Smoothies are full of
love and good things, add PB
and you can add, please.
Toast: overcome with
grief, I burned you. Please forgive
me while I eat you.
I like coffee dark
and powerful and a bit
warm… or cold… or free…
-
Breakfast With My Clementine OR Three For Me, the Rest For You
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No One Reads My Blagh
I think if you want
to be successful, you have
to think highly: selfPromotion of self,
high regard; no self-loathing
I: unsuccessful
-
Truth in Recreational Despair OR I Am Successful, Now What?
Sometimes you have to
break the monotony; MORE
syllable writing!I’m finished with (“)things with things(“), both the piece and the concept. The piece is not good. You will never hear it. You may experience the concept.
Have you ever had a day that was free of dread? Even that I-don’t-want-to-oh-here-he-comes-gosh-I-hate-talking-to-people sort of dread?
I was thinking about being a child and remembering lying a lot. Fabricating myths about injuries or relatives or whathaveyou. I remember doing it and getting this huge rush of anxiety about being found out. I don’t think I really LIKED it but I was sort of addicted to it. I think I’m still addicted to it. It is AMAZING how much you can get done when you feel like your life will explode if you don’t. I think maybe if you’re lucky you develop the ability or a thick skin to both accomplish things and not almost blow your brain up with anxiety. Maybehopefully.
I like it when something overlaps something else and there’s the space in between (like a venn diagram!) and that space in between is sort of confused but can be REALLY awesome.
Then there’s this shrimp. Wtf…
Drinking is fun but
hangover’s are not. I think
one outweighs: other.I passed my sort of culmination cumulative oral exams yesterday which sort of signifies the end of grad school. It has been a difficult (embarrassingly…) experience to talk about for some reason. Some things were good, some great, some dumb. Hooray for finishing what you start. Hooray for starting new things bigger and stronger. Hooray for being more aware today than I was yesterday of how little I know and how exciting it is to know that.
I wish I did half
of what I wish I did. That
I did what I wished.
-
Killing Me Softly
Sings well, has good style
So I came, listened awhile
Young, stranger: my eyesStrum my pain: fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softlyFlush: fever, scared: crowd
Reading my letters out loud
Wish: finish – kept on.Strum my pain: fingers
Singing my life with his words
Killing me softly
-
White Walls for Aaron Quinn
I wrote this for a piece that Aaron Quinn wrote this summer. It was meant to be a sort of mumble in the context of a large ensemble. So when you read it, you should mumble it quietly to yourself. Like you’re talking to your collarbone.
White walls are bare only when you see them. If given a choice, I’m sure they would be full. The existence that they’ve choice up to this point, in the particular reality, are that they are bare. White walls are bare only when you see them. White walls are bear. White walls are rivers and moons colliding with no real evidence of choice. They are trees birthing ideas birthing peanut butter birthing reality. White walls are canvases for writing or for looking or for building an idea for building an idea for building an idea. White walls are bears in the heat and white in the cold and white walls are for building an idea for building an idea. A monumental moment mesmerizing moons and white walls and the truth from bare fiction or from bear fiction, which is always about things bears would never do but not what you would do bare. White walls represent repentance and repeal and white walls shine but not convincingly or upliftingly or lifting up. White walls lift up. I lift up white walls. I lift up. I breathe life up. I breathe live, up. Up, live I breathe. I breathe live, up. Up, up, up. I breathe live. I breathe live. I breathe, live up, live. I live. I live, live. I breathe live. I live up. I, up, live. I breathe live in white walls. I see white walls. I live in white walls. I breathe in white walls. I breathe, lifted up in white walls. White walls. White walls, up, live. White walls, I breathe in. I breathe in. I breathe in white walls. Breathe white walls up. Breathe up. Live up. Breathe up. Breath, up. Breath. Breath. Breath. White walls allow you to breathe. Take breaths. White walls are for an idea about an idea about an idea. Steps away from an idea for an idea. White walls are the in and out and the in and out and the in and out. They’re bare. White walls are bare only when you see them.
-
201 OR To 201 More
This post is number
two-hundred and one. I am
grateful people read.Generally and I guess
specifically. I’m dumb.
-
Play For Why?
I have friends who claim
that we should make efforts to play
danceable music;that art should fit in
so people like to listen
and pay for your timeIts hard to find what
i think. I’ve played gigs for cash
and no art-merit.Aaron Quinn seems to
play everything so that he can
play anything. Win.
-
Hopefully This Isn’t Rectal in Origin
The road to success;
for me: a day off, two, three…
Time to rest my brain.
-
Recital Today OR BLEEERRRRRGGGGHHHH
Step one: recital
Despite lack of prep: going
Live up or live down…
-
Para-Henry David Thoreau OR Pass on Some Things to Gain Truth in Others
“A man’s wealth is but
a measure of more the things
he can leave alone”
-
Para-Walt Whitman OR Take Hold of Life In and Out of Knowledge
“Morning glory at
my window: more than meta
taphysics of a book”
-
Garrett Johnson, Amy Dunlap, Haze and Summertime
Ath(Porch sitting)ens
Ger(Makes me miss friends)many
Col(Girlfriend)umbusYour(Look)head, raining sweet things
Mov(Trepidation)ing——>
-
Mix It Up
I am the particular mood in which time slows just enough to become almost unbearable. Moods like moths, unwanted and only bothersome because of their unpredictability and JERKIness. Not as in jerk like the noun, but more like jerk like the verb. Recently, I was told in an email that I was “dicking” like the verb.
There are patience everywhere. Yes I know that is spelled “wrong”. I wish I were impossibly, grammatically perfect so that everyone could assume that I was hilarious. Patients, a virtue.
I live in a house with often one and sometimes two additional males AND often and occasionally, one or two females. Roommates are strange like whispering cats. I think maybe that only happens in my head.
I feel tired like walking in jell-o tubs and very sleepy children hitting my “core” with wooden mallets, sort of softly but sustaining. Also, hangover, no headache.
Bright and the ideal are sometimes lost on those who steer. Also stir. Like toss and turn stir, not like mix these chocolate chips into this dough stir.
My friends are good people. I wish I could keep them. I am however, very aware that friendship, at least thus far in my time, is a relative, geographical, proximity-related endeavor. Time tested as they may be, distance has made bland even the most fiery of my relationships. Fiery? Really? Is there fear of confusion?
-
“I Am Merely a Vessel” and Other Spew to Spout
Wreaking havoc with
“the way things work” and thinking
you know best: bad.The assumption that
we should all give more than our
share of respect: best.Using “dick” as a
verb to describe anything
in an emailto someone you want
something from is without tact.
Professionalism’s hard.Yousuckyousuckyousuckyou
Suckyousuckyousuckyousuck.
-
GUEST SUBMISSION #9 – “Shoulds and Woulds”
by Ian Parsons
of days long past we
harken intermittently
“shoulds” and “woulds” arisethe time line though is
not reality but it’s
just like this–
-
Blues on Worthlessness
IaminastateofdenialandIboastofmyun-livelihood.
Shame,beingashamed,andthedistancebetweenthethoughts,realities.
Itisuselesstohopeforbetterthings.Mustnow
GETOFFASS.GO.DO.
-
Pacing Yourself is Imperative, Difficult
Some things are drawn out:
death and likely other ends.
Trying to slow down.
-
GUEST SUBMISSION #8 – “The Way I See It”
by Mike “Nobody Nonperson” Witter
looked out the window,
saw the possibilities
drifting through the air.so i went outside,
experienced nouns, via verbs.
no punctuationi always see it
the way i think i should have…
in spite of the truth.(sometimes, not always:
i over-think when i o-
ver-drink over time)“the truth hurts” they say…
but only if you don’t live
honestly and true.
-
GUEST SUBMISSION #7 – “FML: forward|motion|life”
by Amy Dunlap
motion(s). going through
life. not just going through them.
forward, not idling.
-
Give Me Love; I Am Easy to Please
ALSO, please haiku
on my “Guest Submissions” page
I will like you more.
-
BRING ME A SANDWICH AND A COFFEE or iloveyouandi’msorryi’majerk
Working on papers
and avoiding lunch, others.
PROcrastination.Also, hate writing papers
hate feeling need to write more
-
UPDATE and CAFFEEEEEIIIIINNNNEEE
Realizing that I
haven’t updated in a
moon. Lots of things arehappening, so I
haven’t had the thought. A piece,
written by me, isis going to be
performed on my recital.
Piece: based on haiku,also by me. I
hear that Aaron Quinn composed
a piece based myhaiku, but I have
yet to hear it. Bombard his
page, both to ask fora listen, but to
also look at his things, like
THIS and THIS and THIS.
-
Corny Catchphrase Maintenance AND Plural Connection is Connections
Friends near and far feel
like webs connecting me to
more and more. #facebook?#WORLDbook.
-
More ≠ Better ↔ Brainpain
Mindlessly blasting
one’s body with caffeine has
shown adverse effects.A vessel for destruction.
A river of discontent.
-
Bated Breath
There is a man on
a hill in a suit with an
envelope for you.When you wish and pray,
its not to anyone, but
very well may be.The envelope is
worn and yellowed and has holes;
not enough to see.Undisclosed, both the
letter and the prayer. Clear:
scene before unfolds.And the shortness of
your breath matches the nighttime.
Though, its midday still.Crossing life and time
the man on the hill in the
suit comes closer. Though,he is not moving.
Nor are you. The space between
is shrinking. Life shrinks.Reaching for the note,
nighttime breaths return. Broken
and the ideaof past and future
collide and become neither.
And we still wait: still.
-
“I’m Sorry Your Life is in a Million Pieces”
I’m here and you: there
Brought me in a box: broken
Put me together
-
My Life Garbage, I am a Disposal for
production, I need
successful, to feel somewhat
self-destruction, without:
burgoynealexburgoyne 