| oh, sylvia. |
[Jun. 17th, 2009|02:18 am] |
"And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt."
"I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am."
"If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I'm neurotic as hell. I'll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days."
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| young punx in love (pirates over ninjas) |
[Jun. 10th, 2009|11:24 am] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | tom frampton | ] |
Last night I walked a thousand miles
and we paced these city streets till sunrise on Saturday morning
and these rooftop heights betray if for a moment
a thousand dreams we never dared to speak
Last night I got a bit suspicious
and found sand beneath the street and histories carried within ourselves
we screamed manifesto stories across the skyline
and for seven hours left all deceit behind
So this is what it feels like beyond comfortable majorities
beyond scripted experiences and managed hearts
So this is what it feels like
We'll take our poetry from tomorrow,
spent decades underwater but we're coming up for air
It'll be okay
We'll trade our guns for armed desires
and the shackles round our hearts for love affairs subversive as pipe bombs
We'll get lost in crowded shows
and in the bedlam find those perfect memories that never die
God help us when we wake tomorrow if the streets have been swept clean
and our echoes just drone into the traffic
Well we've heard this scam we're in has got no future
but tonight it tastes more durable than death
So this is what it feels like beyond comfortable majorities
beyond scripted experiences and managed hearts
So this is what it feels like
We'll take our poetry from tomorrow,
spent decades underwater but we're coming up for air
This is bigger than ourselves |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 14th, 2009|12:16 pm] |
the "anarchist" bookfair was a fucking spectacle.
disgusting. |
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| good day |
[Mar. 30th, 2009|08:32 pm] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | realicide - resisting the viral self | ] |
courtney gave me henna. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 26th, 2009|11:37 pm] |
I want to talk of life
because I know nothing of death
but looking for non-sloppy
black clothes to wear to a funeral
and how it feels to stand looking
down at a lifeless body,
pale and preserved,
but I never did figure out the purpose
because you’re just tossed into
a box in the ground.
I want to talk of life
because no one else does,
because everyone chain smokes,
especially kids younger than I am
and I’m a young kid
and we’re supposed to be
talking about ourselves, now.
I’m supposed to tell you about
my plans for the future,
for my glorious future which you’re
sure will be successful since I
did all my homework in high school
and I graduated with a 4.3 GPA.
But fuck you, civilized society,
and your supposed to be
supposins about supposed to
be doing this and that and
having my head stuck in a book
instead of under the sun in an open
field somewhere with wild flowers
and dirt on my jeans
which is where I’d rather be.
I want to talk of life
because I don’t know what to do about
it, or what to do with the one
that’s been given to me.
I already walked away from one college
because the price tag was a little
too heavy and it seems
as I’ve gotten a few months older
and the economy sank and crumbled
by credit-disaster corporate conundrums
that I’ve gotten a little bit more practical
because I started to talk about
debt and comparing it to the value
of academic opportunity
and I never did that before.
Or maybe I just don’t give a shit
anymore about academic opportunity,
but that’s a lie.
I want to talk of life
because I want to get to know it-
taste its both sweet and bitter pieces
and get chewed up in salt water
whiskey solutions and spat out
onto pavement with a black eye
and be dangled by
degraded fishing line fibers
over waters swimming
with remnants of a future
once woven for me.
I want to talk of life
in diner booths,
in alleyways littered
with time clock shards,
in ashtrays and bottom bottles,
in open fields with wild flowers,
in the hearts which beat for it,
fight for it,
in sopping coffee filters,
in collective bookstores,
in the mouths of poets whose
tongues drip with grim and grime
and solemn rhyme,
in the explosions of
love splattered on brick walls
and beds,
in the streets to be reclaimed
with-
I want to talk of life
because I know only 18
little pieces of it.
I want to talk of life
because I know too much
of nausea and it makes
me more nauseous to talk
of the rot gutted emotions
in cerebrum and
the things I’m conscious
of are a bitch to talk about.
I want to talk of life
because death is.
I want to talk of life
because someday
someone else will be searching
for non-sloppy black clothes
to wear to my funeral
and I want them to be talking
of my life and their life and life.
I want to talk of life
because nobody else does
because one person talks
of misfortune and ugly fates
and chain smokes and
then everybody talks
like ghosts.
I want to talk of life,
of the life we’re wasting.
I want to wake up. |
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| Writer's Block: Bird by Bird |
[Jan. 5th, 2009|01:08 pm] |
yes, when it's done to serve tastebuds:
I understand domestication, and lots of birds are incapable of independence and being free in the "wild." I'm alright with birds as companion animals, as long as they're cared for and given adequate space and allowed to stretch out their wings sometimes. The above, however, is awful and cruel and in today's America, there's no excuse for it- not that there's ever an excuse for inhumane actions. |
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| (no subject) |
[Oct. 28th, 2008|12:12 am] |
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i'm going to be a chef. |
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| so, here goes |
[Aug. 28th, 2008|03:22 pm] |
I'm still putting off the article for Damaged Onions. He said September 15th, and although I'm not in school anymore, the procrastinator in me is still very much alive and I will forever put things off to the last minute. I should at least try to exactify the angle I'm going to take, y'know.
I'm waiting on the arrival of some moneys from Ms. Rachel, so that I can hit up the fabric store and make her custom messenger bag. I'd really like to sew something, but as of right now, I can't even afford the materials. I really need a job, any suggestions and/or connections would be greatly appreciated!
I'm STILL trying to empty my life of sparkplugs. I have to clean my room. I'm thinking of starting a new zine. I want to write articles for the franklin house when they start their paper, to be entitled Wrist Rocket. (hah, i know, right? )
Devin and I are on the same page. It's the one that says, "WE NEED TO START SOMETHING." So, he and I will be working together soon. You'd never know that we used to date each other with how awesome our friendship is. NOW is the time to act! It has always been NOW, and will always be NOW.
I'm very excited for the return of the boys from the DNC, and the onslaught of Franklin House activity! FREE UNIVERSITY starting in a few weeks, I hope. Art class, poetry class, cooking class, history/politics. It'll be brilliant.
I'm contemplating re-entering the realm of visual artistry. Maybe, just maybe, if I can find the right medium..
I've yet to rummage through my grandma's house and see if she still has her juicer, so I can go on a juice fast. I just don't think I'd last long on just water, not yet, anyhow. Gotta ease my way into it.. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 13th, 2008|12:45 am] |
i just bought this necklace from Paraphernalia design. it's called the labyrinth, but really, it's the inner ear. i liked it because it reminds me of how much i listen, as part of human communication and growing as a person, but also as part of my observations of life. yes, i quite like it. |
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| i am emo. |
[Jul. 27th, 2008|03:02 am] |
I watched a fraction of myself
evaporate: as sweaty molecules,
they lingered in humid breath
before scattering
in front of my eyes.
I saw your hand wave,
like it was brushing away
an insect,
a predatory parasite.
I never meant to take away
blood, as it leaked from my
walls and I writhed
with my eyes open.
I can’t close my eyes anymore;
I see you when I do,
when you’re stepping away
into darkness.
I won’t walk with you in
the night; I won’t stare
into the static with you
anymore. |
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| the life list |
[Jul. 21st, 2008|02:30 am] |
there is an lj community centered on people's "life lists," or lists of things they'd like to accomplish before they become worm food. these lists are commonly lengthy, and if not, they're an add-on list to an original, or something similar.
this is my "life list:"
never stop creating. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 13th, 2008|11:43 pm] |
chickpeas (drain, mash. i do not recommend using a fork)
veganaise
mustard
green onions
pepper
salt
garlic
curry powder
stir to combine,
spread on toast with tomato.
yes.
i could live on this,
and this alone. |
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| backtalk examination |
[Jun. 17th, 2008|07:17 pm] |
in response to previous post:
sure, i'm not a happy person, but mostly it's because i won't let myself be. if you get happy about life, you grow content enough to settle. i advocate to live life in a constant state of discontent, so that you are eternally changing (and creating!) for the better. settling, in my mind, is equivalent with quitting, giving up. i don't give up.
i can't say whether or not i'm good with relationships, that is, with romantic relationships. my experience is very limited in that department (and i am working on changing that, eh). however, with other types of relationships, i wouldn't say that i'm a total disaster, but perhaps that isn't for me to decide (feel free to weigh in on this, friends).
i am not a drunk! yet, that is. we'll just have to wait and see, because i have the gene. i am a replica of my father, but female, and my mind works differently.
practice makes (almost-kind of-'cause-i-don't-actually-believe-in) perfect. i've always stood by this idea, that if you are persistent and diligent, you will hone your craft, whatever it may be. it's evident in the second, third, even fourth result of whatever one may be involved with.
i, also, don't agree that good writing has to get harder and harder. i think some writers make it harder, because they force themselves into it, and burn themselves out, and other such happenings. it hasn't gotten any harder for me, i actually think it's gotten a bit easier because my awareness has sharpened, and i notice things and analyze/examine things differently than i did when i first started writing--and they have said that i have improved, drastically, in a short period of time, and i like to agree (on some days).
i will never be silent. (see response section #1) |
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