|Main blog:||Stephen Mather|
|Education:||School of life|
|Religion:||Spiritual but not religious|
|Race/lineage:||White / Caucasian|
|Location:||United States, California|
|Astrological Sign:||Scorpio (Oct 24 - Nov 21)|
|Smoking:||No. But not bothered by it|
|Biography/About:||I think therefore I am(a bit confused)|
|Interests:||you, und so weiter.|
wahrheit ist feuer und wahrheit reden heisst leuchten und brennen|
-sun-soaked blue, tomatoes growing beneath
-the chrysanthemums made me forget what I had smellt...rain fell gently on my dreams of her,
"Where's your umbrella?" she said
-trees are stick bugs, crawling in the grass.
-Alone in bed, with the girl, he mistook the ceiling for the cosmos, almost asleep.
"Am I crushing you?" she asked
-At 2am I saw you walking, with the legs of a broken bird-your smile relentless. I think you had a lot on your mind.
-As the fly frew from my arm, I awoke, hairs standing on end and my eyes blinded by the sun.
empty grass field, obscured by a black...
sometimes the stars make me feel like a flower
all this changing space
and the sun sets atop a single ocean wave.
But are bottles sleeping swayed
like glass, reflecting shooting stars
or burns in glances, where under the rising moon
eyes die and again.
under a twisting sphere of light, blue to be the sky
garden winds drop flowers at your walking feet-
so your eyes soo green the vining air of
this floating white room.
We kiss and walls turn red in our eyes closed
between blinking and lights dream the moon
winter in summer's wake
as rain drops...
When was it that you learned to fear your senses? On rooftops after perfect nights the sun, I believe, blinds flowers yellow and that this is how we came to lie here in the grassy fields of yesterday's scent. You forgot what last year smelled of? Now it stares you in the eye to leave forever and is almost afraid you will let it go. Almost afraid to realize the precise orange of a falling flower, but you...you my love captured the black solidity of a tree so vividly in every flower; caught the skies crying in judgement and they remain your prisoners. They wait in the movement of your...
Our hearts don't beat as burning paper flowers, despite the fragility of the night folding into warm sea, we move so slowly as the pounding of ocean waves upon my chest. Colors and our love fold all around us nights of oragami as if they were rooms or lives fading from memory, as if they were flowers- Moist flowers that don't smell as a hundred aching petals of yesterday but as all the dew of the morning moon. Even in sunlight all the streets of Japan rain with the scent of night.-Flowers so white that they're red in the night sky and I wish it was all snow, because nothing is more sea than...