December 2011
34 posts
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5. Who was in charge at this camp? What were your...
All I knew was underground: bodies piled on bodies, low moans, sweat, rot seeking out scratches on our thighs,
the makeshift tattoos he carved on our backs to mark us. Over milk tea and butter biscuits, the commander asks
what it feels like to have dirty blood running through our veins. There were days we wooed him, betrayed each other
for his attention—now he turns me over on burlap. ...
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Its that time of the year where the sky burns refulgent with a firework of cheer and a shot of joy. 2011 has been a year of realizing whether it is perfecting or failing all in the name of learning. I am certain.
Anyway may 2012 just be as rich as plum, nutty as hazel and crisp as poetry. Happy new year all.
Hoping there be more paper that has been penned.
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famous authors famous addictions
Lord Byron
Substance of choice: Sex
Relevant musings: “Alas, the love of women! it is known/ To be a lovely and a fearful thing.” (from Don Juan)
Lord Byron, it seems, was obsessed with sex. Not only did he reportedly sleep with over 250 women in Venice in a single year (not to mention the men), he also bedded Lady Caroline Lamb (who called him “mad, bad, and dangerous to know”), her...
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There were sweet and playful mornings, like when Matthew Dickman proposed, “I loved you the way my mouth loves teeth,” and all day I smiled, imagining my lips and teeth embracing. There were reflective mornings, like when Reginald Dwayne Betts confessed, “I was never enough saint to leave sin with the devil, leave my lies unsaid.”
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Lullaby for the Last Night on Earth
When at last we whisper, so long, so lonesome,
and watch our house on the horizon
go down like a gasping zeppelin of bricks,
we’ll turn, holding hands,
and walk the train tracks to the sea …
So sing me that song where a mountain falls
in love with an octopus, and one thousand fireflies
ricochet around their heads,
and I’ll dream we’re dancing in the...
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Advice on Writing From Modernity's Greatest... →
Finish each day before you begin the next, and interpose a solid wall of sleep between the two. This you cannot do without temperance.” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
Begin with an individual and you find that you have created a type; begin with a type and you find that you have created — nothing.” ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald
Don’t ever write a novel unless it hurts like a hot turd coming out.” ~...
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To all those who suffer from sadness or... →
To all those suffering from sadness or depression, know that it isn’t your fault. It isn’t because you’re weak. It isn’t because you’re just not grateful enough. It isn’t because you’re just not religious enough. It isn’t because you don’t have enough faith. It isn’t because God is angry with you. To all the well-meaning people who tell you this, just smile. And know deep in your heart that...
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Weird Writing Habits of Famous Authors →
Capote would supposedly write supine, with a glass of sherry in one hand and a pencil in another. In a 1957 Paris Review interview with Pati Hill, Capote explains: “I am a completely horizontal author. I can’t think unless I’m lying down, either in bed or stretched on a couch and with a cigarette and coffee handy. I’ve got to be puffing and sipping. As the afternoon wears on, I shift...
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Private Parts- Sarah Kay
The first love of my life never saw me naked - there was always a parent coming home in half an hour - always a little brother in the next room. Always too much body and not enough time for me to show it. Instead, I gave him my shoulder, my elbow, the bend of my knee - I lent him my corners, my edges, the parts of me I could afford to offer - the parts I had long since given up trying to...
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“because there’s nothing more beautiful, than the way the ocean refuses to stop...”
– -Sarah Kay (To my Daughter)
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When my trust hung from the thin thread of justice And the hearts of my lamps were smashed into tiny pieces All over town And the childlike eyes of my love were blindfolded With the black kerchief of law When blood was gushing forth from the anxious temples of my desire When my life was nothing other than the ticking of the clock I realized that I must love That I must madly love
from the...
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“It is the job of poetry to clean up our word-clogged reality by creating...”
– Stephen Mallarme
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secrets are hard to crack
unless they are sweet to have.
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Book dedications →
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You can still rebuild from a burned down barn
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“I’m going to marry my novels and have little short stories for children.”
– Jack Kerouac (via myquotelibrary)
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Child/Bearing
Weeks before your arrival
I am frightened
of your impending and violent entrance
in my world
your presence has already been marked
by blood episodes/hospitals/needles
pains from a placenta/ill-placed
a sub-chorionic/hematoma
my vain form has suffered such distortion
veins enlarged/lungs squashed beyond efficient breathing
bloated and alone
I am waiting for the gush
the tearing of...
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“While cooking demands your entire attention, it also rewards you with endlessly...”
– Ruth Reichl, Garlic and Sapphires (via spice-etc)
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rivera paints his carnality bright as the sun, plane airs warm as wool and a dithered tehuana lover looks on. this is for you google doodle.