wharzes and pickents

Ask me anything   Submit   "He's calling again. I'll find out what he wants from us. Out here, far away in our loneliness."

twitter.com/heyrow:

    "Salvador,

I think of you and I’ve never thought
more intensely in my life.  
Since our time together…
… everything I am has been split apart. I write in a way that I’ve never thought possible. My pen scratches the surface
of things. The masks… And then it goes beyond them. Right down to the bones. Down to the dark, cold jelly in the marrow. It’s true. I touch sea bottom in myself. And my poems write themselves. I am, just as you said… Raw. Bloody. Alive.

And I, too, want to be alive.” - Federico Garcia Lorca. Little Ashes (Morrisson, 2008)

    "Salvador,

    I think of you and I’ve never thought
    more intensely in my life.
    Since our time together…
    … everything I am has been split apart. I write in a way that I’ve never thought possible. My pen scratches the surface
    of things. The masks… And then it goes beyond them. Right down to the bones. Down to the dark, cold jelly in the marrow. It’s true. I touch sea bottom in myself. And my poems write themselves. I am, just as you said… Raw. Bloody. Alive.

    And I, too, want to be alive.” - Federico Garcia Lorca. Little Ashes (Morrisson, 2008)

    — 5 days ago with 1 note
    "If I’m going to be anything more than average, if anyone’s going to remember me, then I need to go further in everything: in art, in life, in everything they think is real: morality, immorality, good, bad, I, we, have to smash that to pieces, we have to go beyond that, we have to be brave. No limit." - Salvador Dali. Little Ashes (Morrisson, 2008)

    "If I’m going to be anything more than average, if anyone’s going to remember me, then I need to go further in everything: in art, in life, in everything they think is real: morality, immorality, good, bad, I, we, have to smash that to pieces, we have to go beyond that, we have to be brave. No limit." - Salvador Dali. Little Ashes (Morrisson, 2008)

    — 5 days ago
    In search for newer creative endeavors, I borrowed a graphic tablet from my cousin Kuya Ze. It is my first time to use such device since I’m usually just happy with my trusted pencil and notebook. I need more practice on the device though, i’m not used to the smooth tablet surface. And of course, the subject is my dearest niece!

    In search for newer creative endeavors, I borrowed a graphic tablet from my cousin Kuya Ze. It is my first time to use such device since I’m usually just happy with my trusted pencil and notebook. I need more practice on the device though, i’m not used to the smooth tablet surface. And of course, the subject is my dearest niece!

    — 1 week ago with 1 note
    Nightmares

    Nightmares

    — 2 weeks ago
    For the First Time in A Second

    One, I want to leave the confines
    of this sweet agony of relentless frustration.
    Two, I want to open the door, jump out of it
    and break my skull as I tumble down
    through the highway that said
    that my life will be just like butter.

    Two again, I crave for the rigid pencil,
    No. 2 with sharp points and clean shavings,
    I desire the smell of the warm paper,
    its comforting smoothness and fairness.
    I want the smell of plastic erasers,
    the cleaning powers of ever stroke,
    the clarity, the magic of every blow,
    where dust will just fly like how your troubles die.
    I want to lick it all over, I want to write.
    I want to sketch, I want to draw the eyes.

    I am in need of a serious rescue. I am in deep danger.
    I pray for the day where I could get out of this slumber.
    A cube of sames and similars and copies and inspirations.
    A room full of pretense and normality.
    A box full of uncertainties and vague litanies.
    This is the Limbo, the cyclical flow of whats.
    An everlasting attempt for escape.

    I pray for a day where I could gaze unto the horizons
    the hot sun burning my pale skin.
    To wet my feet on the boiling waves of the beach,
    and feel the grains of sand thrusting through my very soul.

    Desperately shouting for the chance to scream,
    to blame everything to everyone except me,
    to slap each dementing figure’s face,
    to demand that the world exist in my own twisted way.

    I cry for my freedom. I cry for my mind’s relief.
    The opportunity to make the mark, on my own,
    through my selfish designs and figures.
    I want to be evil. I want to resist order. 

    Three hundred and sixty two tears of plea.
    Let my heart learn the real feelings of nature.
    How does the core become dense? How do you make it feel?
    As long as synthesis is forced, magic is faked,
    I know that for the two hundred and thirty first time,
    I will cry for my emancipation.

    Three. I should wait. I should just wait.
    Helpless but I will wait.
    Helpless but I will prevail.

    — 3 weeks ago with 3 notes
    #poetry  #poem  #spilled ink 
    cineminimized:

Athena Dizon, She’s Dating the Gangster

Isa pa! She’s Dating The Gangster! July 16, 2014 in cinemas!

    cineminimized:

    Athena Dizon, She’s Dating the Gangster

    Isa pa! She’s Dating The Gangster! July 16, 2014 in cinemas!

    — 1 month ago with 6 notes
    cineminimized:

Kenji de los Reyes, She’s Dating the Gangster

Oh god. ANG CUTE. She’s Dating The Gangster! July 16, 2014 in cinemas!

    cineminimized:

    Kenji de los Reyes, She’s Dating the Gangster

    Oh god. ANG CUTE. She’s Dating The Gangster! July 16, 2014 in cinemas!

    — 1 month ago with 6 notes

    spaghedward:

    maria la del barrio

    I don’t usually reblog but this is precious.

    (Source: fkatwig)

    — 1 month ago with 37960 notes
    Mudded Naps

    In the bleakness of the darkest morning, I ask,
    Will I learn to let the pages of this clueless novel turn
    Or should I wait for the right words
    the right thoughts
    the right caresses of the wind
    for my heart’s desire to roam?
    The wait is numbing,
    feels like the sleeping of my thighs —
    the million times prickling and pushing of the needles
    that I try to ease by stomping it in agony.

    The dark hour is flowing
    and as I engulf the air that relieves me of life,
    I weep of the prospects of losing grasp,
    slitting the throats of hope
    as I let the cream blood flow.
    Oh the patience I once signed off and sealed
    is melting like the clocks of one moustached ant.
    Tick tock, and so the numbers go.

    And so my eye wander, slick and nimble.

    — 1 month ago with 4 notes
    #poetry  #poem  #spilled ink