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this isn't your shelter...

- For the old pianos, good bourbon and life's encounters -

They Are Taken

Finders keeping lost things
Others looking for a memory
Alone on lonesome highways out of town.

Losing what you’ve seen
While humming softly to a melody
To spite the silence bringing people down.

Come see the color on the fingers
From a painting ive let go.
A time where we had chins up day to day.

Pulled at every ocean at a moment so it was
That conversation brewed a cup for us
To quickly pour away.

I’ve seen the pages dry of print
In bindings we thought permanent
While writers let us take the time to bleed.

Through trouble thatched with ego still
Against the might of iron will,
I’m bending to the coastline at my feet.

JN

Digger Song

"Have you told the kids about what I have seen?
Have you told the kids about what I have seen?
Of how life if lived through painter’s eyes
Is color dream to dream.
Have you told the kids about what I have seen?

Have you told the boys outside about the sun?
Have you told the boys outside about the sun?
That the blood under my fingernails is from my killings done.
Have you told the boys outside about the sun?

Did you tell your daddy how I let you down?
Did you tell your daddy how I let you down?
How we flew into the sky and then I let you hit the ground.
Did you tell your daddy how I let you down?

You recall the words you said that haunt me still?
You recall the words you said that haunt me still?
You said ‘This feels like forever…”
Now at night it always will…
You recall the words you said that haunt me still?

Did you know those bullets only shot to kill?
Did you know those bullets only shot to kill?
Years against your hands, the trigger pulled
And here I’m bleeding still.
Did you know those bullets only shot to kill?

I’m alive for time, but soon I’ll feel the chill.
Do you know these hands, now broken, wish to heal. “

JN

dead lovely leavings let loose on the day while believing the leaves left light long on the day laughing lately has littered my life with such love freeing starlight night language lamps burning till dusk

JN

Topside

Little spirit under foot,
In sole, rut-stuck,
Out of control and
Dragged from where I leave and go,
Keeps calling, calling,
“home now, love.”

Taping ashes raining past
Stuck red lipped fringe
On bourbon glass
Stains deeply, deeply,
Heart heavy hunger
For the past.

Frankly, I think I’m still dying.

JN

soon?

again?

(via 1969ad)

…creepy

…creepy

Mini-Victorian Baller

Mini-Victorian Baller

"I made it in forty-five minutes. Finished up, and left after an hour. I think we said ‘Hello.’"

David Cottingham’s 1956 Ferrari 500 TRC Testa Rossa No.40
Nikon D90 - 2011 Silverstone Classic - Photo: Dave Rook

David Cottingham’s 1956 Ferrari 500 TRC Testa Rossa No.40
Nikon D90 - 2011 Silverstone Classic - Photo: Dave Rook

Nº. 1 of  181