If only I could breathe in and live my writing. I'd write about my entire world, though one shouldn't give Fitzgerald so much credibility. Yes, those who live don't write but those who write? They live twice. I coined this, surely. No?
Donne did. I'm un..done? The pun is recycled.

I'd perhaps chart out the historics of photography. Dear Reader, in ( Read more... )

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All my cool blogger friends are part of this contraband, underground writing community. I feigned indifference. Everyone is off this thing anyways. But I feel as if I'm writing in a corner no one knows about but someone will find out sooner or later. Like an old ring you find under the cold patch of earth.
I'm still so stoned. Last night was ( Read more... )

I'm so lit. Lit up. I'm like a transparent candle dripping wax on chocolate table tops and gathering the flames within her, filagree and frail. Meta narration. Cheap shots.

I'm knee deep in work and I can't focus. I've been seeing this film major with more tattoos than thoughts. Orion constellations, pot nights, two fingers shoved in my mouth in the ( Read more... )

I'm so strung out I curled my hair and put on lipgloss to write. To write. There are so many words we don't use. Lugubrious. Salacious. Pewter. Hokey pokey. High, it's like I take a flashlight and use it to search the dark corners of the room that is my mind. All the words have been there all along; now they're illuminated. Incandescent. Glowing. ( Read more... )

My chess game: in shambles across my floor. Two joints cradle a rook into submission and I've begun dreaming of stars again. This ought to be a no nonsense time in my life. When I was seventeen, I'd play chess with my boyfriend and he'd be close to winning and I'd ruin the game like a moron. I never gave myself the chance. I finished another Atwood ( Read more... )

Smoking a joint in the city on a night like tonight is murder. It's so cold and my fur coat digs in. Daniela keeps me grounded; I'm about to fall apart any second again. I'm behind with work and should really just catch up. Sunny Varadero in 5 days coaxes these hard breaths. Mountains and beaches cure your heart. Doctors of old sent you to ( Read more... )

"Sir, because the line was too full and Andrew's hands were shaking on account of his mama's heart attack last night. He say it wasn't no big deal but I saw her pale face poking through the curtains"
I'd rather upload pics really

Sooo, went to Prague!

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I only came when he did too. The corridor between the tall willows was opened earth, turned up and dried. Worms' midsections exposed to hungry sparrows on visionary days. The greenest grass carpet awaited, yellowing with mortal designs.  Hanging pears for glowing chandeliers and a million frostbitten stars like city lights ( Read more... )

Cuz my hair falls in waves, like the heroines in comic books ( Read more... )