Link
Mary Karr, “Descending Theology: The Crucifixion”

poem-locker:

To be crucified is first to lie down
on a shaved tree, and then to have oafs stretch you out
on a crossbar as if for flight, then thick spikes
      fix you into place.

Once the cross pops up and the pole stob
sinks vertically in an earth hole perhaps
at an awkward list, what then can you blame for hurt
      but your own self’s burden?

You’re not the figurehead on a ship. You’re not
flying anywhere, and no one’s coming to hug you.
You hang like that, a sack of flesh with the hard
      trinity of nails holding you into place.

Thus hung, your ribcage struggles up
to breathe until you suffocate, give up the ghost.
If God permits this, one wonders how
      this twirling earth

manages to navigate the gravities and star tugs.
Or if some less than loving watcher
watches us scuttle across the boneyard greens
      under which worms

seethe and the front jaws of beetles
eventually clasp toward the flesh of every beloved.
The man on the cross under massed thunderheads feels
      his soul leak away,

then surge. Some windy authority lures him higher
till an unseen tear in the sky’s membrane is rent,
and he’s streaming light, snatched back, drawn close,
      so all loneliness ends.

12:34 am: cakespeare9 notes

picture
lauraoliviasilva:

squishy on Flickr.
I shall call you squishy and you shall be mine and you shall be my squishy

lauraoliviasilva:

squishy on Flickr.

I shall call you squishy and you shall be mine and you shall be my squishy

(via thecheesecrayons)

02:52 am: cakespeare6,651 notes

photoset

nataliakoptseva:

Georgius Jacobus Johannes van Os - Fruit, Flowers and Game.

08:08 pm: cakespeare261 notes

Link
Lucille Clifton, “note passed to superman”

poem-locker:

sweet jesus superman,
if i had seen you
dressed in your blue suit
i would have known you.
maybe that choir boyclark
can stand around
listening to stories
but not you, not with
metropolis to save
and every crook in town
filthy with kryptonite.
lord, man of steel
i understand the cape,
the leggings, the whole
ball of wax.
you can trust me,
there is no planet stranger
than the one i’m from.

05:15 pm: cakespeare3 notes

photoset

iguanamouth:

WHERE are they getting this stuff !!

(via ladyjackalope)

02:22 pm: cakespeare202,569 notes

photoset

odditiesoflife:

Artist Lives in Egg-Shaped, Floating Micro-House for One Year

To explore “the meaning of place at a time of great environmental change”, artist Stephen Turner teamed up with the association of SPUD Group and PAD Studio to build the “Exbury Egg”, an egg-shaped micro-home that floats on water. 

Designed to be “tethered” like a boat, this unusual little house is made to “rise and fall with the tide”—containing bare necessities like a shower, a stove and a hammock bed, the Exbury Egg allows its occupant to more directly experience the seasonal cycles and processes of nature. 

From 15 July 2013 to 14 July 2014, Turner will be living and working inside and around the house, documenting his unique one-year residency in the micro egg home on his blog.

(Source: designtaxi.com, via odditiesoflife)

02:22 pm: cakespeare2,188 notes

picture
nothingbutthedreams:

lithiyummy:

PHOTO:  Major A. T. Casdagli RAOC, ‘God Save the King, F*** Hitler’ ,1941 ©Captain A. T. Casdagli  After six months held by the Nazis in a prisoner of war camp, Major Alexis Casdagli was handed a piece of canvas by a fellow inmate. Pinching red and blue thread from a disintegrating pullover belonging to an elderly Cretan general, Casdagli passed the long hours in captivity by painstakingly creating a sampler in cross-stitch. Around decorative swastikas and a banal inscription saying he completed his work in December 1941, the British officer stitched a border of irregular dots and dashes. Over the next four years his work was displayed at the four camps in Germany where he was imprisoned, and his Nazi captors never once deciphered the messages threaded in Morse code: “God Save the King” and “Fuck Hitler”. (http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2011/sep/03/tony-casdagli-father-stitching-nazis?INTCMP=SRCH )

BAMF, with cross stitch no less. Now who would come up to this guy and say that because he said it with cross stitch it wasn’t a manly thing to do?

nothingbutthedreams:

lithiyummy:

PHOTO:  Major A. T. Casdagli RAOC, ‘God Save the King, F*** Hitler’ ,1941 ©Captain A. T. Casdagli  After six months held by the Nazis in a prisoner of war camp, Major Alexis Casdagli was handed a piece of canvas by a fellow inmate. Pinching red and blue thread from a disintegrating pullover belonging to an elderly Cretan general, Casdagli passed the long hours in captivity by painstakingly creating a sampler in cross-stitch. Around decorative swastikas and a banal inscription saying he completed his work in December 1941, the British officer stitched a border of irregular dots and dashes. Over the next four years his work was displayed at the four camps in Germany where he was imprisoned, and his Nazi captors never once deciphered the messages threaded in Morse code: “God Save the King” and “Fuck Hitler”. (http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2011/sep/03/tony-casdagli-father-stitching-nazis?INTCMP=SRCH )

BAMF, with cross stitch no less. Now who would come up to this guy and say that because he said it with cross stitch it wasn’t a manly thing to do?

(via fuckyeahembroidery)

11:30 am: cakespeare436 notes

photoset

2headedsnake:

Diana Al Hadid

(Source: dianaalhadid.com, via hifructosemag)

08:37 am: cakespeare3,687 notes

picture
ohsamiam:

Arnold Lobel - Owl at Home (1975)

ohsamiam:

Arnold Lobel - Owl at Home (1975)

(via harrietvane)

05:45 am: cakespeare454 notes

audio

unhistorical:

Swan LakeOp. 20 (1877), Act I, No. 5 Pas de Deux

02:52 am: cakespeare140 notes

photoset

beatonna:

asianhistory:

Herding Horses, Han Geng. 8th c. Tang Dynasty, National Palace Museum of Taiwan. Digitally retouched photograph, ink on silk. 

One of the most important artists working during this period was Han Kan (sic), considered to have been the supreme painter of horses. These animals were tremendously admired in China, and they were the subject of countless stories and fables extolling them as free, proud, noble creatures. A symbol of wealth and luxury, the Emperor Ming Huang— admirer of poets, painters, and beautiful women, and a keen lover of horses— had over forty thousand thoroughbreds in his stable. 

When Han Kan was called to the Court, about the middle of the 8th century, the emperor advised him to study the painting of horses under Chi’en Hung, a contemporary Court painter. Han Kan ignored the suggestion, which was the equivalent to a command. When the emperor scolded him, he replied: “I have been learning how to paint horses, and every one of the horses in the Imperial Stables has been my teacher.”

His fame increased with the passage of time so that a later critic wrote: “When Han Kan painted horses, he was truly a horse.” This was the supreme compliment, as it meant that the artist had achieved such full identification that he was able to transmit the inner spirit of the horse.”

Chinese Art, Judith and Arthur Hart Burling, 1953.  

fat horse fat horse

(via rebeccation)

08:08 pm: cakespeare1,250 notes

Link
Rachel Barenblat, “Ready”

poem-locker:

"So the people took their dough before it was leavened, their kneading bowls wrapped in their cloaks upon their shoulders." —Exodus 12:34

You’ll need to travel light.
Take what you can carry: a book, a poem,
a battered tin cup, your child strapped
to your chest, clutching your necklace
in one hot possessive fist.

So the dough isn’t ready. So your heart
isn’t ready. You haven’t said goodbye
to the places where you hid as a child,
to the friends who aren’t interested in the journey,
to the graves you’ve tended.

But if you wait until you feel fully ready
you may never take the leap at all
and Infinity is calling you forth
out of this birth canal
and into the future’s wide expanse.

Learn to improvise flat cakes without yeast.
Learn to read new alphabets.
Wear God like a cloak
and stride forth with confidence.
You won’t know where you’re going

but you have the words of our sages,
the songs of our mothers, the inspiration
wrapped in your kneading bowl. Trust
that what you carry will sustain you
and take the first step out the door.

05:15 pm: cakespeare6 notes