December 2011
61 posts
Watchoddballsdontbounce:
a super-congested performance of “egypt” at graffitidc this past tuesday. footage courtesy of jonathan tucker. the venue’s lights were blue, i swear this isn’t me trying to be cute with effects and stuff.
also, the event i’m plugging at the beginning of this vid is the split this rock poetry festival, which will be happening in march 2012 and will be honoring the AWESOME...
I love when Google Alerts dont suck. →
brianomnidillon:
thanks stranger.
What I wrote in the Christmas card to the Obama...
warpaintetiquette:
No, seriously. I signed their Christmas card. Because at the end of the year, everyone is a human. And everyone deserves a little something just to make sure we are all still in this together.
You are four floating buoys in a fortress of smooth white stone shaking your fists at the walls. Knock them down with the smile in your lips. Invite the nation to your Christmas dinner....
“With words and tears she has amputated something from me. I gave her the...”
– David Foster Wallace, from: “Here and There,” from the collection Girl With Curious Hair (via hateshiploveship
)
I Missed You Miserably Today,
theslyspy:
New York City. And there were too many insomniacs with their kitchen lights on lending their flourescents to the crooked spine of your skyline for you to notice that down here the whole universe is lit by one shaking bulb dangling from a ceiling fan that is busy poorly imitating an old broken helicopter with nowhere to go and no one to save drawing lazy circles in the air above a...
You Would Be My Sadness Shield
She looked at Max, grinning for a moment.
Katherine: Wow, I can’t even look at you.
She closed her eyes tightly.
Max: Why?
Her eyes remained closed, a wide smile on her face.
Katherine: I don’t know. I guess you just seem good.
Max: What do you mean?
She opened one eye, just a sliver.
Katherine: Yeah, wow. It's almost unbearable.
Max didn’t know what to say. Katherine opened her eye just a bit now.
Katherine: I’m getting used to it now, but it’s like staring into the brightest light.
Max smiled. Was there something new about him that she was seeing? His stomach was shooting all over, splitting, oozing down his legs- he liked this creature, her bright eyes and raspy voice, so much that he couldn’t control his interior.
- Dave Eggers, The Wild Things
smallsholmbo:
“I wanted to write “stay” on your sides, surround your bed with oceans of salt. I hope he folds you into a fox, loves you like a splintered arrow, brandishes the kill of your lips. May the bouquet of your hips wither. May the wolves forget your name.”
—
J. Bradley (via grammatolatry)
highjinks:
let’s hang out, drink coffee, watch some really good movies, and then maybe have some really good discussions about books we like and fall asleep on the couch because it’s winter and the coffee warmed our bellies and made us sleepy.
jhnmyr:
If you want to be truly intimidating,
If you want to make an impact,
If you want to have strong connections with others
just be sincere.
Sarcasm is not an attitude, and it’s not a personality trait. It’s a style of rhetoric meant to be used occasionally to highlight a larger point. Saying you’re a sarcastic person is like saying your favorite cuisine is salt. Sarcasm is easy because...
“When a woman writes you a poem, she spends time with the gods on your behalf.”
– Aja Monet (via medacosa)
a statement of poetics.
oddballsdontbounce:
(for my creative writing class, we had to write our own “statement of poetics”, basically about what we think poetry is and does/should be and should do)
I am of the belief that naming is a claiming act- that, in giving something a name, in choosing the word(s) through which I will continue to identify this thing, it becomes mine in this small way. Having a vocabulary for...
“You will be out with friends
when the news of her existence
will be...”
– Sierra DeMulder, Unrequited Love Poem (via sierrademulder)
MEGAN FALLEY [ON ICE!]: THE FLORIST TRIES ONLINE... →
meganfalley:
It’s a lonely business. There’s always another bride, another casket. To her, baby’s breath is but a flower. Men don’t give the florist roses, they deliver her black eyed susans, the love of the thorn.
She types, for the first time, that she is only interested in women. She hand ties the bouquets European style, braiding them at the legs.
(It’s not entirely true. There is the...
re-
oddballsdontbounce:
turning/awakening/claiming.
a counterspell.
“i eat men like air” -Sylvia Plath
tire-swing hips, smoke-curled hair. the siren has chased the shame out from her crooked bones, salted the earth it left behind to stay its crops, to douse its lineage. the danger has been brewing and it rises, clotted, curdled, to the surface of the skin, disposes of men’s names the way the...