Talk is Cheap


A collection of nonsense, thoughts, and ramblings that keep me up all night.

Creative Commons License
All work by supersatellite is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 Canada License.


In a single day
I think of you
for one thousand
two hundred
and twenty-eight minutes,
seven seconds

That’s seventy-three
seven hundred
and twenty-two seconds

And you still
only give me

I conclude,
how useless
numbers really are

Title: Bones Artist: Ben Howard 80 plays


It was cold and dark, the night I first met you. Snow fell like shaved peppermint and I remember the way the wind howled against the bitter frost that burned upon my trembling lips. I was quiet and chilled. Alone. I begged for a cup of coffee in the midst of humble prayer — anything to put me at ease in that God forsaken cemetery. Anything to forget the private secrets that the tombstones and crackling trees confided in me. They whispered to me something hollow. I was truly alone. Those days the earth was tired and I knew the mystery of love had peeled itself away from me at birth. How I wished on single knee, my hand scraping the earth, for someone — anything to relieve me from the curse. Countless times I watched the lamplight burn, dark coals of envy against my skin. My eyes were not like yours. Ha, they were filled with so much sin. It was in that same darkness that I heard it — I heard you, the small melodic cry, and for the first time my body shook, but not from the chill of the pale moon. For when I looked down, there you were. Two blue eyes, like sapphires, blinked up at me from the darkness, a dusty coat of ice flaking off as I lifted you into the clasp of my hands. Such a little lady you were. My teeth chattered, body choked as your unconditional love radiated within me. I bubbled in heat, my chest wearing a blanket of champagne fur. That was the night I first met you, lady. You touched me and I think your eyes closed for the first time in weeks. Do you remember? You rode the whole way home beneath my coat, purring like a little motor machine.

And I swear to you, beautiful friend, I’ve been melting ever since.

Anonymous asked: (Try to?) Write about the realest love there is. Or about why you write.

It will be very hard but I promise you I will try. I’ll just need a bit of time.

i’m falling
down holes
i dug myself
and i’m melting
into the concrete
forming puddles
of colors
that mix
to make metallics

i’m rocketing up
through ceilings
of crystal
and i’m floating
through fog
that billows
like bridal trains
drifting down
in the chapel
of my mind

i am dreaming
of her
and of secrets
finally let loose
to drift skyward
like baby birds
on their first
real flight

i am letting go
of the fear
that i’ve held
for years
i am letting go
of caring
what people say
or being afraid
of who will hear
and what they’ll say
when they put it together
like a puzzle
with the pieces
strewn through space
a constellation
of observations
and snide remarks

and i am
inhaling hope
that you’ll
talk to me again
and exhaling
from the chance
that you won’t

and i am finding
my truth
in the fact
that i want
whatever makes
your heart
i want
whatever makes you happy
whether it’s me
or everything but

and i
will still
chase the feeling
of falling

tripping (via palabrasquecantan)
Title: Panic Switch Artist: Silversun Pickups 54 plays



Video of the Police shooting that killed 

Kajieme Powell  in St. Louis 08/19/2014

(I hate posting things like this but it needs to be seen!!)



There will come a time
in life
where someone
will ask me
if I know you
could be a year from now
maybe two
and I’ll reside,
in the thought
of better memories —
I’ll warmly say,
yes, I used to

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