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#Post#: 285022--------------------------------------------------
Tyler Knott Gregson
By: Angel/Poyraz Date: February 10, 2013, 12:45 pm
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<img
src=\"
http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lgu6i5UGTB1qz8rpeo1_500.jpg\"<br
/>alt=\"tumblr_lgu6i5UGTB1qz8rpeo1_500.jpg\">
Tyler Knott
Gregson.
hotographer. Poet. Artist. Exploitable Genius. Word
Alchemist. Thought Translator. Boy With Faraway Eyes.
Buddhist.
nd I absolutely love his work.
hape Shift
want
to be the book that sleeps beside your bed, the one you reach
for when you cannot find the backs of your eyes and paint with
your own ink to highlight the sentences that highlighted
something inside you. The bent pages and water damaged spine and
the ring of brown where your coffee mug couldn�t help but sit
when the skin on your fingers couldn�t handle the heat any
longer. Let me be the tan lines you don�t know you have, from
where the sun reached in for a kiss but found fabric or metal or
shade instead. The halo of lighter skin that lives under your
ring or the lines below your toes that trace the days you wore
flip flops instead. Would you love me more if I was your
favorite dress? The one that came out on special occasions and
made your lips do that little pursed smirk during your last
glance for the last time in your last mirror on your way out the
door. The silent nod of approval that all things are in the
right place and tonight, yes tonight, you feel beautiful. The
one that drops jaws and raises eyebrows and forces hearts to
speed up when slowing down for the night was all they had on
their agenda. I had a dream I was rainfall, but the kind that
followed you around and only fell in your hair. The little cloud
that carried me was a magnet to the metal in your blood and
sticks to you through the comic strip course of your afternoon.
The kind that rains under your umbrella as if your umbrella
alone created it. Let me be that rain as you splash and jump and
play inside it, the feeling of it soaking your socks and that
gorgeous realization that wet socks should drive you crazy but
just cannot today, just will not if it�s me that�s the water and
your socks are drinking me like they are dying of thirst. I want
to be the conversation that�s held entirely without words but
instead with the ballet of your lips on my lips. The slight
pauses and the long drawn out sighs. The words that translate
themselves as we pull our mouths apart for a moment just to
memorize the exact smell and taste and tactile imprints that we
were left with. The argument that takes place under sheets
instead of across tables, the peaceful resolution that comes as
I wash your hair in the shower and see the letters of our
disagreement whirlpool themselves around the drain before
vanishing forever. The soap bubbles that pop all around us and
each carry the same sounds, if only we were small enough to
hear, Do they all say how silly we have been? How small the
furniture in the household of that fight? How crooked the
paintings and how sloped the walls of that argument? I wonder
what it would feel like to be anger, or sadness or even regret
inside you? I would love to be any emotion that you, without
knowing why you do or even being able to help the fact that it�s
habit now, keep bottled up deep inside you. I want to know what
it feels like to shake you from your skeleton and rattle those
bones and make every freckle dance with how hard your skin
shakes. Then I want to be the calm that washes over you and the
realization that you are exactly where you are supposed to be
and that no one, not any one, can ever take that away as long as
you believe in it. I want to be the smell of your childhood home
and the reaction your body has when something smells exactly
like it. That instant transportation to somewhere simpler. I
want to be 5:00 am on Christmas morning and the way that every
other person in the family yells at you to make it at least 7,
come on, this year, at least 7. Maybe I could be a dog that
followed you home one day or looked at you with just the right
combination of love and need that made you stop your feet from
shuffling out the shelter door and turn on the spot you stood to
rescue me. Maybe if I was a dog, on the day I died all you would
ever possibly remember were the good moments and good things
that I did and never the mistakes or the times I broke things
that shouldn�t be broken or acted just a little too defensive
and willing to show everyone everywhere that you belonged to me,
and I belonged to you. I want to be the sound, that sound I am
sure every person on every planet makes but no one will ever
make quite like you, when you stretch your body as far as it
will stretch in the morning. That soft mix of moan and squeal as
you bend the sleep from your weary bones and remind them that
they were built for being vertical no matter how much they love
the feeling of lying down. I wonder how it�d feel to be your
favorite song? The one that makes you stand to look for the hand
that can only land on the small of your back and spin you in
slow circles to the words you know by heart. I want to be known
by heart like all the songs that act as soundtrack to all the
memories of all the things you�ve ever done. I want to be your
first day of school when you were just a child, the backpack
that was bigger than you were and the school supplies you
shopped for weeks in advance after checking the list and
checking it again that was taped with too little scotch tape on
too big a window outside the hauntingly empty parking lot that
is a school in summer. I want to be your dreams, be they
nighttime dreams that take you to places that you have never
been or put air between your feet and the earth that you�re
locked to or just simply let you sit around a table that you and
I built out of old wood we found on slow walks through rainy
fields. I want to be the steam that rises from two cups of tea
while we sit at that table and the way the light seems to play
in it when it�s filtered through the dirty windows still moist
with the morning. Or your day dreams, for they are dreams too
even though they always get passed over for the silly fact that
they lack the qualifier of sleep to fuel them. The daydreams
where you stop, mid-bite or mid-sentence or mid-morning and just
stare into nothing to fill it with so much something else. I
want to be that something else and the way your pupils dilate
when you start leaving this place to spend a breath there. Maybe
I could be piano keys so your fingertips could dance across me
and no matter how out of tune I found myself, you could still
find a way to make music. I want to be a short winter filled
with long snows and a long spring filled with longer
thunderstorms and I want to be the goosebumps that crawl up the
back of your spine at the first bolt of lightning, the first
crawling boom of thunder and the way your eyes raise up big and
bright in tandem with a giant inhale when you hear it. I want to
be a handwritten letter that you wrote to me, and I want to be
the letters that you carefully chose to put next to the other
letters and the way you worked hard to make the sentences dance
together. I want to be your handwriting scrawled across the
pages and the bravery of choosing ink and not lead so mistakes
stayed mistakes and could not hide from my reading eyes. I want
to be the word and more than the word the promise of Yours,
before you sign your name. I want to be that flourish of that
pen and the way it connected to your skin and that skin covered
your blood that carried all the words from your heart to your
finger tips through that pen that your fingers held too tightly
and pressed too firmly into the paper it wrote upon. I want to
be the pages under those pages that still carry the indention of
your thought process and I want to be the part of the envelope
you lick to seal up tight all the things you could never say to
me.
#Post#: 285024--------------------------------------------------
Tyler Knott Gregson
By: Angel/Poyraz Date: February 10, 2013, 12:46 pm
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Typewriter Series #317 by Tyler Knott Gregson *Text below in
case it�s hard to read: �Somewhere, someone thinks they love
someone else exactly like I love you. Somewhere, someone shakes
from the ripple of a thousand butterflies inside a single
stomach. Somewhere, someone is packing their bags to see the
world with someone else. Somewhere, someone is reaching through
the most terrifying few feet of space to hold the hand of
someone else. Somewhere, someone is watching someone else�s
chest rise and fall with the breath of slumber. Somewhere,
someone is pouring ink like blood onto pages fighting to say the
truth that has no words. Somewhere, someone is waiting patient
but exhausted to just be with someone else. Somewhere, someone
is opening their eyes to a sunrise in someplace they have never
seen. Somewhere, someone is pulling out the petals, twisting
the, apple stem picking up the heads up penny, rubbing the
rabbits foot, knocking on wood, throwing coins into fountains,
hunting for the only clover with only 4 leaves, skipping over
the cracks, snapping the wishbone, crossing their fingers,
blowing out the candles, sending dandelion seeds into the air,
ushering eyelashes off their thumbs, finding the first star, and
waiting for 11:11 on their clock to spend their wishes on
someone else. Somewhere, someone is saying goodbye, but
somewhere, someone else is saying hello. Somewhere, someone, is
sharing their first or their last kiss with their or no longer
their someone else. Somewhere, someone is wondering if how they
feel is how the other they feels about them and if both theys
could ever become a they together. Somewhere, someone is the
decoder ring to all of the great mysteries of life for someone
else. Somewhere, someone is the treasure map. Somewhere, someone
thinks they love someone else exactly like I love you.
Somewhere, someone is wrong.�
#Post#: 285025--------------------------------------------------
Tyler Knott Gregson
By: Angel/Poyraz Date: February 10, 2013, 12:50 pm
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Can you taste my name in the corners of your mouth before you
say it?
aily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson
#Post#: 285026--------------------------------------------------
Tyler Knott Gregson
By: Angel/Poyraz Date: February 10, 2013, 12:51 pm
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<img
src=\"
http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m7o1bhybdm1qz8rpeo1_500.jpg\"<br
/>alt=\"tumblr_m7o1bhybdm1qz8rpeo1_500.jpg\">
#Post#: 285028--------------------------------------------------
Tyler Knott Gregson
By: Meltem Date: February 10, 2013, 12:52 pm
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<img
src=\"
http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m5x5qvTKfL1qz8rpeo1_1280.jpg\"<br
/>alt=\"tumblr_m5x5qvTKfL1qz8rpeo1_1280.jpg\">
#Post#: 285029--------------------------------------------------
Tyler Knott Gregson
By: Angel/Poyraz Date: February 10, 2013, 12:54 pm
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<img
src=\"
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/>alt=\"tumblr_m2j7weOUIq1qz8rpeo1_500.jpg\">
#Post#: 285290--------------------------------------------------
Tyler Knott Gregson
By: Ay�e Ya?aran/Gulten Date: February 11, 2013, 6:17 am
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<img
src=\"
http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2j7ydVYWb1qz8rpeo1_500.jpg\"<br
/>alt=\"tumblr_m2j7ydVYWb1qz8rpeo1_500.jpg\">
#Post#: 285291--------------------------------------------------
Tyler Knott Gregson
By: Ay�e Ya?aran/Gulten Date: February 11, 2013, 6:19 am
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Ahhhh
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src=\"
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/>alt=\"7356bd2e43bd4d3d0f637ee8c07cd071.jpg\">
#Post#: 285292--------------------------------------------------
Tyler Knott Gregson
By: Ay�e Ya?aran/Gulten Date: February 11, 2013, 6:23 am
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<img
src=\"
http://www.quotablelife.com/wp-content/uploads/wp-checkout/images/promiseme-135…
/>alt=\"promiseme-1358898719.jpg\">
#Post#: 285510--------------------------------------------------
Tyler Knott Gregson
By: Angel/Poyraz Date: February 11, 2013, 12:36 pm
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<img
src=\"
http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m8ciic03uQ1qz8rpeo1_500.jpg\"<br
/>alt=\"tumblr_m8ciic03uQ1qz8rpeo1_500.jpg\">
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