February 2012
79 posts
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Anonymous asked: How much of your writing would you say is based on personal experiences? A lot of it seems quietly sad (not that that is a bad thing). I just hope you are not too quietly sad.
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Anonymous asked: Do you follow back the people who first start following you?
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2-28
the more I prolong five minutes, the more it feels like forever’s lost
in just fifteen I was wrecked limp-eyed wandering trying to un-shake my hands
it took half an hour just to calm down after I remembered your face
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“Life is as beautiful as we allow it to be.”
– a rose
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on spring
Bit early to be knocking this one out of the water, isn’t it?
Regardless, it’ll be nice to have temperate weather when I can actually see things live instead of just dead-looking trees everywhere.
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rust:
It was much easier to spell out painted numbers on blank tiles than it was to name all of the creases in your palms. They branched out as book spines over marred skin. You have this wire in your stride,
but still you keep a contort in your laugh that brings out the cords in your neck. The last time I knew you, each muscle drew taut with every touch I offered. Soon we were nothing but a mess at...
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on well-restedness
Rarely is true sleepiness ever remedied by sleep.
Case in point: I talk about being tired very much.
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2-27
some of us are made to soil a page with the coils and flips of curt whining emotion; some of us are made to make sweet
minstrels of the slowest driest of readers; some of us are made to give reality in fiction; some of us are made just to fill empty spaces.
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for sara
that month when I was radio-brained static-hearted you appeared in such a gracious manner;
you weathered all the storms I sent blacktongued & mishap’d like we were immortal
through the next year I wiped sweat from us & you un- wound my lights, tonight we spoke:
you cooed like a summer storm in the wings of blue nothing and I was soft as rose petals
then, your veins all sewed...
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“You’ve got your head too low to the ground. Stop being such an ostrich and...”
– a deer friend
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2(1/4).
There were altogether too many secrets I couldn’t keep.
Three weeks after she left, I still found myself whispering them into other people’s ears. The secrets themselves weren’t even significant, but it was the last saving grace I kept. I think that’s what drove people off the most- not the fact that she had left, but that I was still wrapped around her.
“She snores...
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Anonymous asked: if you dont mind me asking... but how old are you?
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“Every century produces a diarist who laments, ‘This is the worst catastrophe...”
– Teresa Carpenter
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a Hug from a slithering, wide-eyed Seer
observee:
have you ever tried to sleep on the opposite side of the bed late at night? upside down, right where your feet should’ve been? but doesn’t it feel odd, with your head resting where your feet should be?
and once you said, “Did you know: as soon as I predict rain, it does not happen; however, as soon as someone else predicts rain, it happens vehemently.” and i could only imagine you as...
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“I’m convinced that no one can amount to a damn in the arts if he becomes...”
– Kurt Vonnegut
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flood-lit:
Whoever had been there before you forgot to turn the pool lights all the way off.
We spent pocket-change on a cheap climb up the chain-link fence- there was something I had to show you, I’d said. I watched as you dove in with rippling breath,
cool over my droplet-smattered skin, as though it were the middle of November again. You had told me you’d never been kissed in the rain, and...
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Anonymous asked: I'm contemplating suicide and before I go, I just wanted to say I love you and your writing.
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2-23
We all know things come and go long before we can really think to remember them twice.
If anything, today will be just another day I’ve been meaning to forget about.
You can’t tell me that red roses wilt quicker than white ones for no apparent reason.
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Anonymous asked: you're wonderful, I bet the sun shines in every breath you take, drowned in the delirium of white winter mornings.
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on bass-heavy music
First thing in the morning, after a night that hardly ended, it’s a bit like getting a big hug and listening to someone hum in your ear.
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an ode to a flip phone
Few things have pro- vided me with the close service that this old plastic embarrassment has graced me with. For three years my life revolved around a small thumb-flick, and sighs when I would wait aeons on aeons just to see a text message. Undoubtedly it knows much more about me than I think I know about myself. This, however, is not in any way implying that my new phone...
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Anonymous asked: I might be falling in love with you through your writing. You have such a beautiful way with words.
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(.67)
The apartment was low. She wore nothing but an old shirt and a certain look in her eyes, leaned against the door frame.
“You aren’t just going to stand over there, are you?”
Her smile. As she grinned, her chin lowered. She tugged at the hem of her shirt, biting her lip.
I sat up in bed. She settled into the sheets, under my hands. “Easy now,” she said, but soon...
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2-21
I want to let you steal the taste of whole milk from my lips and pull you closer as breakfast gets cold.
Anonymous asked: Your writing is wonderful. You have such a beautiful mind.
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something old:
Theirs were the faces that did not change shape.
Only the eyes moved, like the greasy slide of a wary glance behind alleyway corners and leather coat-collars. In the liquor store they traded looks behind shelves. He was black-eyed with a cheap glint, and a face permanently scowled under a shock of black hair. Her lips were still bloody from steak. Fluorescents rippled through her auburn curls and...
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on february nineteenth
Notable birthdays include:
Nicholas Copernicus, astronomer
Luigi Boccherini, genius composer
the phonograph (patented 2-19-1878)
André Breton, creator of surrealism
Merle Oberon, staggering beauty
Smokey Robinson, Motown king
Tony Iommi, paranoid guitarist
Amy Tan, brilliant, funny author
David Wakeling, English Beating
Prince Andrew, Duke of York, the good son
Jon Fishman, sort of...
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1(1/2).
Watching others has proven to be the habit of a reclusive soul.
In the first year of living on my own I became elusive, wary of people. It was not as though I was, in any way, antisocial. I felt that people were enjoyable, of course, but the enjoyment had its certain place and certain time. I began to spend less and less time with people I knew, and more and more time with strangers, ones on...
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on playlists
Since I am obviously a narcissist who’s a terrible Christian (and tomorrow is my birthday), I’m offering you all some birthday music for the sake of offering you music.
This may become a habit.
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2-18
blurred lines from just- waking noonsun kid grins and high-backed chairs;
checkered tablecloths sweet fingers that stick together smothered
glances gentle under- eye patches blinking back sleep and soft-
sore shoulders fatigue collecting behind my knees I love you so
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two days (2-17)
I can hardly ask myself how I survived three full months between today and that night where the winter was hardly a threat. I would not have much of a tangible answer for
you, if you were to ask me how I breathed life through the brown-swept leaves and emptied myself out into old branches and spoke to deer for the first time in months. If you want
to know how I stole the same sun I’d left...
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Anonymous asked: are you good at sex?
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Anonymous asked: Do you perform as well as your write? Because, sleeping with you would be like something from a dream if this were true. Your prose pieces have entered into my daydreams in an unfortunate sort of way. Only unfortunate because they are left unfulfilled.
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harris (2-17)
at two in the morning when I say “get over here,” I do not mean “be in my present;” what I mean to say is “I want you in my future you me even stripes evening suns mountain storms flatbeds dirt and starstarstars”
but why would I stay up til three smiling those laugh- circles into warm sheets from aeons away, when there is no question of how far-apart you and...
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on the y
Let it be known: as long as my legs work, I will be that jackass reading the New Yorker on the elliptical machine.
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gutter grates:
I found him slack-jawed, rounding a city street-corner in the middle of the night. No sooner had I turned around to hail a cab than I felt his eyes on me. We had thought that we’d never see each other again, and yet, within moments, we knew each other once more. I knew how quick the lights turned off,
how the green in his eyes shone with off-white refractions from his teeth when he looked...
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garden snake (8-30-11)
She lay next to me one night, her book perched on her stomach, rising and falling with her breath. I was watching TV. Our legs were under the duvet as CNN blared its eerie bluish light at the opposite wall. The sun had set quite some time ago, and all was very still in the apartment. In a fraction of a second, I’d blinked.
-
There, in that fraction, I had seen her slide her leg over mine...
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Anonymous asked: Your words are fragile things, drawing strength from weakness, a power rooted in weakness. An insubstantial force that is a dark wave of thunder in a dreary sky.
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“The way you write reminds me of rain storms and bottles of ink.”
– and she is an earthquake
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the soft parade (edit)
sure, I knew why I wanted him around since he undressed my skin with one swift move with two hands at my thighs, I stared him down then he mentioned there was nothing to prove
here I slid back-down, pink, pool-eyed and hard when he broke skin and ocean-wave-broke us through to the other side with warm regards- the nature of the night was dangerous
words between us were minimal at best since his...
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2-15
white-woven into threads reminiscent of the way the flurries line the ridges far far out, here, the sun makes crow’s feet at each cloud, sweating through a t-shirt in the smack-middle of the coldest month of the year and if you get up as early as I do you can see the purple crocus take over the neighbour’s garden
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on alexander graham bell
Brilliant man. Absolutely brilliant.
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Nothing says love, loneliness, or February quite...
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thoughtsbetold asked: Favorite writer Hughes? And Why?
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Anonymous asked: Why are you so scared?
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2-13
an incessant light preying at the under-door made me remember
the datebook atop your desk: early-morning strained all of it came flooding back
that was the season where feeling was existing, when ‘entrapped’ was free
and at night it was enough just to sleep with you it’s not quite as simple, now
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“It was really calm, tinted crazy.”
– the dear girl, on this weekend
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-3
In Augusta, I remember waking up with a shiver. She had slipped out of my arms in her sleep. We had taken the weekend to visit her parents, and some turn of events I’d politely nodded my way through had caused us to spend the evening in a hotel.
It was the middle of January. When we fell asleep, the streets had been covered with a gentle dusting of snow; when I checked the window at four in...
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Anonymous asked: What books would you suggest?