you’re the coffee to my cup the stitch to my seam you bring the down to my up the I to my beam you’re the orange to my carrot the beef to my stew you’re the fox to my ferret your cages, my zoo you’re the moat to my castle the saddle to my steed your jester’s my vassal your virtue, my deed you’re the fly to my web the venom to my sting you turn my flow into ebb my winters into spring you’re the syn to my thesis the sun to my leaves your puzzle holds my pieces your wire binds my sieves you’re the hedges to my maze the signal to my noise your game racks up my plays like a child collecting toys you’re the sheen to my mirror the pixels to my screen you make further feel nearer than my feelers can glean you’re the ink to my pen the feathers to my wings you turn how into when and whethers into rings you’re the valves to my heart the fluid to my spine you’re laughing at my fart (was that yours or mine?) you’re the hints to my clue the hunch to my claim you turn my false into true and my wild, you tame your splinters are my plank your twist, my screw you’re the toothbrush to my shank the red to my blue you’re in love with my hatred you honor my shame your church bears my cross your tombstone, my name you’re waging my war your shells fill my tanks your rich, my poor your spit, my thanks you’re more to my less the vowels to my needs you put the sure in my guess the plea in my pleads you’re the soles to my feet and the depths to my sea but in case we don’t meet here’s from you to me
“We mean nobody goes to work, nobody goes to school, we shut the city down. The only thing they seem to care about is money and they don’t understand that it’s our money they need. We don’t need them, they need us.”—Occupy Oakland organizer Carl Brooks • Very much obeying the will of the Occupy Oakland protesters, as reports indicate the general assembly last night voted 96.9% in favor of the idea. What effect this will have is yet unclear — it depends on a lot of things, such as how many protesters there actually are, what percentage of them are employed, and whether non-participants will get on board with the idea. That said, this was the primary issue on the tongues of nearly everyone we heard from last night (Editor’s note: The author of this piece, Chris Tognotti, was at Frank Ogawa Plaza to see the protests in action), even moreso than any reflection on the brutal police crackdown the night before. For those who criticize the Occupy movement for lacking coherent plans or goals, this is pretty demonstrative action. source (via • follow)
I woke up to a dead phone, news of Gaddafi’s capture and death, topped off by a 4.2 quake just outside Berkeley. To be honest, I was too busy trying to revive my phone to feel it (though I heard my door creak, which made me wonder).
yellow city, black sky massive architecture, flickering liquid glass oceans along the cold canyons of San Francisco wavering illusion upon reality disfigured sideshow reflections of disembodied achievement trapped in themselves, our selves no longer nourished by the roots, a hunger imposed upon the planet like a suffocating blanket that people pave over and piss on until it’s buried so deep that even the heart has trouble breathing, trouble beating out its rhythm; a musical act of joy now stuttering along like a gasping survivor straggling across the ruins of Pompeii crying out for what? help? no, the end of suffering, a swift death instead of the long parasitic drawl that man so eagerly inflicts upon the earth, himself claiming the Kingdom for the eternal barbarian, deep in the veins coursing through the apparatus which creaks beneath the weight of our guilt and stultifies in the monstrosity of our ignorance, yet it continues to run, as if to see how far we’ll go, as if life were merely an experiment to see how spectacularly it could end