Are you. Also. Frightened?
I've been making a lot of books. This week, my bookmaking instructor set out a couple hundred rubber stamps and told us to play. I picked a few that I liked the look of. I'd worry about a story later. There was a clock, a trunk, some bones, a window, a pile of letters and so forth. I stamped one on each page. I bound it with a black cover and a Japanese stab stitch. This is what I wrote.
We left our prints in the wild.
We spilled ink when we wrote letters to our men.
They had given us rings so we might find the answers out here
and we thought about the women who always sit at windows
and keep suitcases under their beds.
We left our prints in the wild.
We could stay here
and die here
but we would miss our beds.
I would miss you.
I'm thoroughly enjoying not having a job. I have filled my life with more classes, which involves more thread, more cutting, pasting, and even some writing. It makes me realize that overachieving students aren't actually superheros, they just have the time and energy to enable excitement over what they're doing. It's a really good feeling. Really.
Until the moths fly out of your pockets. No where is hiring. It's an endless listing of my social security number. But I can't let that trouble me, or it will always trouble me.
I also found my old typewriter buried in my closet at my parents' house. This simple, somewhat archaic contraption has made my life significantly better over the last couple of weeks. There's something about that noise. There's something about the way the keys click down, and the typeface that can't be changed. And the broken apostrophe key. It's incredible. It's bliss.
We left our prints in the wild.
We spilled ink when we wrote letters to our men.
They had given us rings so we might find the answers out here
and we thought about the women who always sit at windows
and keep suitcases under their beds.
We left our prints in the wild.
We could stay here
and die here
but we would miss our beds.
I would miss you.
I'm thoroughly enjoying not having a job. I have filled my life with more classes, which involves more thread, more cutting, pasting, and even some writing. It makes me realize that overachieving students aren't actually superheros, they just have the time and energy to enable excitement over what they're doing. It's a really good feeling. Really.
Until the moths fly out of your pockets. No where is hiring. It's an endless listing of my social security number. But I can't let that trouble me, or it will always trouble me.
I also found my old typewriter buried in my closet at my parents' house. This simple, somewhat archaic contraption has made my life significantly better over the last couple of weeks. There's something about that noise. There's something about the way the keys click down, and the typeface that can't be changed. And the broken apostrophe key. It's incredible. It's bliss.