I’m a freakin word artist
So let’s freakin rock the world
Because you’re freakin beautiful
So let’s freakin rock the world
Because you’re freakin beautiful
thoughts, 72nd and Amsterdam
February 8th, 2012
something about losing what i never had
I don’t know if I know
How do you know?
How does anyone know?
How is any emotion labeled so?
Also also
so many thoughts
so many things
too many that turn me jelly,
it’s just something about the way you move
the way you speak
the way you say it …
and i just want to see
if we can be
something,
why is it that i only get close enough when i’m dreaming?
won’t you pull me toward you
or push me away?
don’t leave me in the middle
to make meaning out of the empty …
oh oh
next next
just bring me the next song
why is clicking futile?
i’ve breathed breathing
i’ve swallowed swallowing
i’m made of too much water
and today isn’t soon enough
why why
do i tell myself i don’t expect anything
when i expect everything
i can’t stand this flesh sometimes
it holds too much
tell me tell me
am i the only one wounded?
February 6th, 2012
I want more than life
En route to Maryland, new found friend Luana
Columbus and 60th
You said “Thank you for caring” and handed me a flyer
days ago, days ago
But your voice, stranger, rings in my ears
I close my eyes and I see you
in your wooly hat
vest
arms full of pamphlets
My feet took me forward
but I looked behind without looking,
(sometimes you don’t need eyes to see)
I’m still looking behind
Wanting to say “Thank you for caring”
January 30th, 2012
When I was in college and immediately after graduation, I did newspaper work. I found that newspaper writing did a great deal of good for me in working off the purple flurry of my early writing. Every young writer has to work off the “fine writing” stage. It was a painful period in which I overcame my florid, exaggerated, foamy-at-the-mouth, adjective-spree period. I knew even then it was a crime to write like I did, but I had to get the adjectives and the youthful fervor worked off.
I believe every young writer must write whole books of extravagant language to get it out. It is agony to be smothered in your own florescence, and to be forced to dump great cartloads of your posies out in the road before you find that one posy that will fit in the right place.
I believe every young writer must write whole books of extravagant language to get it out. It is agony to be smothered in your own florescence, and to be forced to dump great cartloads of your posies out in the road before you find that one posy that will fit in the right place.
Willa Cather, Interview, Lincoln Daily Star, 1915
I believe I could never exhaust the supply of material lying within me. The deeper I plunge, the more I discover. There is no bottom to my heart and no limit to the acrobatic feats of my imagination.
Anais Nin, The Early Diaries of Anais Nin, entry dated October, 1921
They let go of each others hands years ago. Said their love was over without ever really saying it. Without words. But with language. Their language tells everything. Language can’t keep secrets.
This is the generation of death.
Of hypocrisy.
January 29th, 2012
TAKE MY ARMS
smooth
TAKE MY ARMS
delicate
TAKE MY ARMS
new
TAKE THEM
smooth
TAKE MY ARMS
delicate
TAKE MY ARMS
new
TAKE THEM
thoughts
January 24th, 2012
I slam because I have so many other things to do
thoughts
January 3rd, 2012
I wish we could see more than just the top of the ocean …
thoughts
