insomniainsomniainsomniacsinsomniacsininsonmsinsinsinsinsin....
perhaps i should listen to kid a.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
summer haze.
Lo. Lola. Lolita...
...is getting old. Nabokov's prose is immensely entertaining, but sadly isn't enough to hold me through the tedious plot. I pretty much got the gist of it. Why this story has become so infamous is apparent from the start, but I just don't care enough to finish. I will concede, however, that Humbert Humbert is an absolutely brilliant character. I'm not a bad person, I swear.
Whatever. On to Phillip K Dick. Perhaps I'll rent Blade Runner...
...is getting old. Nabokov's prose is immensely entertaining, but sadly isn't enough to hold me through the tedious plot. I pretty much got the gist of it. Why this story has become so infamous is apparent from the start, but I just don't care enough to finish. I will concede, however, that Humbert Humbert is an absolutely brilliant character. I'm not a bad person, I swear.
Whatever. On to Phillip K Dick. Perhaps I'll rent Blade Runner...
Friday, May 16, 2008
the process.
Write. Edit. Change. Rewrite. Doubt. Redoubt. Edit. Change.
"She bit her lip. Caught an aftertaste of war."
"She bit her lip. Caught an aftertaste of war."
Sunday, May 11, 2008
second night of summer.
some of you know that i don't typically admit to liking/listening to explosions in the sky, mostly because i feel like there are bands who do the same thing but better, ie. mogwai. tonight, however, i happened to catch a taping of austin city limits with explosions and it was basically religious, so there's that.
11:36 p.m. -
i'm running under street lights and sky, and yes, listening to explosions. stop giving me that look.
i'm dodging cockroaches in the closest approximation of their natural environment that the poor bugs will ever encounter.
i'm dragging my overweight body down the concrete, out of breath, some anonymous part of myself damaged after having been accosted by a stranger - a teenage girl who yelled some obscenity from her car and hurled an entire roll of toilet paper at me.
i'm telling myself that, despite the recent event, people are still fundamentally good.
i'm diverting my attention to the music.
i'm absorbing the rhythm of "magic hours". literally absorbing it.
i'm running now. sprinting. my feet landing upon the speckled grayness with every downbeat. pulling the entire fucking earth behind me.
and then the crescendo.
and the distorted guitars.
and i feel god in my heels.
and her breath in my lungs.
and i am.
that's it.
i just am.
11:36 p.m. -
i'm running under street lights and sky, and yes, listening to explosions. stop giving me that look.
i'm dodging cockroaches in the closest approximation of their natural environment that the poor bugs will ever encounter.
i'm dragging my overweight body down the concrete, out of breath, some anonymous part of myself damaged after having been accosted by a stranger - a teenage girl who yelled some obscenity from her car and hurled an entire roll of toilet paper at me.
i'm telling myself that, despite the recent event, people are still fundamentally good.
i'm diverting my attention to the music.
i'm absorbing the rhythm of "magic hours". literally absorbing it.
i'm running now. sprinting. my feet landing upon the speckled grayness with every downbeat. pulling the entire fucking earth behind me.
and then the crescendo.
and the distorted guitars.
and i feel god in my heels.
and her breath in my lungs.
and i am.
that's it.
i just am.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Friday, May 2, 2008
poetry as procrastination.
like clockwork springs up in time.
like its a game.
sticks her left foot in ten minutes from now and the right tiptoes round 1986.
tossin' her shoes and dancin' now like its then,
loosin ' here somewhere in the cracks between floorboards beneath her heels.
and she sees me.
finds me somewhere in never.
like its a game.
sticks her left foot in ten minutes from now and the right tiptoes round 1986.
tossin' her shoes and dancin' now like its then,
loosin ' here somewhere in the cracks between floorboards beneath her heels.
and she sees me.
finds me somewhere in never.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
a contrived sort of chronology.
TELL ME YOUR HEART.
He flipped the paper over and scribbled. He didn’t think, didn’t breathe, didn’t stand or sit or blink. Just scribbled, and in turn, became scribbled himself in some strange twist of Zen.
I need you like the breath of life.
Sometimes I feel little more than dirt and dust.
You animate me. Thank you for not giving up on me.
Simon shoved it back under the door and put his against the damp wood. She was awake. He could hear her breath colliding with the door from the other side. There was a rustle, an uncrumpling, a scribbling, and another note appeared at his feet.
There is no giving up except when the poor give up their palms to the sky and feel the rain wash away the grime.
I will give up my hands.
Not my heart.
He flipped the paper over and scribbled. He didn’t think, didn’t breathe, didn’t stand or sit or blink. Just scribbled, and in turn, became scribbled himself in some strange twist of Zen.
I need you like the breath of life.
Sometimes I feel little more than dirt and dust.
You animate me. Thank you for not giving up on me.
Simon shoved it back under the door and put his against the damp wood. She was awake. He could hear her breath colliding with the door from the other side. There was a rustle, an uncrumpling, a scribbling, and another note appeared at his feet.
There is no giving up except when the poor give up their palms to the sky and feel the rain wash away the grime.
I will give up my hands.
Not my heart.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
