December 2011
1 post
October 2011
1 post
July 2011
2 posts
June 2011
23 posts
Internetz
Sometimes, the internet is too immediate, giving us time to click and be seen before we should be, when our outfits are still in disarray, when our words don’t quite seem as neat as they should.
Is this a good thing? Is this us, raw, unencumbered by propriety and artificial constructs?
I spend minutes (minutes!) figuring out which outfit to wear to be seen in public in, but I could type...
“Somebody at one of these places […] asked me: “What do you do? How do you write,...”
– Charles Bukowski on writing and inspiration (via ireadintothings)
The wait = the weight.
Brain Hub That Links Music, Memory And Emotion... →
mindbabies:
By mapping the brain activity of a group of subjects while they listened to music, a researcher at the University of California, Davis, now thinks he has the answer: The region of the brain where memories of our past are supported and retrieved also serves as a hub that links familiar music, memories and emotion.
The discovery may help to explain why music can elicit strong...
“If stone-sober people can fuck like they’re out of their minds—can...”
– Stephen King, On Writing
1 tag
Dear Friend
I came here to write to you that you don’t have to be unhappy to be a revolutionary. That you can find some measure of joy and peace, and still fire arrows of discontent at society by night, in the hiding dark, or in the sun of the street.
As I thought about it, I came to realize it isn’t entirely true. That what motivates, rather than want, which you point out is such an ugly word...
WE WILL ALL BE WELL: Seated on my bedside, with my... →
greedygraces:
Seated on my bedside, with my knees folded close and considering all the time, the casual dilemma of creating. Of placing my interior self into the exterior world and examining its receipt. Daily I am made aware that my perspective is far too relative and esoteric, and much too personal really, to…
“But what does eternal damnation matter, to anyone who has found infinite...”
– Charles Baudelaire (via greedygraces)
Unredeemable
I still remember spending all day in my bed, and you drew all over my body like you owned it, until I was covered in skulls and words and crazed ephemera, and we listed to The Doors American Prayer, thrumming in the background of our sex and heat and art.
But you hated yourself, and me for loving you, and your art suffered on my body with bruises and blood between us, so when you left I found a...
1 tag
formspring.me
Ask me anything http://formspring.me/BarelyKnit Because I’m stuck.
Filthy Dirty Whore
It’s unseemly for a forty year old stay at home mother (mother!) to suddenly want to slap stickers and art up on walls she doesn’t own, to put words on things where no words are meant to be, to shout, “Fuck you!” to religious zealots and zombie sheep people, to wish for the goddamn rapture to be real and suck up all those fools and their shill, their pretensions of cool...
Words For Summer
Limpid doesn’t mean what you think it means.
You think it means damp, humid
Page-curling slick air
I can’t dry off after a shower, the towel
so damp it’s full
of the rain from last week that still
hovers
in the air and it’s
ruining my papers
bread rising
does funny things
and don’t get me started
about the sweat
the sweet hot drops
that sting my...
May 2011
4 posts
Chore Poem
1. Remember falling in love
2. Find a place to keep my dreams
3. Burn the frying pan
4. Walk away
5. Mango kisses
6. Find that pianist
7. Settle back down
8. Lose mysel…
Carrie Bradshaw Math
thefrenemy:
Don’t get me wrong- I watch Sex and The City. I never got why she wore a lot of shit on her head, or why she thought Chris Noth was remotely fuckable, but I still dug that slutty old lady who made all the cock puns. I’ve seen most of the episodes, I’ve drank booze and saw them with my ‘girlfriends’ and at one point I concluded I may have been a Miranda even though I’m not a ginger...
1 tag
Would you mind if every single day I saw to it...
Would I mind? Surely you jest! No, no, but I think it more likely that you would grow weary of rubbing my feet and pouring my wine, and I would start to nag you, and you would ask me why I wasn’t getting a job, and I would say, “You don’t really love me!” and you would say, “What’s love got to do with it?” And I would say, “Don’t bring Ike and...
December 2010
1 post
2 tags
Love Song: I and Thou
Nothing is plumb, level or square: the studs are bowed, the joists are shaky by nature, no piece fits any other piece without a gap or pinch, and bent nails dance all over the surfacing like maggots. By Christ I am no carpenter. I built the roof for myself, the walls for myself, the floors for myself, and got hung up in it myself. I danced with a purple thumb at this house-warming,...
August 2010
1 post
July 2010
2 posts
Inside insides →
1 tag
What influence, if any, does your sexuality have...
This is a fascinating question, and one I might not have been able to answer with any certainty a few years ago, but with age comes wisdom, and a sex drive less prone to the upheaval from youthful trauma, etc., etc., blah di blah blah…
I have a strange brain. I used to have a lot of sex, but it wasn’t libido, per se, that drove the train. It was a need to be loved, to be given...
June 2010
4 posts
1 tag
Dada Recipes: Mini Cupcakes
1 lb. Expectant disappointment (hope can be substituted)
2 c. Sadness
1/3 c. Anger and studiously restrained vitriole
4 Days bursting into tears
3 tsp. Knew it was coming
1/8 tsp. Relief
Bring together ingredients, let sit for 24 years. Return, mix together without allowing ingredients to touch. Light on fire. Stand back and enjoy.
“If religion is the opiate of the people, tradition is an even more sinister...”
– Zadie Smith, White Teeth (via didifallasleep) (via tobia) (via kathleenjoy)
2 tags
Between Words and Children
I haven’t been here in so long, and I’ve forgotten how to let words come quickly. I labor over them, and, like children, they are painful to get out.
But I can order them to my will, insist they do as I say. I can rail against them, delete them in a sweep of cursor at my whim, and hardly miss them at all.
If I crave apology, I make it so. If it’s love I need, the words are just...
April 2010
3 posts
1 tag
I'm an atheist. How can parents who are not...
I think it’s all about relationships, even if you are religious, although you might have a hard time convincing a religious person of that.
The idea is that we are supposed to be good to each other, either because this is all we ever get, or because we are supposed to be modeling Jesus or whomever (sorry, just feel the need to make clear that I think this holds true for everyone).
So I...
“Everything that goes into my mouth seems to make me fat, everything that comes...”
– Gabriel Garcia Marquez
This blog appears to have exhausted itself while I have been busy writing actual things in hopes of making actual money. Oh, I mean – it’s my art, it’s all about my art. I’m working on the craft, you know? And if I make some money some day, so be it.
I will maintain a light presence over at my new home space, mostly writing about writing, words, and books, and occasionally putting my neuroses...
March 2010
20 posts
1 tag
There are worse things than being alone.
Sometimes I long for a lonely apartment to come home to. To turn on a small lamp to warm the darkness as I pretend I am not afraid of the monsters and ghosts lurking behind doors, under the bed. I long to eat what I like, or not eat at all, with candles lit and a good book, and wine.
I want to be perfectly still inside a cocoon of my own making, nestled in myself like a seed.
“Never say there is nothing beautiful in the world anymore. There is always...”
– Albert Schweitzer (via kari-shma) (via present) (via happythings)
“Writing for the masses is like marrying for money, an exhausting way to become a...”
– Janet Burroway
3 tags
Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing, by Margaret...
The world is full of women who’d tell me I should be ashamed of myself if they had the chance. Quit dancing. Get some self-respect and a day job. Right. And minimum wage, and varicose veins, just standing in one place for eight hours behind a glass counter bundled up to the neck, instead of naked as a meat sandwich. Selling gloves, or something. Instead of what I do sell. You have to have...
Finally. A spy tracker I can use! →
