- Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) · Nancy Sinatra · How Does That Grab You?
“Bang Bang
I hit the ground
Bang Bang
That awful sound
Bang Bang
My baby shot my down.”
- Alright · Kendrick Lamar · To Pimp a Butterfly
nigga we gon be alright!
Do you hear me? Do you feel me? We gon be ALRIGHT
Tadpoles in Whiskey
The first woman to ever kiss and the last man to ever love
Whispered together, pretending not to see what
The neon above my head blinked in yellow and blue
The glass in front of me empty of all but ice.The well-dressed man behind the bar bent down
To find his poison, top shelf hidden on the bottom shelf
A brew too strong for sharing. Still he smiled as he walked
The bottle and an unfilled rocks to my humming thirstOnly his eyebrows spoke, setting the glass in front of me
Spilling the amber liquid into a pool. I looked to see
The drink was moving, spun by tadpoles swimming.
It’s rare to find so many in one pour.I turned to the table where they sat, my past
Her hair grown long in the intervening years
His gone, even the hipster beard now shorn. It made me sad
To see his copper eyes fill against the sting of memoryI lifted the spirit to my lips and drank
Fighting the tickle of movement against my tongue
I did not love, don’t think I did
I can’t name this feeling undulating down
My throat, but it is alive and dying.
hijackable
i have a heart shaped hedge in my yard
trimmed it last month but i still
dream of annie oakley grabbing me
between the legs raking leaves
is breathing in mother earth’s dandruff
this could land us
all in a lot of trouble
because cowboys are nifty too
i dare you…How I’d love to be a landscaper
and gently mow your grassy slopes
Annie Oakley and the cowboys
have nothing at all on me
the heart shaped hedge,
I take your dare
and should this be too forward
allow me to humbly beg your pardon
but I’d love to wile the hours away
puttering around in your
lovely gardenAnd horses don’t bank on
Blinders and reins but
Ride me anyhow
Saddle to back to
Rib-gripped gallop along
Thigh-tight horizon of
Sun-sunk WestI was brought up a real cowboy
Skilled in the ways of riding
And an expert in ropes and all
Sweetie I could tie you up tight
Never leaving a any mark at all
And release you with a single hand
Though a marksman in every way
I learned to use my rifle well,
That is not the best skill to tell.
At home or on the trail
I eat from the bush and eat it well.
From your garden I have the skill
That you might savor, or lose all will
I was brought up a real cowboy
Give the word, by whisper or shout
And the rope, the gun, and the smile come out….With smiles come Spring where gardens bloom again.
Hedgerows with blossoms untouched.
Green thumbs do caress each folded flower
granting us vibrant blooms, once more.
Cowboys may come to trample grasses
carelessly Ka-lumping along…
/ But the lady knows a warming breeze
where posies are consumed by the sun.
Watermelon steaks are steak-shaped pieces of watermelon, often prepared by grilling. Some compare its texture to that of seared meat, while others describe its taste and texture as unique. It is called “watermelon steak” due to its appearance and texture.
If the steak is baked, a texture like raw fish can result. Boston Phoenix writer Robert Nadeau comparing a grilled watermelon to seared, raw tuna. He added that the flavor of the fruit “isn’t sweet, although it isn’t meaty either, but enough of the browning comes through to make it a little like a piece of meat”. When well cooked, most of the fruit’s water evaporates, concentrating flavor and texture while leaving the steak tender and juicy, “kind of like a fillet steak”. (Source)
This site does timelapse, zoomed videos of live coral - check out those colors!
If Jim Morrison were still alive today
he’d be fat and bald and singing Katy Perry songs in Vegas
You know he would
and Janis would be a host on the View
hangin’ out with Whoopie and bowing down
in slavish sycophancy
at the altar of Kanye and Kim
You know she would
And John Lennon would be side to side with Dylan
pimpin’ Super Bowl Chevrolets
with the desiccated dregs
of their fading talent and fame
You know they would
I mean, the past is not pristine
We look back, again and again
through rose colored glasses
at the generations past and like to think
that they were pure and clean and tidy
but come on now, take a cold, hard look
they were a mess
they were a laughingstock
they were a disaster
just like you
just like me
just like all of us
take a look at the person to your right
they’re a disaster
take a look at the person to your left
they’re a disaster
now take a look in the mirror
what do you see?
a disaster, that’s what you see
but when you and me and everyone you know
are dead and gone and in our graves
we’ll all be remembered
as angels and superstars
you know we will
‘Cause everything looks better in hindsight
but the past is not pristine
the past was not simple and easy
or straight black and white
and contrary to popular opinion
there were no good ol’ days
of chocolate malts and apple pie
of small towns and honest morals
of family and friends and the good life, right there
within everyone’s reach
there were no good ol’ days at all
When you say,
“Let’s go back
to the good ol’ days.”
Do you mean the good ol’ days
when marriage was sacred
between one man and one woman?
when the Mexicans stayed in Mexico
and left the good ol’ US of A to us?
when women knew their place
was in the kitchen
or in the bedroom
on their knees?
when colored folk were free to choose
between staying on the farm
or hangin’ from a tree?
Is that what you mean when you say,
“Let’s go back
to the good ol’ days.”?
‘Cause those good ol’ days
may have been good
for rich
straight
white
Christian
men
but they weren’t so fuckin’ hot
for anybody else
You see, the past is not pristine
for African-Americans or lesbian-Americans
for Mexican-Americans or Guatemalan-Americans
it’s not pristine
for impoverished Americans or transgender-Americans
for atheist-Americans or Muslim-Americans
The past is not pristine
and if you’re still able to examine our history
and see tended gardens and sparkling cobblestone streets
then maybe you should look at your hands
because the dirt has got to go somewhere
doesn’t it?
Max Mundan, The Past is Not Pristine
© David Rutter 2015
Purchase my book, “JUNKIES DIE ALONE” on Amazon or iTunes.
(via maxmundan)
When My Friends Speak Bad About Themselves 🚫
this is so aggressively pure
If this ain’t me and@icecream-and-gadreellike omfg! And we take turns as Thomas lolI swear bahah
GUYS, SHIA LABEOUF LAUNCHED AN ANTI-TRUMP LIVSTREAM THAT WILL RUN FOR THE WHOLE FOUR YEARS…..
YOU CAN WATCH IT HERE
#HeWillNotDivideUs
THIS STREAM IS LIT AF,, I LOVE ALL OF THESE PEOPLE
“I love your eyeshadow! What color is it?”
“Nic Cage Raking Leaves On A Brisk October Afternoon”
actual footage of me watching lemonade
All of us
