September 2011
81 posts
3 tags
I lean back into the seat of your car, warm and early-morning, mouth dry. You’re buying doughnuts, I’m waiting, listening to the low heartbeat bass of a band that has another song about cough syrup. The sun angles itself nicely in the morning. I’d forgotten.
I need a shower, I think, cracking my gum. I need to cry. They’re two separate interconnected thoughts.
...
1 tag
If John Lennon was alive…
3 tags
“[It’s all about changing what’s handed to you,
about poking around a little,...”
– Ann M. Martin, A Corner of the Universe
There was no reason why today shouldn’t have been a good day, it just wasn’t.
1 tag
after
Loss is startling. Everything sways a little.
Makes you drowsy in a metaphysical sense. Aimless. Nothing tastes good. The mornings coat your stomach oddly, the worst. You want cold you want heat, you can’t find either. You stare at floors, at your feet. You stopped wearing shoes. People let you do that for a couple weeks after. They pity you. Wear a sweatshirt from the Grand Canyon and...
1 tag
1 tag
“I am trying to evolve, I’m just trying to evolve…
So I walk like...”
– Ani Difranco, Evolve
3 tags
a sad story
Two people walk past each other.
The end.
1 tag
mutated thought
I think about how our world is chained by the realms of possibility, and how sad it is to know that things cannot happen if they are impossible, and that so often we don’t know what these things are, the things that are staunchly and totally impossibly, rather than simply ludicrously improbable. Science is limited, and so are we, because were never too much to begin with—we’ll...
2 tags
tedium, as imagined by a teenager who knows nearly...
the mornings come fast and aching. i stand in the shower, stumbling too tall girl, squatting beneath the shower head, dropping the shampoo bottle, clattering. i watch the rivulets of warm water curve with my chest, dripping on the skin too thick around my ribs. my teeth taste grimy, even though i brushed them mere minutes ago. my leg hair is pretty.
i dress in timeliness and mediocrity. i can’t...
4 tags
1 tag
My insides are flooded and my hair is like feathers and I’m just lying in bed trying to think about how I could be, you know, otherwise
Music makes me thirsty for mouths, conversations
2 tags
Sir, ma’am, can you tell me which way is home?
The street signs are wrong. The road maps are wrong. My feet are wrong. I just want to get home. I think I’m lost. I feel small.
I know…I’m too old to cry.
But I was looking through old shoeboxes, photos and cards, an excavation, if you will—I was digging through bones.
And I realized that everything was perfect, unreal,...
“Alice: How long is forever?
White Rabbit: Sometimes, just one second.”
– Lewis Carrol
2 tags
2 tags
-What is it?
Nothing, I’m just.
-Just what?
Here.
-Is that a bad thing?
Yes…and no. The people that make me happy always seem to make me sad.
-Then how do they make you happy?
Well, they’re supposed to. Or maybe they used to. But now they’re gone and I’m still here and that’s why I want to leave here. Because everyone else already did on some pretty...
2 tags
“I’m just sick of ego, ego, ego. My own and everybody else’s. I’m sick of...”
– J.D. Salinger
4 tags
Mad World (cover), Michael Andrews
3 tags
I remember, how it felt:
The solitary solidarity of it all; the depending. You could see my skeleton, couldn’t you?
I drank coffee and smoked—things—so you would look my way, and the beginning was so natural I was almost surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. When we were together, we drank some horrible Kool-aid mixtures and I wrote you letters and you told me I was almost...
I feel so incredibly sad for artists and musicians, in the sense that you get famous for who you are, not what you produce. People are always wanting the stories, rather than taking things at face value.
“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical...”
– Allen Ginsberg, excerpt from Howl
5 tags
2 tags
Before I got here, I thought for a long time that the way out of the labyrinth was to pretend that it did not exist, to build a small, self-sufficient world in a back corner of the endless maze and to pretend that I was not lost, but home. But that only led to a lonely life accompanied only be the last words of the already-dead, so I came here looking for a Great Perhaps, for real friends and a...
1 tag
I’ve spent my weekend watching science fiction, reading Infinite Jest, and eating Oreos. I also composed a song today elegantly entitled “Fuck” while I was taking a pie out of the oven and sang it for so long that my dog began to think his name was exceedingly obscene. I love being alone for nearly days at a time, it helps me stay sane. I can’t wait until I actually live...
1 tag
Just for once, I'd like to
You’re staring intently at slight stains and discoloring on your pillow, leftover mascara. You never wash off your makeup before bed, you like waking up with it all smudged around your bleary eyes. Makes you feel faintly glamorous in a morning after way. She’s lying next to you, clad in a tank top and boxers, telling you about boys and sex and love and other things. You make little understanding...
“But there’s this way he drums his fingers on the table. Not even like really...”
– David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest
9 tags
2 tags
concerning stagnancy
i have all these destructive young impulses
and too few places to direct them
and it’s a fucking shame
i can see my own future spread out in front of me
but it’s so easy to get lost when you know the way
holytrend asked: I love your writing. (:
2 tags
i miss music. playing it,
with my fingers calloused and hard,
the way—
and before you say anything, if you don’t get it,
yes, it is notes on a page,
patterns, see that, touch that,
maybe for longer, or shorter;
yet it’s sad when people see music like that,
methodical, scientific. something that doesn’t depend on a naturalness
that exudes like, like…
for...
2 tags
2 tags
45 Mercy Street
by Anne Sexton
In my dream, drilling into the marrow of my entire bone, my real dream, I’m walking up and down Beacon Hill searching for a street sign - namely MERCY STREET. Not there. I try the Back Bay. Not there. Not there. And yet I know the number. 45 Mercy Street. I know the stained-glass window of the foyer, the three flights of the house with its parquet floors. I...
1 tag
I like milliseconds. I like the moments, touches, glances they contain. I like how they can confirm someone’s there, even if I’m not, really.
1 tag
A crazy boy called me up and we ate breakfast on a bench in the park while talking about bell hooks and political philosophy and then we got really stoned and went to a guitar shop where they played “Jesus of Suburbia” and I told him how I always wanted to play guitar because I have this singer-songwriter fantasy that I never quite grew out of and then we sat at a table outside a...
1 tag
1 tag
My nose is running and my head aches and I just want to sleep for a thousand years
3 tags
1 tag
You’re ruining me. I’m always trembling, now. Hands reaching, then falling flat at my sides again. I’m halfway there, or not even. I’m remembering that night, when I laid the pills across my bureau, one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one. I spent hours there, staring at them, thinking of the brief strangled feeling one gets...
“He lay listening to the water drip in the woods. Bedrock, this. The cold and the...”
– Cormac McCarthy, The Road
2 tags
Matty: You're beautiful.
Franky: No, no I'm not. I'm a no good shit magnet. I'm--I'm nothing.
Matty: So why do I see a glorious fucking...head-fuck thing?
3 tags
“Nothing’s changed. You’ll go home. You’ll be bored. You’ll be ignored. No one...”
– Neil Gaiman, Coraline
1 tag
You’re like one of those cartoons/
with hearts for eyes/
cranking the old telephone in your hand/
fervently, in a suit jacket.
I wish I could be single-minded in love/
like you.
1 tag
It’s waking up, sweaty and nightmarish, knowing somewhere along the way your life became a fragment, full of roads that lead to nowhere at all but leave plenty of mud splattered on your lower calves. You know that your nightmare is real in this world too, but now that you’re awake you can’t define it, but the terror is still here and your heart is still halfway out of your mouth....
The Best Entrant in American Apparel's Plus-Size... →
Nancy Upton read about American Apparel’s search for plus-size, “booty-ful” models. She, like many of us, found the contest “offensive,” but decided to enter. Nancy had her friend, Shannon Skloss, take pictures of her — bathing in ranch dressing, pouring chocolate sauce directly into her mouth, gorging on chicken. Bring on the awesome.
2 tags
