"textile" poems
Its my body, my money, its up to me what I do with it.
But everyone else is wearing it.
I cant help the way I feel.
Blonde
Red
Orange
Brown
Purple
DMs purple with pink laces
school skirt altered in the textile lab 3" shorter
hormones racing, zipping, vibrating, fizzing till the top pops
stairs made for stomping and storming
cackling laughter crackling down the telephone wire
clothes left on the bedroom floor abandoned for a girl crisis.
You cant read my mind
read my lips
read my body
read my journal sandwiched between the midriff covering cottons gran bought for Christmas and the skimpy lace thong I'd be grounded for buying
Mother's mattress sanitary towels tossed aside
for shamefully purchased tampons
instructions included
and time has passed
and masks have fallen
and I find you there in the muck and the mire
and dust you off
until
I see your face - all mothers lipstick and glittering pink eye shadow
and the smile that stores secrets in a treasure chest.
Your legs shake like Bambi's but you get to your feet
and nestle yourself into me warmly, strongly until you fall right into me
and you run and you run and you run and you run and you run
right through my veins
giggles throbbing through my pulse
pajama parties and homemade perfume radiating in my eyes
and there you are
and there I am.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
She slides over
the hot upholstery
of her mother's car,
this schoolgirl of fifteen
who loves humming & swaying
with the radio.
Her entry into womanhood
will be like all the other girls'—
a cigarette and a joke,
as she strides up with the rest
to a brick factory
where she'll sew rag rugs
from textile strips of kelly green,
bright red, aqua.
When she enters,
and the millgate closes,
final as a slap,
there'll be silence.
She'll see fifteen high windows
cemented over to cut out light.
Inside, a constant, deafening noise
and warm air smelling of oil,
the shifts continuing on ...
All day she'll guide cloth along a line
of whirring needles, her arms & shoulders
rocking back & forth
with the machines—
200 porch size rugs behind her
before she can stop
to reach up, like her mother,
and pick the lint
out of her hair.
11.8k
April doesnt hurt here
Like it does in New England
The ground
Vast and brown
Surrounds dry towns
Located in the dust
Of the coming locust
Live for survival, not for 'kicks'
Be a bangtail describer,
like of shrouded traveler
in Textile tenement & the birds fighting in yr ears-like Burroughs exact to describe & gettin $
The Angry Hunger
(hunger is anger)
who fears the
hungry feareth
the angry)
And so I came home
To Golden far away
Twas on the horizon
Every blessed day
As we rolled And we rolled
From Donner tragic Pass
Thru April in Nevada And out Salt City Way Into the dry Nebraskas And sad Wyomings Where young girls And pretty lover boys
With Mickey Mantle eyes
Wander under moons
Sawing in lost cradle
And Judge O Fasterc
Passes whiggling by To ask of young love: ,,Was it the same wind Of April Plains eve that ruffled the dress
Of my lost love
Louanna
In the Western
Far off night
Lost as the whistle
Of the passing Train
Everywhere West
Roams moaning
The deep basso
- Vom! Vom!
- Was it the same love
Notified my bones As mortify yrs now
Children of the soft
Wyoming April night?
Couldna been!
But was! But was!'
And on the prairie
The wildflower blows
In the night For bees & birds And sleeping hidden Animals of life.
The Chicago
Spitters in the spotty street
Cheap beans, loop, Girls made eyes at me And I had 35 Cents in my jeans -
Then Toledo
Springtime starry
Lover night Of hot rod boys And cool girls A wandering
A wandering
In search of April pain A plash of rain
Will not dispel This fumigatin hell Of lover lane This park of roses Blue as bees
In former airy poses
In aerial O Way hoses
No tamarand And figancine Can the musterand Be less kind
Sol -
Sol -
Bring forth yr Ah Sunflower - Ah me Montana
Phosphorescent Rose
And bridge in
fairly land
I'd understand it all -
11.1k
morning dew drops on your collar
impressing me with the zealous way the seasons drastically measure the moment it takes me
to reach forwards and brush it off
liquid winter falling onto a ***** cement
the initials 'F T' written jaggedly into the cold stone of asphalt
i wait for it to disappear, for the flicker of everything gone to fade from my vision
but it passes too quickly
i look back up and there's no one around
the street is empty and the capricious wind has ceased
a sucker for patterns i walk into a fabric store and feel my hand linger on the erratic linens
fingers paused on the peach organza sprawled like a pink bubblegum sea
and i am swept into the manic fantasies of wearing the sheer tissue-like textile into
the abdomen of your sweaty palm and sinking like a sticky sweet stripe
until you put your hand in your pocket and i spend a year inside melting
into the every thread and curve of your jean until it is nothing but disgusting sugar
everything i could be when i am hidden from sight in the dark caverns of denim pants
who knew the tongue in cheek joke would be nothing but my tongue in your mouth
touching all the way up your gums
find me sweltering beneath the uvula wondering if i could go back
to the time i found that girl with the mountain logo sweatshirt who whistled between her teeth and hummed all the reasons i should skin my knee and kiss the salty wound because there's no greater pleasure than knowing you don't have to wait for that morning dew drop to fall from their ******* collar
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 1:30 AM UTC
the LORD & I have been arguing for days
over four small words:
[thy will be done.]
let this be known:
never is there a bigger sacrifice
than compromising the cloth that has woven your soul,
choosing to burn its textile
rather than cling to its strong stitchings & worn-in, familiar pattern,
leaving you in nothing but incinerated rags.
I plea for maintained remains of
this combusted fallacy of joy,
whilst He responds with simply
[I am making all things new.]
please hear this:
there is truly nothing that can mend you here,
nothing that can weave you together &
save your heart from being torn
as a love letter ripped into shreds of its possibilities,
leaving you with nothing but
disintegrated
dreams.
my past is aching to become my present,
& my perceived future has begun to rewind.
my place in this world has become null&void;
without the hope I once held close.
for what happens to a princess
when her earthly prince continues to commit slow suicide?
[peace, My child.]
I can hear my bones screaming to be heard,
as songs on a broken record,
stuck on repeating the same old refrain:
*please please please please please…
[on earth as it is in Heaven.]*
night sweats--
when your mind cannot stop running even whilst you sleep.
shaking limbs—
when your heart trembles & begs to stay alive.
*[plans to prosper you, not harm you;
plans for hope & a future.]*
I’m strung out on all these things that keep me sane
while my mind feels like its going through
withdrawals of the Holy Spirit—
WHERE ARE YOU, GOD
& WHY IS THIS YOUR PLAN?
YOU DO NOT LOVE ME AS YOU ONCE DID.
[those who hope in the LORD renew their strength.]
laying on my bedroom floor
with hymns pouring from my mouth
like tongues of fire & bile
I feel farther from glory
than I ever have.
[He restores my soul.]
LORD
as Christ once begged of you
Take This Cup,
LORD
I plea
for deliverance
for reconciliation
for an exodus from this body that is
full of intoxication
& self-loathing.
[until the very end of the age.]
LET MY SPIRIT RISE FROM THE ASHES
& BE HEALED OF THIS HORROR.
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
Shopping was the world first invitation to women,
a freedom to move out of her house. Initially,
Woman practiced shopping for vegetables and slowly
extended to garments/jewelry/white goods etc. Today,
the world has experiencing a better market due to
window shopping. The concept innovated by women,
the women who started window shopping has helped
the awareness of the market, The more the window shopping,
more the sales. The concept of window shopping
helped the textile industries to understand about their products.
The textile industries has developed in terms of marketing
say readymade, exchangeable, trial rooms, gifts coupons
are coz of women. Its encouraged the women to do
shopping effectively.
Facts about shopping. Customer who shop with their friends
tend to buy more costly products than when they shop alone.
Next, In terms of clothing, General advises is to buy
one garment at a time coz If you buy few dresses, You tend the use
the first selected dress more than the others. Buying 'Take Away'
in (costly) restaurant was the blinder coz restaurant charge more
for the ambience less for the food. Using cash on shopping,
you tend to spend less and you bargain more. Don't increase
your buying to eligible for discount coupon. A survey says
that 90% of the issued discount coupons are never redeemed.
Never shop on Discount Sale coz the best collection will be
taken off the shelf by the shopkeeper. The amazing fact,
If any one buy the best and costly clothes one size less than
the one normally uses, has brought down the weight
of that person.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC
In Farmington the misfit suffers the jukebox and dances to an unknown song. He dances on the pool table. He wears black—black skull cap, black
duster, black shirt, black slacks, black boots. He's in Farmington and
the women here drink Bud Light. He dances slow. It's similar to a dance
you've seen before. You have that friend that climbs on couches after a few and half staggers, half sways. The women here watch him with unhappy eyes and hands stained blue from the textile mill. He seems to mouth the words although he clearly doesn't know the song. They, the women, dig their elbows into the bar. Pocked and graffiti'd, the bar soaks up spilled beer and ash and nail polish. Behind the bar a sign reads: Free Beer Tomorrow. And for some reason, you must admit, this sign's effect never dulls. The Misfit pantomimes a dance with a pool cue. His face is severe, serious. He's in Farmington dancing with a pool cue on a pool table to a song he doesn't know like a drunk friend of yours and the women are watching. Next, he does something amazing. He removes his cap. He's got shocks of bleached hair and burn scars run like rivulets between the patches. He tosses the cap toward the bar. One lucky woman catches it and summons herself to the pool table. You want them to have a bit of dialogue here, to say something oblique and innocent. Instead the lucky woman dances at the man's feet. He surrenders a smile and he's got small tracts of bleached hair and burn scars and he's in all black and he's dancing. The lucky woman, she's in a canary yellow patch dress. Her dance, although clumsy, still mesmerizes you. It's without ego, without shame. She is a child. She is the light in the room. She is, in this moment, the world entire. He pulls her onto the table. It's time to appoint the Misfit and the lucky woman names, you think. His name shall be Joshua. Her name shall be Anna. Palms together, her head resting on his chest, they sway. The smoke and the tracers of light meld and Joshua and Anna's outlines become muddied. Their bodies merge and they are both yellow and black and covered in burn scars and bleached hair and the women are still watching. As the song starts to fade, someone—maybe it's you—drops a few coins in the jukebox and it begins again.
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC
Velcro-like hands
Grip and pull
At every thread of his textile presence
As a spider clings
to her
silky haven in the rain
With every tear
she grows less stable
And every shudder
draws hopes of Heaven
Past this haven, in the tree branch, that she built her life upon
And the web; it softly whispers
It is trapped in finite murmur
Once high hopes of hereafter, embroider fears that she “was once”
In the rain,
she is suspended
Thoughts thieved away by daydream
Her mind drifts back to sunny lives
And her Velcro-like grasp
Loosens
Just a little.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
Deeper
(breath)
Deep Purr
(breath)
Per-fect?
(breath)
Im-per-fect
(breath)
Asymmetric
(breath)
(breath)
(breath)
Asymmetry
(breath)
African Textile Lines
(breath)
Tree Stump Rings
(breath)
Finger Prints
(breath)
Connected.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
Take a look and laugh at me
So goes the grinning jester’s plea.
See the show of one who knows,
of he that is consumed by jest,
Fool! You know him the best.
They see you dance; you play the clown,
Feelings buried behind the inverted frown,
kept in the mask of the blank and the blind,
The colors blend, are Checkered between
Textile hearts and diamonds unseen.
Silver bells lightly jingle,
all eyes turn to a single
face on a smirking staff
as a crowd erupts with twisting laughs,
At a twisted man in masking plaid.
He briefly forgets the fight
And achieves the white spotlight,
wasted all on best laid plans,
gain a loss for just a chance
To perform the jester’s dance.
Jan 24, 2012
Jan 24, 2012 at 3:49 AM UTC
Catatonic inscriptions etches through my textile discernment
Insidious cycles of turmoil encased within a festering distress
Uncertainty obscures my comfort into a chaotic complacency
Transforming the subtle movement of thought and bewilderment
Through the re-occurring sequences of paranoia and my uneasy psychosis
Haunting the whole of this psyche and the mental state I've come to fancy
A tell-tale apprehension of merriment and contentment may be a dismal reality
All the while being obsessed with the unfavorable outcomes I conjure within
But, I can't get enough of the disarray that breeds within my frail skull
So distant from what I feel in the ecstasy of my self-selected normality
The meek proposal of sanity has little to hold against these crooked grins
As this chaotic thought process leaves rationality as a vague ideal to null
Expansive introspection has no limit to what is perceived as validity
And, to be enveloped in the ambiguity and delusion of fact is so enticing
We all know that we've all come to recognize the fabrication of our own truth
The futile attempts to obtain an immaculate conviction in pure solidity
Is so wondrously perfunctory and constant as the life that i'm living
That I dread the day of departure from this hysteric observance of aging youth
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
I want to see where nice words are used on young ladies.
Damned Rome of rude-bred heights from the balcony of the city of dynamite. The villagers sacrifice their seven pounds of worry, and sleep like children in caves of textile reactors. Souls packed in coins and gasoline sin are sold hot at the bazaar on a University campus in America. What the **** do these lambs do in societal gardens? What the hell do pets know watching letters drizzle from the clouds? Parcel dreams scattered on foster children--I want to know where all our words for niceties went when we paid the women to be young.
Devils make knees slick
barbwire anacondas bless our country
write a laugh--write a song--and we will all work it out
We--used as a rapier to categorize the salt in vigorous blood flow--the bells, the bells of centuries worth of midnights. I--the edited cobble in roads that precipitation breaks in stride. Hearing the rambles of lucky men in the next room, but I know young ladies don't kiss and tell to friends they find effeminate, they rupture and explode. And laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And laugh with squeaky voices as true as poetry. Now they mumble till they are paid.
But you--are no ********** just an empty glass with chunks of broken accents skipping deadlines in life, for new deadlines in life. Abstract puzzle pieces resemble therapy that burns the interrupted wick in--you.
But as for--them--they--or others--delirium commercializes whispers aching the back of their tonsils till there is no relief, but coin to pay for more coin that will pay for more coin. Relief is in another language they refuse to learn because they are arrogant.
Cats scowl at one in the morning for attention, nails anchored in carpet, the rest of us are tired by the week of spending. They want more, more, more--till the gates in your eyes open.
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
He has given a luxurious twist to the dying art of weaving and popularised the use of Khadi. Award-winning textile designer Gaurang Shah is more than happy that the Indian fashion industry has welcomed handlooms. “As a textile designer, I would like to say the Indian fashion industry has embraced handlooms with lot of admiration and helped revive our ancient traditions of weaving art, like the jamdani weaves, that we use in creating our fashion pieces,” Shah told IANS.
“It also reinforced its unparalleled beauty around the world,” he added. The designer says that one must acknowledge the passion and intense amount of production hours every weaver at the looms puts to bring out timeless pieces of handlooms.
“The fashion industry did contribute to bring them back into vogue in recent years,” he said. Shah showcased his latest collection of 40 garments titled Muslin at Lakme’s Fashion Week Summer/Resort 2017. His anthology for the gala was inspired by romance of nature.
Giving details about his range, he said: “Our collection incorporates weaves and techniques from West Bengal, Andhra Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh and Rajasthan. The amazing all-in-whites collections integrate gorgeous Mughal motifs and geometric patterns on Khadi, chikankari embroidery and Parsi gara.”
The designer’s collection involved 50 weavers working relentlessly for over six months. Shah, whose handloom creation made its way to the 69th Cannes Film Festival when Deepshikha Deshmukh, producer of Aishwarya Rai Bachchan starrer “Sarbjit”, stepped out in an ensemble featuring Paithani and Kanjeevaram details, says that handlooms are a glorious heritage of India and it is important to preserve and help the artists’ community grow.
“I would like to add that a few years ago this beautiful art was fading away. Thanks to persistent effort and motivation from label like ours, followed by the efforts of our Prime Minister Narendra Modi, that pushed Indian handlooms to higher level of acceptance,” he said.
Shah began his journey in the textile world with just two weavers and today the label works with 700 weavers, and the number is still growing.
“The biggest contribution we as a designer can make is to keep our artisans motivated and also help them gain confidence that it is a highly profitable profession,” said the designer, who has styled the stars like Vidya Balan, Sonam Kapoor and Kirron Kher.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 10:00 PM UTC
Cataracts in this woven cavity
abstracting any possibilities for those what if stories.
chasing pavements of a burning after glow
you seem to love me better when I expect from you the worst.
Textile appeal becomes a reluctant approval
of what your eyes profess and what your lips have sealed.
Salt on the wounds that resist to heal;
barbarous attempts to suppress those skipping heartbeats.
I do not ask much in return for your favor
not much but a clean look in my eye;
purge out what you **** in
and with all the stories, mercy me-
-Mercy me for irrevocably admiring
your intense appeal and your pretentious heart;
which to whom you play roles of Ares
to only discover Aphrodite's mark.
Mercy me softly and do you not destroy me
far beyond subliminal repair;
Do not bewilder me a wanderer
but mostly, do not condemn my heart to clutter.
Mercy me if your words have any meaning
and your eyes are not of all deceiving; mercy me.
Profess what your eyes confess but your lips have sealed
and mercy my poor heart for loving you so.
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 11:55 PM UTC
it cant be used
if you toss it out
you wont have to put that
slimy grin
against something so filthy
tattered
and flat
i have an idea
i know a place with geese
fat ones
we can make it there
in five
strangle them
and pluck them bare
a sack full of down we'll have
then to the gin
my cotton blooms are
still fresh and plump
and then to the textile maker
and the seamstress
a fine cloth bag and cover
for those feathers alone
and fluff
and plop under your head
nah
its not that *****
tattered, flat
or
important
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 5:40 PM UTC
And I’ll cry harder when they return
You fill my heart with hatred
Hate for you
Hate for how I feel
My feelings of hate
Hate themselves too
And the feelings are textile
And the feelings are nauseating
You filled my head with tears
That you got high off of
B*tch
Feb 1, 2025
Feb 1, 2025 at 1:19 AM UTC
Girl, it is summer in just a few months.
Springtime -a newborn that screams.
World will be warmer with wildness in hunt.
Winds wave away winter dreams.
Girl, we could sleep just as normal would be.
Awaken when sun chases moon.
But baby tonight, let's get lost in the night,
Let's get dressed, see the sun's setting soon.
Boy, you will say, *not a scene have I seen
That scares me and still owns my eyes
The way this is cut from the textile of dreams,
You were right; I did not realize.*
You'll see elk in the moonlight; not sensing us there,
Bats between branches in dance.
All playing near to the river down here,
Like some unwitnessed rural romance.
But more than the Wild, there are mysteries still,
Of nature beyond what we know.
Of trolls and of elves and of creatures that will
Only let nighttime them show.
Let's get lost in the woods, find our animal roots,
I will go there with you if you might. By
When Sun lights her flame, we will not be the same.
Let's get lost in the woods tonight.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
Ace fashion designer Rajesh Pratap Singh, who recently collaborated with Kullu-based handloom weavers Bhuttico for a collection, says he is passionate about the handloom industry which is his source of inspiration. Rajesh Pratap and Bhuttico’s fashionable affair was held in Kullu last week and highlighted the farm-to-fashion journey of Merino wool which is part of the Woolmark Company’s Grown In Australia, Made In India initiative.
“I am extremely passionate about the handloom industry as it is the primary source of my inspiration. I love the versatility of Merino wool, especially since it’s so easy to work with and supports various techniques and blends,” Rajesh Pratap said in a statement.
The designer, who is known for using Indian textiles and for working with ikat, presented a menswear and womenswear collection. The special line focused on the handloom journey of Bhuttico and their rich legacy.
The collection was a juxtaposition of clean lines and colourful weaves, and highlighted Rajesh Pratap’s signature minimal aesthetics and intense construction.
The designer feels “the fashion fraternity has constantly been striving to highlight the textile and handloom industry in India”.
“Owing to our country’s rich heritage each state adds another dimension of culture which is also captured beautifully by our weaves,” he said.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-canberra | www.marieaustralia.com/plus-size-formal-dresses
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 2:53 AM UTC
He is an incredible actor.
Softly he rests around my neck,
Before rotting like an albatross,
Weighing down my neck.
He is heavy like air,
As God wishes,
I will suffer his hand.
My over textile obsession,
does not even flinch.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
quarter tunes and squirt bottle bafoons
fooling loons out of cash money bank statements
complacent in textile original files
factual ***** in their feather capped heads
circumcising oatmeal kids. Picture this,
bits of fish in outer, not inner, space.
Dr. men manipulating through card tricks
leading to their pent house, fenced out from fresh air.
Nocturnal ****** pressured into dieting
shedding their skin and coughing up black sticky debris
recently I've found more comfort in scolding hot teas
then in eargasm speed dating or mango flavored cough drops
office cops crop pictures of rundown Puerto Rican shops
sloppy kissing gets me wishing for brass buttoned bell
bottoms
televised ****** questions. Sectioned off sidewalks
body shaped chalk talks for motherless kids to gawk at
steeples crease the clouds spreading rapid growth of ingrown
hairs
I pair myself against bears that tear me limb from limb
I'm figuring on pinning up accomplishments
on the egg white walls of my first apartment.
tarped floors and fluorescent glowing ceiling tiles
riled up mice relentlessly fussing with nests throughout
the night
typing taxidermists chat next door
I'm more ashamed of my basement floor
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
And it weaves, and breathes
you can’t see it
Capitulates and oscillates
you can’t control it
Floats as subdued whispers
you can’t mute it
Gently brushes, supple touches
it’s not textile
Fluctuating ever pulsating
it won’t be stilled
As a reticent billow
it cannot wither
Surging, swelling, never telling
the Delphic poetic
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 12:17 AM UTC
The UGGS endorsement: William William, Thomas, Jason Thomas, Lama Ichalani; Germany, France, Italy, World Music, System Supports. Imagine the linen box of a conventional Christian and go get them,
George and Thomas Volk Thomas is a Muslim now, fit for them,
pregnant Rose Einstein, you think I want you, your family?
The Seven Chicks provide a real-life example of class-based
building constructs that provide tasks and services for stellar users and stars.
Star Star Star Star Star Star Star Star Star Star Star Star Star.
Star Star Star Star
Card Classification Card Classification Card Classification Card Classification Card Classification Card Classification Card.
Classification of bank cards. Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star
Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star
Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star
Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars Star Wars born, hand, Thomas, Jesus, dead,
dead goddess' song in gray Germany in July, art,
Louis, sound, beret, experience,
number, future, monument, hair, white, people,
mind, golden years, human, year Keywords:
peace holy religious reading better you tree times
coil dry Easter Easter egg garden heaven's holiday
line lot north offspring play room text tell time
and crystal serious kind think dogs help care unknown clothes
Australian museum
evil church computer mouth early earth remember
vitamins, in a field of **** China mountains;
******* folk folk folk folk Folk Folk Folk Folk Folk Folk Folk,
eyebrows, eyebrows, eyebrows, eyebrows, eyebrows,
eyebrows, eyebrows, eyebrows, eyebrows, eyebrows,
fancy drinking, eye, coming cat, paradise is empty, make the bed police; group Jack Satan beginning jellyfish; Mary monster Keywords:
dead, dead, dead, ct, dead, finals, paint it black back bats devil
gross flicker stones broken hole [fat old witch died]
glowing century secrets back return seventh
accustomed ****** textile form; the final pit of witches
in cities city **** witch died hole death face fresh bar, said William
planet beloved point flames horns meaty harlot boy,
sure reality expressing pretty stupid guys eating *******
city feeling car Ivan blonde dance list large universe
ladies ***** healthily felt background mother; Eve's dyed leather
speaking to the muses genius beat lover on Star St.
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 5:33 AM UTC
Your face shows thee an illusion of the happiness long sought by tears
of retribution. A elusive traveller of contentment lost. That prominent
illustrator of false satisfaction and materialism. Proprietor of everything
yet possessor of nought.
Envied forever, pursued by the blindness of the ravenous follower. Yet
not for such trivialities as love or companionship. That one jewel that you
have always required, hunted for over a lifetime, yet never owned. Instead
they sprawl at your Midas touch.
You repulse now, exiled by your own commitment to fortune and
eminence. Words of greed and fortune once uttered became truth, your
own prayers answered and for this you now recoil. Ashamed at your own
self-indulgence and gluttony.
You have seen love, felt its breath. Wondered at its divine beauty, yet only
through imagination and dreams can you ever lay your hands upon it. Only
through delusion do you experience the exquisiteness of touch that lover
and love maker shall ever feel.
You have endeavored to grasp its finery, strived to gain such knowledge.
You have precious trophies, love laboured perfect sculptures of the
untouchable efforts you have made. Entire fortunes of love surround you,
mementos, untouchable memorials of your heart.
A lifetime as pursuer yet never as owner. You have everything yet nothing.
Your only certainty lurks around you, silently waiting for its payment, its
shadow almost upon you. It has followed you for millennia with hands only
now making grasp.
As you await your demise, wrapped in cloaks of golden flake and covered
in sheets of ingot, it appears to you. This long shadow calls to you, clad in
robes of blackened textile, awaiting its prize. So you breathe your last breath
as death exacts its toll.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 7:55 PM UTC
It's about fashion, fabric and one of the most fantastic days in a couple's life.
For the fifth year, the MTSU Department of Human Sciences and Oaklands Mansion are partners in presenting "Wedding Dresses through the Decades." The exhibit is slated for Sunday, Jan. 10, through Sunday, March 6, at the mansion, 900 N. Maney Ave. in Murfreesboro.
"We are building a tradition that links generations," said Deborah Belcher, chair of the human sciences department. "The historic details and family stories are exquisite, heartwarming and engaging."
A broad diversity of styles in the exhibit represents the changing tastes and mores of American society.
"The Textiles, Merchandising and Design program at MTSU maintains a 750-plus piece collection of historic garments, and we'll have four of our wedding gowns on display," said Teresa King, a professor in the human sciences department.
Those four gowns are from the years 1860, 1891, 1900 and 1912. Overall, the display includes wedding dresses from 1947 through today, including the 2008 gown of WSMV-TV anchor/reporter Demetria Kalodimos, an original design by Rosie Woodruff of Textile Fabrics in Nashville.
"The TXMD program also offers a course entitled 'History of Fashion,' which introduces students to the study of garments and accessories throughout history," said King. "Students will have the opportunity to visit the Oaklands wedding gown exhibit and see history unfold as told from a bridal history perspective."
In addition, King said students from the "Fashion Illustration" course have visited previous exhibits and sketched original renditions of wedding gowns from various periods.
"Both experiences allow students to apply the knowledge gained from these TXMD courses," King said.
In addition, items from the MTSU collection will be on display in windows in the Learning Resources Center and the Ellington Human Sciences Building on campus beginning in mid-January after students return for the spring 2016 semester.
These garments will include two dresses from the 1970s and a man's suit and a woman's suit from the 1940s.
read more:http://www.marieaustralia.com
www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 12:33 AM UTC
there’s that sinking feeling again—
a disease of stories about growing up
spread from mouth to mouth
like fever blisters being passed around a school,
but you don't believe them.
don’t worry,
later they can cut it out,
surgically replacing inhibition
and the feeling that we’ve already ruined everything
with hope,
a reverie waiting to be end.
spools of yarn roll out from the old textile mill.
we gather them and
store every bit behind our teeth—
leaving us deaf and dumb
with little to do
but watch and wait
for that queasy feeling to leave.
it never does,
and i’m tired.
so i’ll swallow the knots that form in my throat
and let them cluster together
into a confused mass
that grows
malignant.
every moment cataloged and thrown away.
residue collecting in the grooves of a worn limbic system.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 12:27 PM UTC