Cornify

exposant 42

Hello, my name is Alex!

I like poetry, hair, patterns, 8-bit stuff, languages (especially lojban), flowers, and just people in general.

I'll also frequently post homestuck, Pokémon and Adventure Time stuff.

I like all kinds of music (Los Campesinos!, La Dispute, James Blake, Geotic, Weezer, Nicolas Jaar, Death Cab For Cutie, Brother Android, Pink Floyd, Anamanaguchi, My Chemical Romance, These New Puritans and many more).

I make art sometimes too!.

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  1. High Resolution

    (Source: kaukanajossain)

  2. Comments
  3. visual-poetry:

»the painting i would paint« by michael dumontier & neil farber visual-poetry:

»the painting i would paint« by michael dumontier & neil farber
    High Resolution

    visual-poetry:

    »the painting i would paint« by michael dumontier & neil farber

  4. Comments
  5. blankslate:


“failed attempts to write a love poem”

    blankslate:

    “failed attempts to write a love poem”

    (via sublimesublemon)

  6. Comments
  7. (Source: dootzy, via rexilsor)

  8. Comments
  9. rexilsor:

    (you make me want to write happy poems)

  10. Comments
  11. internetpoetry:

from a poem in march, 2013 by jakob maier internetpoetry:

from a poem in march, 2013 by jakob maier
    High Resolution
  12. Comments
  13. textilsor:

    the words of others in my ears
      meaning and nuance
       and 
      metaphor and melody
    i need someone else to show it to me sometimes
      because that is what beauty
       is
      that is what happiness
        is
    it’s the contact and the intermingling of thoughts and
      of arms and bodies
      of backs and shoulders
      of hands and eyes
    it’s the fluctuation in someone’s voice when they are impassioned
      the protest and rise against
        the heavy handed sorrows they carry
      a call, not a cry
        a march in progress and in hope
    there’s something in rallying
      the gathering as one against despair
    there’s something in activism
      in art and in speech
    there’s something in yearning
      for something better
    there’s something in our successes
      the changes, the strides
    there’s something in determination
      when the world says that your aims are trivial and needless
        (because they never are)

      a call, not a cry
        a march in progress and in hope

  14. Comments
  15. textilsor:

    upon my entrance to the room of songs
    he stands
     (hulking)

      a gentle (tempting) fate

    (seductive) smile under his (nom de plume)
    (oblivious 
    but)
    bright eyed
       pearls of blue
       a crisp, warm
    resonance in
    voice tenor


    a grand name (drenched) in azure (mud puddles)
    held by a (hollow) gorgeous cathedral
    locks of a golden fountain
       
     (midas’ head)

    (must have swallowed something, a single strand)
    (that turned the heart to bruising soft metal)

    that opened the door
    to
      my
    (naive)  heart
    of (baseless) adoration
    and
    yearning

  16. Comments
  17. "I know
    you and I
    are not about poems or
    other sentimental bullshit
    but I have to tell you
    even the way
    you drink your coffee
    knocks me the fuck out."

  18. Comments
  19. (via minttua)

  20. Comments
  21. "on the drive home from your birthday party you tell your mother that you do not feel fifteen. when she asks how old you feel, you make her guess. she says forty-eight. you say no, she says one-hundred-and-eighteen. you say no again. she says, two hundred. you spit out your window. you want to yell. you wish you bled ichor. you ask her the age of the earth"

     - (via twoheadedhound)

    (Source: mekhashefa, via buttonghost)

  22. Comments
  23. "

    i) when you get there, the tent is piles of paisley and silk patterns, aged with secrecy and incense you can feel before the air even hits you.
    and you go in, and she (me) is sitting there like a sphinx and a muse, and a hoodoo dolly
    with not a crystal ball, but a grapefruit
    and when she smiles at you, all porcelain and pearls
    her small hands slice open citrus
    and you feel the sting of prophecy
    on her lips

    ii) it starts with panic.
    the car ride is too small and the clouds outside laugh at you
    big piles of ice cream on blue
    but you get to the beach and everyone is laughing, too
    even the clams and the mermaids
    and the barnacles
    and she’s there, you know, she’s curled up on the shoreline with poseidon lapping at her legs
    foam cupping her hips and sand rushing languidly betwixt fingers and toes
    beckoning with lullabyes and plutonian eyes
    come here, pretty thing
    let’s talk
    about

    iii) the chandelier illuminates the pumpkin glass room, and,
    candlelustingly exceptional honeycomb dancers
    all the girls spinning in diamonds and strings
    pincurls and lamb-like lashes
    and she is no exception to the rule
    she is irresistible, you fool
    and the piano hums out sixteen yards of swing
    and you cannot stop the drift of your clicking heels
    nor the heat that amplifies when your palms cusp her hips and she moves, moves forever like all she knows how to do is dance with you
    spinning like a music box princess
    who smiles like she knows every damn secret this side of eden
    for a moment you consider ripping her teeth out, but

    iv) her hair goes on for uncountable miles, twisting to her tailbone and abandoning ship for her own personal pleasure.
    and she watches the record spin on the side table, all sherry-gazin’
    and then lower, still, the curve of her belly still makes your breath catch
    and gape
    like a fish out of water for the first time
    every time is the first time
    it won’t ever stop her from smiling, though, it won’t it won’t it won’t,
    and as usual, you fall to your knees in worship
    tongue wrapping around her ankles
    sweet and needing
    pleading, pleading
    for her to never leave, to never

    v) snap out of it.
    your skin feels too hot and you’re not sure what time it is
    or why the woman across the table looks like she’s your age but has more time in her body than the oldest of the hourglasses
    and you have something stronger than a desire or impulse, compulsion
    to know everything
    there is to know
    about her very essence
    now shut up and walk home, comatose
    forget the sad look on her face as she thanked you and whispered goodbye
    there is a dream somewhere that’s waiting
    patiently
    with her name on it

    vi)

    and it says.

    "

     - a guess, a hope, and a hint. (via buttonghost)
  24. Comments
  25. visual-poetry:


i
am
the
path
along
unseen
heather

Snowball (also called a Chaterism): A poem in which each line is a single word, and each successive word is one letter longer. One of the constrained writing techniques utilised by the Oulipo (Workshop of Potential Literature).
o
we
all
have
heard
people
believe
anything

Given the mathematical genesis of the Oulipo and the interest in the movement among other programmers, I thought that someone must have created a program to generate these, and I was surprised that I couldn’t find one even after some pretty thorough Googling. So I wrote one myself. The C++ code is here. 
(via nossidge)
Read More

    visual-poetry:


    i am the path along unseen heather

    Snowball (also called a Chaterism): A poem in which each line is a single word, and each successive word is one letter longer. One of the constrained writing techniques utilised by the Oulipo (Workshop of Potential Literature).

    o
    we
    all
    have
    heard
    people
    believe
    anything
    

    Given the mathematical genesis of the Oulipo and the interest in the movement among other programmers, I thought that someone must have created a program to generate these, and I was surprised that I couldn’t find one even after some pretty thorough Googling. So I wrote one myself. The C++ code is here

    (via nossidge)

    Read More

  26. Comments
  27. a secret:

    notmisbehaving:

    so i hope you masturbate to me
    in the shower, secretly under the covers
    guilty and warm and twisting
    breath damp and permeating
    and i hope you think of me when
    the syrup hits your fingers
    and you bite your lip and make the softest sound
    and you screw your eyes shut and feel
    my lips, my curling fingers and shuddering
    teeth, iridescent stare, glazed doughnut thighs
    maybe i am the sweetest candy
    mouthwateringest peach
    the loveliest pastry you have ever
    feasted on, the ten course meal
    turn-of-the-century sumptuous,
    melting
    sugar
    cube.

    you won’t forget me, you know
    you know how i look at you
    you know what i do
    when it gets late
    you know you do, you know you do.

    and that is a secret.

  28. Comments
  29. only gradients and

    textilsor:

    subtexts, 
    In my life there are only gradients and

    uncertainty,
    Each day and every interaction is stained with

    magenta,
    My body and my heart are wrapped in

    anxiety,
    All of my inhibitions and my actions are governed by

    infatuations,
    Things that cannot be lost but only exchanged are

    stories,
    I cannot give anything but

    words,
    There are images and realities only painted with

    subtexts,

    (via rexilsor)

  30. Comments