https://junefaramore.bandcamp.com
https://junefaramore.tumblr.com
On Spotify:
Golden Gate
The empty embers envelop me like ephemeral cotton candy
This is the mastery we seek, the solutions of kings and queens
extending into modern times
Sublime, a rhyme and no one else, can make so fast
a planetary shelf
And I am drowned like Constantine
bruised and maimed I cannot see
The rain for wont of someone else
I can no longer see myself
This golden gate a fate I did not
Realize would suffice to sanctify
My life, but what is done discounts
The dream, this is my alabaster scene
Come clean, the watchers of the deep
And know that things stand incomplete
Replete, the news and sun set bows
Who rent to own, we’re always shown
A way to sabotage ourselves and what
mind is left to meld, what does it mean
to be held, bells now left to savage
dust, my constitution is not
Robust, it’s always been the American way
to mark the weak and rue the day
When survival did not rout us out
We scream, we shout. We scream,
we shout.
Just a little perspective.
Some good things to remember, especially with a bit of stress going on now. Thanks Kirk, nice to still have a vague attachment to an old casual friend.
Here we are.
A crossroads in life.
How so Kirk? How is today any different or more important than any other day?
It isn’t. But things are changing. I can actually feel it.
Likeeeeeee?
Well, I think the biggest thing to change lately is my perspective on life and what is important (for me).
Let’s recap quickly. In June I stopped operating a major food & beverage company. I spent July in Africa (South Africa and Tanzania to be specific) as part of the charity I’m involved with there. I then spent August in Singapore, with much of that time spent rebuilding my approach to my overall lifestyle, think food choices, implemented daily reading/writing goals, and increased the frequency of my fitness routine. Most important in my mind though is that I donated or sold almost every single one of my worldly possessions. In the end I kept four bags…
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Standing Up and Speaking Truth
“To say that all RH did was to utter words is a complete denial of what we are as writers. Words have power, and words wielded in hatred and violence are just has harmful as violence dealt out with fists.”
I believe that no one has any right to dictate to me when I should speak, where I should speak or how I should speak on any given subject. I also believe that questioning a person on the choices they make is breach of personhood. In matters pertaining to decisions about one’s profession, that questioning is a clear breach of professionalism. I also want to reiterate that if the work under discussion is a work that I have not read in its completed form, it is not right for me to criticize the work or condemn it.
I write the above because this was at the heart of the conflict that took place between Alex Dally MacFarlane and myself on the 19th of July and it was also this conflict that led to Requires Hate breaking all ties with me.
Alex has spoken in public of a conflict that took…
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I Feel No Need
To mark with days
The power of words
Or the things I say
But if a pretentious copy cat
Can spew more words
There can be a cant
Here, of miseries untold
Sorrows shining, memory
Cold. Child, you are no match
For trees, or broken hearts,
Or well turned leaves
Of books enshrined in memory.
We shared the sand.
He bled for me.
365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Sixty-Five
lid is opening.
not too late, air a known.
quantity, subsist.
365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Sixty-Four
rusted shut.
kick and kick but resistance is futile.
worked all muscles.
but atrophy set in.
there were too many days.
between standing and laying.
then trying to stand again.
remember the exercises.
salvation lies in.
finding the flexibility.
to reach one thing at a time.
while holding off the pain.
fingers, wrists, arms.
all tingles, no way of knowing.
if they are doing what I say.
we accounted for this.
water is wet, after all.
rust will flake, salt dissolve.
with the right tools.
365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Sixty-Three
he called me a cunt.
this is my family.
no presents or Christmas cheer here.
just loneliness and heartache.
nobody’s fault but mine.
some asshole butchered Stairway last night.
and I don’t work at a guitar store.
so many things I should do.
but proper functioning is not on my radar.
I’ve broken the last good dream.
there was for me.
citizens of the womb
the light daughter
in the corridor
between the asphalt and the skyBlogroll
Mr. Crap and the 100 Word Stories Podcast
work your way out 