkin’ sunbeam landed on my left eyelid and penetrated my mind.
“I’ve never let anyone in that easily before” I told it, and it laughed and said, “that’s because you’d never met me”

in an instant, my fear turned to acceptance (which was converted into love). in an instant, my blood became golden light.

life is coursing through my veins.

and the sun wields mercy
but like a jet torch carried to high,
and the jets whip across its sight
and rockets leap like toads,
and the boys get out the maps
and pin-cushion the moon,
old green cheese,
no life there but too much on earth:
our unwashed India boys
crossing their legs,playing pipes,
starving with sucked in bellies,
watching the snakes volute
like beautiful women in the hungry air;
the rockets leap,
the rockets leap like hares,
clearing clump and dog
replacing out-dated bullets;
the Chinese still carve
in jade,quietly stuffing rice
into their hunger, a hunger
a thousand years old,
their muddy rivers moving with fire
and song, barges, houseboats
pushed by drifting poles
of waiting without wanting;
in Turkey they face the East
on their carpets
praying to a purple god
who smokes and laughs
and sticks fingers in their eyes
blinding them, as gods will do;
but the rockets are ready: peace is no longer,
for some reason,precious;
madness drifts like lily pads
on a pond circling senselessly;
the painters paint dipping
their reds and greens and yellows,
poets rhyme their loneliness,
musicians starve as always
and the novelists miss the mark,
but not the pelican , the gull;
pelicans dip and dive, rise,
shaking shocked half-dead
radioactive fish from their beaks;
indeed, indeed, the waters wash
the rocks with slime; and on wall st.
the market staggers like a lost drunk
looking for his key; ah,
this will be a good one,by God:
it will take us back to the
sabre-teeth, the winged monkey
scrabbling in pits over bits
of helmet, instrument and glass;
a lightning crashes across
the window and in a million rooms
lovers lie entwined and lost
and sick as peace;
the sky still breaks red and orange for the
painters-and for the lovers,
flowers open as they always have
opened but covered with thin dust
of rocket fuel and mushrooms,
poison mushrooms; it’s a bad time,
a dog-sick time-curtain
act 3, standing room only,
SOLD OUT, SOLD OUT, SOLD OUT again,
by god,by somebody and something,
by rockets and generals and
leaders, by poets , doctors, comedians,
by manufacturers of soup
and biscuits, Janus-faced hucksters
of their own indexterity;
I can now see now the coal-slick
contaminated fields, a snail or 2,
bile, obsidian, a fish or 3 
in the shallows, an obloquy of our
source and our sight…..
has this happened before? is history
a circle that catches itself by the tail,
a dream, a nightmare,
a general’s dream, a presidents dream,
a dictators dream…
can’t we awaken?
or are the forces of life greater than we are?
can’t we awaken? must we forever,
dear friends, die in our sleep?

— Henry Charles Bukowski

❍

Kūlua

(the 17th night of the lunar cycle)

On this night the moon’s rising is delayed until after darkness sets in. It is the first moon following the four full moons. Kulu means ‘to flow, as tears’. The banana’s sheath drops off on this day, not unlike falling tears, exposing its new bunch. It is a good time for sweet potatoes and melons. This is the time for offering the seasons first fruits to akua (the gods and goddesses). Currents are strong, but it is a good time for fishing. via Hawaiian Moon Phases.

Plain and simple statement; I am so proud to be from Hawai‘i

I just realized I’ve been tumblin for 2 years now…..das nutz

Big ups to everyone who’s stuck around that long. I’ve definitely evolved in many ways (good & not so good). There’s many of you who have followed throughout, and vice versa, it’ crazy to think we’ve all known each other on such a deep, personal level without actually knowing each other. Anywayyy, I could go on but I’ll leave it at that and just tell you how sincerlely grateful I am to have absorbed your wisdom and to have shared the space/time/mind with you.

Mahalo nui loa

xx,

yours truly

I luv bewbz. I luv mai bewbz.

With a very few exceptions, your typical beautiful women don’t turn me on. Sometimes I’ll be walking down the street and a friend will nudge me and say, “Wow! Did you get a load of that girl?” But strangely enough, I can’t recall a thing about this supposed knockout. And gorgeous actresses or models don’t do a thing for me. I don’t know why, but there it is. For me the boundary dividing the real world and the world of dreams has always been vague, and whenever infatuation raised it’s almighty head, even during my early teens, a beautiful face wasn’t enough to get my engines started.

I was always attracted not by some quantifiable, external beauty, but by something deep down, something absolute. Just as some people have a secret love for rainstorms, earthquakes, or blackouts, I liked that certain undefinable something directed my way by members of the opposite sex. For want of a better word, call it magnetism. Like it or not, it’s a kind of a power that snares people and reels them in.

The closest comparison might be the power of perfume. Perhaps even the master blender himself can’t explain how a fragrance that has a special power is created. Science sure can’t explain it. Still, the fact remains that a certain combination of fragrances can captivate the opposite sex like the scent of an animal in heat. One kind of fragrance might attract fifty out of a hundred people. And another scent will attract the other fifty. But there also are scents that only one or two people will find wildly exciting. And I have the ability, from far away, to sniff out those special scents. When I do, I want to go up to the girl who radiates this aura and say, Hey, I picked it up, you know. No one else gets it, but I do.

— Haruki Murakami

I realized something tonight…it’s not necessarily that I don’t know how to flirt, it’s just that I am absolutely clueless about how to show someone I’m interested in them.