Tim Waits
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ironweed.bsky.social
Tim Waits
@ironweed.bsky.social
3.4K followers 980 following 20K posts
Not again with this shit / bring on your spaniards by the score / so many mistakes
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ironweed.bsky.social
Making the best of the Guinness shortage at my local, don't mind at all actually.
A can of Murphy's stout
November 29, 2025 at 9:37 PM
ironweed.bsky.social
Galactus declares the fate of Ronnie James Dio
November 28, 2025 at 7:44 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
@geschwartz58.bsky.social
Turbulence We are told ... by pundits, prophets, and the wind rattling the loose shutters of our age ... that we inhabit a season of insecurity, a turbulence that gnaws from every direction. The world's axis trembles; yet nothing seems to move. It is as though history has entered a stalled orbit, circling a dying star whose heat can no longer warm but still refuses to extinguish. Every political crisis is finally a crisis of the soul, that domination persists not only through institutions but through imaginations too disheartened to envision otherwise. Attend-attend to the slight, stubborn gleam that insists on being seen even in the most blighted noon. Language itself strains under the burden of naming what convulses us, and that any attempt to speak of liberation must wrestle in earnest with the weight of its own history. This is the braiding of a stern tenderness: a recognition that our political vocabulary has grown fatigued, that words such as communism, freedom, revolution, solidarity now flicker like lanterns nearly out of oil. Yet these words-cracked though they are-remain the very tools with which we scrape an aperture into the future. The interregnum, this swollen pause between orders, demands we choose carefully which relics to bury and which to burnish. Ecology buckles; capital strains at its frayed seams; leadership worldwide clings to its archaic armor, wielding authority like a dull blade. And yet, amid this baleful concatenation, resistance persists like a pulse under a bruise. Not vanquished-merely obscured. The new struggles to be born, yes, but birth has always begun in darkness, in the unlit chamber where breath first gathers its courage. If this is a time of transition, a hinge creaking under cosmic and civic pressures alike, then perhaps our charge is not to predict the door's direction, but to press our shoulders against it with care, dignity, and unembarrassed hope. To sift through the dying forms of power and salvage what still carries light…
November 27, 2025 at 2:48 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
Give me what i want AMI you cowards
Screenshot of the AMI jukebox app showing no results for Cop Killer by Ice T
November 27, 2025 at 1:51 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
Mine are menthols.
A Newport cigarette ad that says "Alive with pleasure!"
November 27, 2025 at 1:19 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
When I have no food, the dog acts like he's never heard the word sit before and won't do Jack shit. If I have food in my hand, all of a sudden he speaks seven languages and can do parkour and write code.
Dog laughing at me
November 26, 2025 at 9:25 PM
ironweed.bsky.social
Thank you J, for reminding me to post some poetry tonight

@geschwartz58.bsky.social
@floregonian.com
Of Art And Science The split of making's modes is only surface cleft, For thought's own furnace fuses measure with the dream. In lab-light murmurs, forms surge past their numbered grids; In studio shadow, proofs awaken, trembling, fierce. No engine-mind proceeds by gear or law alone- A hidden torque of wonder grinds the inner wheel, Pressing wild pigments into latticework of cause, Letting rough particles bruise meaning into flame. Even the core of rigor throbs with shapeless urge, A calm of chaos muscling order into breath. Thus every stroke is test, each test a molten stroke- One crucible where dust and vision cross their wires. Through dense entanglements the world rethinks itself, A single forging where the seen and felt cohere.
November 26, 2025 at 5:31 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
A disturbing cartoon of a dog and a person, just all wrong
November 26, 2025 at 3:33 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
Speaking, tangentially, of Misunderstood And Potentially Unappreciated Booze, how many people in the United States Of America does everyone think have passed on these cans because they think it is some orange flavored stuff? I personally hope for a clearance sale soon as they fail to sell around me.
A can of Oranjeboom lager, a beer I have not seen in ages but is now apparently available in the greater New York Metropolitan area
November 26, 2025 at 3:19 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
lol lemme get back to you
an account that just followed me promising to grow my profile on BlueSky as if that were not the most cursed fate to ever befall mankind
November 26, 2025 at 12:56 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
In his prime
Prince Philip looking like a cadaver in the car
November 25, 2025 at 9:35 PM
ironweed.bsky.social
when I was in high school I shopped at the army surplus store and they had this awesome shirt / jacket (shacket?) in dove grey with the west german flag on the sleeve and I wore the fuck out of that thing and still miss it.
A grey german army shirt (postwar ya weirdos)
November 24, 2025 at 3:20 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
I hate watches but my wife gave me this one and it is awesome and not even mall fancy. But duly noted.
A picture of my skinny wrist and watch
November 23, 2025 at 10:07 PM
ironweed.bsky.social
Celtic won
Obi wan Kenobi says jammy fenian bastards
November 23, 2025 at 12:31 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
My kid did pick up a pretty good poster though.
LCD Soundsystem concert poster from the Knockdown Center in Queens New York
November 22, 2025 at 4:13 PM
ironweed.bsky.social
This reminds me to highly recommend to all of you that you go to the necropolis in Glasgow and get freaked the fuck out because if this is not World Vampire HQ then I do not know what it could possibly look like.
The Glasgow Necropolis
November 20, 2025 at 5:04 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
distribution of 100 turkeys to families of the kids he works with. We talked about education, mentorship, community building, how pernil is better than turkey (sorry but true) and Malcom's assassination, just across the street. He gave me his card:

3/?
Card for Uptown's Team Dreamers Card that says Thank You For Being A Friend
November 20, 2025 at 4:52 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers
November 19, 2025 at 4:29 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
@geschwartz58.bsky.social
The Hidden Light of Instruction All true poetry teaches, but as light through leaves-no command, no chalk, no raised hand. The lesson arrives sideways, in glimmers, as if the world itself were whispering what it has known from the first dawn: that to live is to learn, though we rarely recognize the tutor. The poet, like a lens turned to the sun, does not shout revelation but lets it burn quietly through pattern, cadence, pause. The reader feels the warmth, not the flame. In such subtle instruction, we are returned to ourselves. The poem is not a sermon but a mirror-its surface trembling with the movements of our own soul. What we discover there is often what we most resist: the hidden shape of longing, the wound we call wonder, the divine trace in the dust. This is how the art of poetry becomes sacramental-a place where form and spirit touch without fusing, where mystery consents to be glimpsed but not grasped. We hear this as an architecture of air; as the hush between thought and knowing; as the gravity of grace falling through syllable. And we can see it in it evolution's secret rhythm-the universe awakening to consciousness through its own songs. Instruction, then, is not what the poem tells us, but what it draws from us: the trembling recognition that we are both student and subject, lesson and learner, shaped by the same divine ambiguity that makes art necessary. To be taught invisibly is to be taught truly. The poet hands us no doctrine-only light refracted, leaving us to walk its prisms into the dark, where meaning waits, alive and unfinished.
November 16, 2025 at 7:13 PM
ironweed.bsky.social
Back in Brooklyn today, undefeated
Graffiti says Nuke York Fuck Ice
November 15, 2025 at 4:37 PM
ironweed.bsky.social
Terrence Howard
November 15, 2025 at 2:16 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
@geschwartz58.bsky.social
Drinking Alone by Moonlight by Li Bai I pour wine from the jug and drink alone among the flowers - no friend, no company till, flagon raised, I call the bright moon down and bid my shadow welcome. Now we're three. Drinking, of course, is not a lunar skill. Shadows are only good at copying. No matter: blessed with pals like these, I feel a joy that should at least last through the spring. I sing; the moon sends shimmers from the ether. I dance; my shadow jumps around like crazy. A good while we keep having fun together but come undone when everything turns hazy. Best friends each launched beyond all worldly cares, we'll reunite someday among the stars.
November 14, 2025 at 1:47 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
Pretty birdy
A pin badge with the legend The Spirit of Freedom showing a bird
November 14, 2025 at 1:43 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
@geschwartz58.bsky.social
One of the first things to learn if you want to be a contemplative is how to mind your own business. Nothing is more suspicious, in a man who seems holy, than an impatient desire to reform other men. A serious obstacle to recollection is the mania for directing those you have not been appointed to direct, reforming those you have not been asked to reform, correcting those over whom you have no jurisdiction. How can you do these things and keep your mind at rest? Renounce this futile concern with other men's affairs! Pay as little attention as you can to the faults of other people and none at all to their natural defects and eccentricities. --- Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
November 14, 2025 at 12:12 AM
ironweed.bsky.social
Openly weeping was it, aye?
November 12, 2025 at 11:53 PM