38 Plays


How A Person Finds Home
written by Anis Mojgani

When you are walking down the street in some city that is not
the one you come from

with the sun in your eyes so perhaps you are squinting or
perhaps because of how brightly everything shines

you have tears falling out and you find you cannot look directly
at the world before you

and there is a song from an open window that resembles
the birthday pocketknife you received at ten

and the 16th note is a bridge bending over cold stones
that you brother walks upon

and those cold stones sing a sound similar to your name
similar to library brick similar to porch swing and tea cup

similar to your grandmother’s name and your arms feel like her
loose but smooth skin

and your face remembers your grandfather’s rough cheeks
the smell of his aftershave

and as you are pulled in the direction of where you come from
you will see a suit with no one in it

running from far off in the distance and this body-less suit
is running directly towards you

a hundred people moving in the streets but the suit
is running to you

and you can not move away or towards it any faster or slower
than how you are already moving

and the suit will come up to you and without body or lung
will be breathing hard

and without skull or mouth will ask if you have the time and you
without watch or clock will say

Yes I do and as you lift your wrist you hear the suit without hands
or throat lift his palms and whisper between them

"Will you unbutton these jackets of mine? Will you pull me on
and button the buttons in my vest back up?”

And when you do the vest will feel like a coffin that does not
need to wait for death to be slept in

but instead is simply a lidless boat for the grass to grow through
for the daylight to touch itself upon

for the dark and the stars to fall towards and fill and all around
you the night will rise like a river over the city

while you sit in the middle of its waters running your hands over
your belly rubbing fabric between your fingers thinking

"These are the softest clothes I’ve ever felt."
This is the closest thing i can draw to a map.

With you on one end and me on the other
and no space between.

Depressions in the Earth / Impressions in the SkyThere is a silence at 4 a.m. that allows you to finally hear exactly what is going on.When the moon is feigningand you’re casting shadows, even though you knowyou can never reel them back in.We wade in the water and fish,for a longer-lasting bliss;When in itself, this already is

Depressions in the Earth / Impressions in the Sky

There is a silence at 4 a.m. that allows you to finally hear
exactly what is going on.
When the moon is feigning
and you’re casting shadows, even though you know
you can never reel them back in.
We wade in the water and fish,
for a longer-lasting bliss;
When in itself, this already is

Mythical search for a long-lost fortune (magiceye)

Mythical search for a long-lost fortune (magiceye)

From an interview with Thom Yorke

Thom Yorke: It’s like being trapped in one…space, like one point.
Thom Yorke: (holds up one finger) And you can’t go backwards and you can’t go forwards and you can’t go in any direction; you’re absolutely trapped in one particular space in time, and you cannot move on--because I use music to move on, to progress through life. And so when I lost that, I lost the ability to progress, or anything...so you start to lose the ability to interact, and it becomes like a vicious circle, because you’re just like this all the time.
Thom Yorke: (imitates being paralyzed)
Interviewer: So you’re sitting there at home all the time doing nothing, or is it….?
Thom Yorke: No, it’s just every time you go to a piece of music, or read a book, or…go for a drive in your car, you’re constantly thinking that you’re trapped...you’re stuck, you’re like a full stop, and you’ll never be anything else.
Thom Yorke: I think the only way that you deal with it, eventually, is you--you just forget about it. You choose to not have a problem about it, you choose to go and see your friends and go out and get…drunk and enjoy life and just forget about it and just wait for...wait for it to come back.

Stanley Donwood. Part of his Holloway collection.


Stanley Donwood. 
Part of his Holloway collection.


We don’t even have to speak anymore,
Your lips never move,
but from your irises lucidity leaks and pours.
Transforms your world,
and bleak
and worn.
I sip
it’s sweet,
take my seat next to yours.
Is this a waking dream, or am I still asleep?
You see the lines too thin to be sure.
When you can see little difference
so you simply endure the grim and the grins,
Sinister souls will take no hold,
as long as there’s this light that blends.
Swirling paint brings brights between black;
Takes me back to my
balanced unbeaten path.
I awaken the flame from an unlit match
the whole world is sure to catch
And we’ll watch it burn,
wait our turn,
hands attached.
I’ll see you through,
and when I do,
again we’ll hatch
and learn again this skin we’re in can barely contain,
brimming from beings this big.
And again we’ll wonder and dig,
try to find out if this is all that there is.
I heard once that every life you live,
This is your peace,
This is your bliss,
This is a recollection of all that you missed.



61 Plays


Smoking cigarettes till all the other memories will go;

Out the window with every exhale, exhale;

I’m standing by the bus stop, trying to look like I’m not dead, inside;

I watch your car go by, but you look straight ahead;

I watch your car go by, but you look straight ahead;

I watch your car go by, but you look straight ahead;

oldd as fuckk

☼: Losing Your Mind,

Lately, everything I used to love seems lame; lackluster. I feel that I’m surrounded with lies as well, which is never a comforting feeling. It’s hard for me to entrust in you, as I feel I no longer know you. I care none in what you have to say, as I don’t believe it’s truly you speaking. I can…