I don't really have a reason for waiting until Monday to post my usual journal entry, aside from the fact that I'm lazy and on Fall Break for the next two days so I can stay up as late as I feel like tonight. Except for the part where I have a dentist appointment in the morning, but whatever. Have some music:
Strange week really. Stuff happened, but I don't feel like rambling about any of it. I will anyway, for the sake of length and because people apparently enjoy hearing me yap.
I find that I tend to go for these very long periods without really talking to anyone. I mention that because I'm always surprised when Doc snaps me out of it and I check my phone records to realize he kept me chatting for over an hour the way he did last Sunday. I always feel so relaxed afterwards. We spent most of it trading barbs and compliments - I really should have written down some of the lines, but it was late and I was tired.
Thursday was my library night. Once again, I was the only person to show up
I went downtown Friday to read at the school magazine (Equinox) party. I don't like going downtown, particularly at night, and parking isn't really a thing there. I don't really enjoy crowded events either; Doc kept me company for a lot of it and walked out with me when I started getting too antsy about it all. I only read The Watchmaker's Lover, and I was early on the schedule so I could have left, but one of our Poetry assignments is to attend and write up a paper about a literary event. So at least I got that out of the way.
Saturday was Old Fashioned Days here in town. Not very interesting this year - last time there was a Steampunk booth, which I was really hoping would be there again. The funnel cakes were not worth six dollars. And it kept raining off an on so I didn't stay very long. Waste of gas really. Blah.
I also got my blood results in from the doctor - everything appears to be totally normal, so my family sent me into a panic attack for nothing. I was kinda hoping something would be wrong at that point
I have a midterm on Wednesday and I've barely read anything for that class. I guess I should get on that, but I can't seem to be bothered. I'm just not very motivated this year :/ I mean, Doc wrote like 30 radio scripts last weekend for crying out loud, and he holds two jobs. I really have no excuse.
Myth and Legend Contest.
Keep it Colloquial
The All Hallow's Tales Prose Contest begins!
A month of Horror-ku
Another Halloween Contest
Back to School Contest, presented by #CRLiterature
octoberyou spit a girl
into this world:
a life of cluttered receipts
and missing keys.
and every year on this month she feels
she can organize-fix-overhaul herself.
her head entertains ideas of
blessings outweighing the disillusions
and you better wait
and give her all the time she needs.
it is her birthday.
you owe her this.
© october 9, 2013
Clarity.I woke up this morning
and found that I had known
the word for you all along,
that I had known
your hands searching
for my hands;
they could only ever
have been called
the b side to his heart.one cigarette upturned
in a pack
it hasn't worked.
but that's not to say
that it never will,
because a lot of things will never happen
him living is something that will.
he has always smoked menthols.
i think it's because
he liked the extra burn they give
on the ripe flesh of his tongue.
october poems and cigarette endsi. where are the metaphorical cigarettes when you need them, augustus?
ii. the poetry fell through the cracked riverbanks of my mind and slid off to elsewhere
iii. so still, i continued to breathe the lovely mindfulness, the unconventional endlessness of consciousness nothing’s.
let’s call them dreamers.
iv. the poetry written on my bones fading with all the sleep i drank (till the drunk of November mornings), the dreams melting off like the stars which ate away at my skin and left me bleeding—dying.
v. so, this is what writer’s block feels like
the eradication of sweeter thoughts and dreams
vi. (i think i finally understood why van houten drank so much.)
vii. “but i think the words you write are beautiful,” he says. “you’re beautiful.”
“i’m not beau—”
viii. still i write with an unsettled heart and
as blue as the eyes which fell upon them
the thoughts spilling out onto the pages it met
31 and CountingMaybe it's because I can't remember what it feels like to be young
Or the fact that I can no longer make young women fall in love with me.
It could be that I haven't danced in longer than I care to think about
It may be that the red tank top I used to wear doesn't exactly fit the same way it used to.
I know things about myself now.
I've learned things,
I have a serious case of the elevens
and my grey hairs are starting to take over the black.
I had an attitude and
sly, little smirk that could
melt hearts and
just as easily.
I know things about myself now.
I repeat myself.
I don't listen like I used to.
I drink too much,
eat too much,
have sex too little and
a bit more
Just a few of the things
about knowing who I am.
Just a few reasons to
hate growing older.
Poem Written On the Eve of a Friend's Quiet DeathWe are a window into the past.
We, a window of hazy glass,
hazy nights in autumn
under fog and burnt-breasted
sycamore. We are a walk
through campus, one camera,
friend, the breadth
of each other's breath
and filtered warmth
coming off the creekbed. We
are the womb. We are the birth
of something greater than
a moment. We are a cool
kiss, a sip of simmered
vegetable stew. A Saturday
matinee. Infused chai tea.
We are everything memory
has left in its history. We are two
clipped blades of wheat, making
love in a grove of trees.
Periodic TableI think I would like to write myself into the periodic table,
slip myself between copper and cadmium, a barely-there perception.
This way, when you glance through me I can
reinforce myself with the knowledge that I am surrounded by
the heart of a supernova
time will never end but
it will certainly forget me
it will never forget the girl who held on between cobalt and manganese
the differenceolder now, aren't i?
two roads diverged,
and i got by.
emptyi stood at the corner of a busy busy road
waiting for the green man
for the countdown to cross over
and i thought of you
and for the first time in my life
i felt nothing
pure and simple, nothing
and a nameless thing rose out of my body
and got caught up in the wind