#aesthetics
When I walked,
the city purred under me.
(It showed me things)
I’m turning my back
on a certain aesthetic
where the houses
stand
at right angles
in shades of black and white
and straight aluminum.
A look that colonized my thoughts
with youthful promises of
Bohemia.
I’m a traitor.
So I seek twirly things.
And when the city towers,
I curl.
And when the city rages,
I moan.
So the dance ensues
with me, lusting over rust
over seagull ****
over peeling whispers
and earthy hues,
and with her
purring,
in heat
Mar 23
Mar 23, 2026 at 4:28 PM UTC
Silent cry
for that she was.
Tears, poetic, when
she did
with every wipe,
with every breath
releasing,
drowning.
A tide no shore
could create.
a storm no voice
could name.
Beautiful she was,
flowers tangled in her hair,
reflecting her true nature.
But tears
that drown those roots
that once held strong,
ready
to sprout again.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 1:01 AM UTC
The kind of love that sounds like a beautifully broken vase,
Shattered shards of dreams and glass.
Love that haunts the soul—
Beautifully,
Like the moonlight tangled in the magic sky.
Love that mounts fast,
As if the flocks of bats were covering the roof.
Love so haunted,
It makes you scream—
As if you've just had a dream
Too solemn to forget,
Too dark to name.
Love as ominous as a smile without eyes.
Love as pure as silk on a coffin.
Love so sad,
Like a woman in black…
Still,
Love for desire—
Like desire for love.
Jul 26, 2025
Jul 26, 2025 at 1:20 AM UTC
J D Vance has such smoky, smoldering eyes, doesn’t he?
The way those baby blues coruscate, as if from the darkness.
Are those shadows natural? No, it’s eyeliner, of course, but on
a 40-year-old man it’s called guyliner.
Any teenage girl will tell you the kohl pencil is the gateway makeup tool for self-definition, if not exactly self-improvement.
As an ex-teenage girl, I can picture the hours senator Vance spent,
hunched over his laptop watching make-up tutorials on TikTok or
Instagram, analyzing eyeliner techniques in overwhelming detail.
TikTok clips are today’s replacement for the Teen Vogue magazine
product pages of back-in-the-day. I recall watching these videos,
at 14 and devolving into a fog of envy and inadequacy.
JD began wearing guyliner in 2016, so he probably watched those
at age 33 and by now, he’s certain to have upped his game by having them permanently, cosmetically tattooed on.
Of course, Trump himself has never been one to shy away from makeup.
His weird, orange, glazed-ham look comes from his preferred spray-on concealer, ‘Bronx Colors,’ a cruelty-free makeup manufacturer in Switzerland.
If this all sounds too judgy, I’d like to say, “JD, I’ve felt your clearly adolescent girl pain, and I get your desire to represent a softer and more romantic republican political aesthetic.”
And let’s not forget that Kamala’s been known to wear makeup herself.
Here are before and after JD Vance eyeliner pics - you decide: daweb.us/jdVance.png
.
.
Songs for this:
It's All Over Now, Baby Blue by Falco
Gonna Get Along without you now by She and Him
Oct 9, 2024
Oct 9, 2024 at 12:45 PM UTC
I roll my eyes instantly at the mention of "race" and "gender"
Having been oversaturated and now it's bitter on my tongue
Taught to look for agendas and obssessions
Hyperfixation on trauma and eras and mental health
I suppose everyone is mentally unwell when we go seeking for what makes us damaged
And perhaps we are delusional, creating things that aren't there, but we speak it into existence with the power of our lips making shapes and noise,
creating the next trend, lingo, aesthetic,
grouping, pairing, splitting, naming,
explaining away everything.
God this world makes me dizzy.
Feb 6, 2024
Feb 6, 2024 at 12:35 AM UTC
#*
Brilliance of liquid gold
Speckled with glitter and stars
Arresting the celestial plafond
A touch of Neanderthal aesthetics
Modern and ancient air
Fusing under the beauteous sky*#
Sep 22, 2021
Sep 22, 2021 at 8:56 AM UTC
ART MOMENT, VOL 1
By Darcy Prince
Time or reality is ungoverned, it will remain so for at least in the indefinable future. Innovations will come along. If ethical education has taught us anything. It always changes. Devoid of not making an effort.
I tried painting for a bit. I’m not that good. Several years ago, my housemate recommended watching an Andy Warhol documentary. I honestly became fascinated & dived into several art documentaries, honestly quite a fantastic learning experience. Looking, I regret not collecting all the links to those documentaries, even though I got the time to do so now. This was during the time of getting to know myself again, or getting a sense of direction. Painting, drawing, more attempts to learn, using online videos to learn how to draw a person's eyes or hands was a somewhat slightly disappointing experience, that I should try something else. I can remember the pacific moment to try art writing a go or even getting into any sort of criticism. But I ended up there.
I remember watching the program, ‘different ways of seeing’, aesthetics became a new subject for me. With Alain De Botton, now taking into consideration the larger impact, things have on society. Being utterly fascinated on how some, not all painters have a lasting print on peoples society. Like how Van Gogh never sold a painting within his lifetime. The relation between what we see & what we know is a comforting, settling thing. Seeing the painting ‘scream’, perhaps an early meme or trolling act, without a notice, reflects the inner fear we share. Feeling desired as a lover, maybe the most Holy feeling in the world. For those who aren’t, their artworks are a displaying force of nature. Rothko has provided a new way in expression, with his drape like paintings in a tone of red, as his edges before the canvas ended seemingly lazy at a time when art was supposed to be serious & realistic. And so far, people are the common thread between forms of art.
A time for action is in art. In modern speaking or our armchair conversations over coffee, maybe you’re a tea drinker. My cigarettes will be there. The hashtag learn to code was quite popular, especially when universal income became a new subject for our politicians we are voting in and started to be talked about. Games are a large industry. There’s even arguments for it being art. It does make use for graphics & storytelling. Whether you play it or not. It does include a large amount of thinking to put together. Sure we can talk of the violence it uses. Though outside those who read or try to keep up with modern times. The rise of deep fakes. *** doesn’t belong to a group, race, a part of the city, race. It honestly belongs to the world. Yes, some works of art will rise from it. The obscure thinking never actually seems to fit in. Even in the Star Wars films, there’s a use of passed away actors to be acting in the films they’re releasing now. To remain innocent, is to remain ignorant. Statues of past figureheads of culture may have been adored by the art critic, but the average person has someone they know to be entered in their private virtual world.
I don’t know what your story is. I think art can offer what we’re languishing inside of us. Personally, over the last couple of years, I’ve been wounded by my last breakup. I spent it in bed, I cried, I couldn’t do anything, even food started to taste differently. In romance art, novels in particular, supplemented so much. Being heartbroken. Can you believe that individuals can do so amongst themselves? I’ve heard it argued & arguing successfully, that identity comes from an idea. Art I think, that comes along with that. But art does provide a certain grief, with tragedy developing as its own genre.
I really don’t know where I was going with this. I just wrote it out. But leaving it here, to add to the body of work when I die. But what reconciles an individual with society, to what that person created.
Sep 5, 2021
Sep 5, 2021 at 1:19 AM UTC
It's okay not to be okay
When you smile
Yet,
filled with frown
Its okay not to be okay
When emanating bliss
Yet,
burning with rages of yesteryears
It's okay not to be okay
when engulfed
In flames of bruises, cuts and hurts
Yet
Play chords of empty, seamless laughter
It's okay not to be okay
when you are not okay,
But have to be okay
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 7:38 AM UTC
Running to u, perhaps
results in
A heartbreak;
a tear
or
a sigh.
Galloping across pulses
Perchance, is a chase
of the wind.
Even so,
I'll run to u.
May 6, 2021
May 6, 2021 at 6:39 PM UTC
Rain falls from
our cheeks,
Pages of memories
are burnt
inside fate's tower.
Life is a Hydra.
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 4:33 PM UTC
Five red haired maidens / resting symmetry
Draped in bluest sky / arranged peacefully
Interwined pink flowers / chaining togetherly
One composition / from Antiquity
Arms wilt with leisure / classically painted
Their wild thoughts blooming / a pale recreation
Seated in judgment / of time untainted
By modernity / By degradation
in eternal youth / in a single row
They sit and they watch / seasons come and go
Feb 4, 2021
Feb 4, 2021 at 2:09 PM UTC
I fell for her like rain.
Droplets of
emotions,
dropped hastily
from clouded minds
carved in skies of doubt;
with interludes of
Thunder and illusion.
Confusing
Speeches, displayed
in lightning lies
and Jasper eyes
I fell in haste.
Till the scorching sun
dried up the well.
I fell like rain.
Nov 17, 2020
Nov 17, 2020 at 7:23 PM UTC
my life is not beautiful.
it just is and that is enough.
refraining from falling
into the hopelessness I've created,
that prison of my own manufacture.
I put water over the stove
and sit in this carcass
while I myself,
a cadaver if you will,
wait for it to complace me.
the lost dreams and
suspires wander these walls
that have trapped
every abandoned hope hides
behind these eternal furniture.
how am I supposed
to thread beautifully with
all this weight? my arms
are full, with bruises and plates;
***** plates I carry on
from door to door before
running away holding more.
should I drop, let them shatter?
is it cowardice, or care for the self?
my friend has said they
are no different.
to know there is no expectation present
you mustn't know what an expectation is.
so, do you, my friend?
the flies on the still life
are agreeing with us.
do you allow them dictate
that which is beautiful, why,
when they haven't got a feeling?
do you allow me dictate
that which isn't?
tell me beauty's antonym
and I'll teach you to survive
between humans and the flies
that peck at the remains
of what once lost I retrieved,
and corrupted it came back.
on my floors the plates stay shattered
my soles bleed on every step
on the edge of hopelessness.
it is not for us; romantics,
sinners of massacre, thieves of all kinds.
lives cannot be made beautiful,
yet you found beauty in its lack.
I wanted encouragement yet only found courage—
to write, grieve, and die.
Oct 25, 2020
Oct 25, 2020 at 1:24 AM UTC
This is a gift I brandish alone
My sheath is my passion
My sword is my poem
Intellectual aesthetic‘s
My centre of pleasure
My creativity flows on
This body is tethered
People can make me feel quite strange
They roll their eyes and shake their brains
Seldom are they on the same page
Where poetry flows
In an aesthetic array
But this is who we are
And there is no need to change
The expanding universe
Is calling our names
...................
Oct 24, 2020
Oct 24, 2020 at 12:00 PM UTC
Paint myself a stone.
Equipped to roam aesthetic empire.
I walk the street,
Peeling up the corners of posters
for those who reach toward victory over death,
to see the stone beneath.
The pedestrians beside me sulk in rain
so eternally present,
it's pulsing collisions with the pavement
have drummed it's echoes into the soundtrack.
Engines stirring.
Rain pouring.
Walkers chattering.
Unnoticed erosion.
I watch the posters bleed.
A warning of their shared fate with the stone.
Canaries painted up with the brightest feathers.
Monuments like gleaming limestone pyramids.
But we won't remember the feathers as bright.
We'll remember the colors bled out, when they're bled out.
The paint on our pantheon will wash to white marble.
And they'll re-remember it as white marble.
They'll re-remember the lustrous white
limestone as dirt and sand,
when its dirt and sand.
Our history will be rewritten, as its remembered.
Oct 20, 2020
Oct 20, 2020 at 4:32 AM UTC
This is not a poem
Just a thank you
Message
It's ma birthday
Just want to say
Thank you
Poets of hello poetry
Thank you for the love.
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 9:38 PM UTC
What happens to a broken promise?
Does it sting
like a bee?
or creates a wound
and leaves a scar?
Does it die in the heart
or grow as a seed
Maybe it just lives
like a ghost
Or it creates strangers?
Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 11:54 PM UTC
I am poetry;
Sonata composed in fourteen lines;
Woven in a dilating sonnet.
I am poetry,
Anaphora riding on iamb's saddle
Echoing free verses n
From line to line
And singing metaphor's
ever-living hymns;
Of then and now,
Dawn and rise.
I walked in rhymes
Till my feet strikes the gleaming Volta
And sends me back
To gloomy Arden.
I am poetry.
Sep 18, 2020
Sep 18, 2020 at 11:54 AM UTC
Well hung life's life's painting
Droplets of hope
Scattered pages.
Leaves of fresh words
fall from poetry's summer
Love's unsung theme
Inked on chaptered scrolls,
We'll keep Shakespeare's signature;
painting mists of blissful autumn
in the sea of our early dreams
Shaded chrysanthemum smiles
and salty mistletoes.
We'll add the last piece;
Splashing
pretty hues of yesteryears
and ringing tones of
cradle's laughter.
Life's colourful stress
caught in the fluffy strokes
Of breath's brushes.
In our adios
Well hung life's painting.
Aug 4, 2020
Aug 4, 2020 at 3:16 PM UTC
between day & night,
splitting all metaphysical hairs,
there
she is, in awe.
Jul 14, 2020
Jul 14, 2020 at 1:29 AM UTC
beauty
making things love,
it doesn't mean its love,
its beauty only
Jul 9, 2020
Jul 9, 2020 at 1:14 AM UTC
She was my music
I danced with.
Created in life's
Endless tunes
Clothed in
Chanted rythms,
beats
Woven with
Beautiful webs
Drawn from
Ceaseless flow
Of intricate patterns
Sewn
together
By broken masks.
Thud falls!
Discord breaks.
Ecstasy fades
Enchantment falls
She was the music
I danced with.
Jun 4, 2020
Jun 4, 2020 at 4:11 PM UTC
Under the yellow moon,
We spent together
Half baked lies,
Crusted
In tasty deceit.
Moans of
Beautiful hurts,
Neatly stabbed,
In words of naivety
Painted ironically.
Illusions fade!
Mind sobs.
We spent together
Lies
Under the yellow moon.
May 26, 2020
May 26, 2020 at 7:20 AM UTC
A fall from Grace
Uncertain in life's
race.
Thrown from Olympus,
My stars shut, my
Lots cast
Sitting in death's shade,
I breathe my last
Drawn from memories'
Abundant harvest
I take a stroll
Walking through
It's fields
Ripened tears,
Green smiles
That blossom
Sorrow
Hades beckons,
Heart drops
A fall from Grace
Is life's uncertain race.
May 21, 2020
May 21, 2020 at 2:14 PM UTC
She was the poem
I couldn't read.
Blurred lines of
Love dipped in
Sauce of perplexing beauty
mixed
With commas and stops.
Confusing
emotions, displayed
In iambs and rhymes
Of this and that,
My heart sighs,
turns the page.
She was the poem I couldn't read.
May 13, 2020
May 13, 2020 at 8:25 AM UTC