Writer with no one to care about your stories? Wannabe creative punk with no future? Troubled twenty two year old hipster in search of an outlet? Disenfranchised fortysomething with kids to feed? GMILF who just can't get rid of Swedish metal guitarists hitting on you? If you answered yes to any of these questions, I hate to tell you this, but this may be the place for you. If you answered no, well... You're still going to end up here, so you might as well get comfortable. This is not a poetry/prose only blog. All poems or prose written and posted can be found in the Poetry link just down the page. Enjoy your stay. DFTBA Creative Commons License
All poetry and prose not otherwise labeled are copyrighted by Patrick S. Garcia and are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Read the Printed Word! A Literation

A Literation

Submit your poetry, prose, and art to this fledgling literary magazine run by your favorites of the Tumblr Writing Community.

 border= Buy my book, entitled "i'm fine"!!!!!!!!! or if you prefer, donate!
Make Custom Gifts at CafePress

PRESCRIBE ALL THE DRUGS!

seriously.

the preemptive professional prescription is ludicrous.

trazodone (sleep/antidepressant), clonazepam (anxiety/sleep), propranolol (blood pressure/anxiety). that’s just until I see the head doctor next week, where I’ll be given more drugs, like a larger benzo dose, probably some Prozac too, and whatever else she thinks will make me “normal.”

this is terrible.

incidentally, my next book is going to be called Medicated: See? I Can Do It Too, Ms. Ricci.

"Ten Years Gone" by Led Zeppelin

soul-in-division:

One of my favorites.

doing that two mulch inflagration thing again.

so ask me stuff!

i’m about ten hours away from going to the hospital, and i really don’t like hospitals that aren’t abandoned and infested with skags, wastelanders, or zombies, so help me take my mind off of things.

snarg:

truth or dare more like preform a strange sexual act or tell me who you like

i don’t like preforming strange sex acts. i like to make them from scratch on the spot.

cafeofthedamned:

can i kiss you?

i wish you’d say yes.

Monday, May 20, 2013

smilesareheavythings started following you

that is a fantastic url. well done, sir.

words i mutter to myself.

don’t feel like you
                                have to impress me.

                                                                you showed
                                                                up for today.

                                that’s a feat in
                                                itself.

we are white eyed, looking through the
veil that we once claimed to see beyond,
there is that which just once works further
than what we imagined, and i, well, i
i worked for that end.

that end, which will bring me to you.

but only bring me to you, after that i cannot
say what will occur nor decipher who will
come to whom.

"Now the whole world’s gonna know that you died scratching my balls."
James Bond — Casino Royale
Sunday, May 19, 2013

You people have really shitty favorite poets.

well, this is awesome. 

one good day.

then back to not sleeping and remembering every single thing i’ve ever done wrong while hearing everyone’s negative thoughts.

repeat for seven to ten years.

fuck this.

i’m done.

"Healing Hermann Hesse" by Buddy Wakefield

Hermann wants to eat nicotine. Sometimes.

He asks for a lot.
He paces space to make himself nervous
because some people are just better at surviving than living.
If you want to get heavy he’ll teach you.
He knows it.
He spends his time falling from the weight.
He’s got a lead brain.
It’s a battle magnet.
He carries it around by the guilt straps
don’t laugh-
you didn’t see the size of the blizzard that birthed him.
fits of snow, cotton rocks, whipped white bullet stretches
pinned with chips of teeth to his habbit of crying for help.
he doesn’t land well-
hates landing-
it reminds him of not living up.
listen-
I know there were days you wanted to die.
Hermann will not bow down to gravity.
Falling, he catches up to himself in mid-air just before the ground smacks.
Pullthroats, they call it.
Sharp turner.
Nothing touches the ground here.
Ground is a capacity.
He sees that.
He falls back
He patches parachutes together with a kite knife
It’s big enough to raise him in the up drafts
where he hides himself away in angles of air
outlined by his knack for believing that this life..
it’s gonna work itself out.
Friday, May 17, 2013

Hurray!

Methhead Dictionaries the Zine is finally finished.

Now to list it, find the damn stapler, and you can buy it.

Hurray!

"The Leaving Song, Pt. 2" by AFI

abraxas-annihilation:

currentrotation:

“The Leaving Song, Part 2” by AFI

“Look what I’ve built, it shines so beautifully, now watch as it destroys me…”

best song

 
Fall Backward