(no subject)
i am moving in four days but i will not begin to pack for three. i am trying to decide what breed of apartment-warming cactus i will purchase. yesterday i read poetry at Bar 13 with some of my lyrical brethren but i am not slammer, sam i am. i am just not. i will miss the pigeons of my current apartment most of all. i think that they are why my dreams are strange; because i sleep with my face quite literally immersed in jubilant and conversational pigeons.
sometimes one tries to reach out to his or her friends and one simply cannot. i should begin utilizing standard capitalization in these entries, as that is something that i am trying to do in my creative writing. why? because tina chang says so! ah well. next time.
i have had a very pleasant second semester thus far and i think that it is heralding forth a generally pleasant time in my life, which is--with any luck--to say, the rest of it. my security clearance is being processed as we speak. i am not taking a course at georgetown over the summer because it is simply too expensive, so i will have time to work in a cafe to pay my rent while i am a slave to the man, and also composing the massive independent project that my college requires for me to get five whole credits for my 400 hours of unpaid work for the government.
i enjoy scooping gelato for total strangers. really, i do. i appreciate the fact that a person's day can be brightened solely by gifting them an additional vanilla wafer. these are not my vanilla wafers, and so, much like the liquors that i bartend with at private events, they are expended quickly. but a happy person comes back. i have learned this in more than one facet of my life. and they tip well.
now i am tentatively saving up for a whirlwind trip to London, involving a $12/night hostel and $500 roundtrip airfare.
i miss my beautiful cornsnake friend.
it is almost spring and that is one of my favorites.
---
Viscera Kiln
To be imperfect. Lisp laments across your knees, wax problematic, a sprawling
indigo of thread in snow. Bursting with extremities or
butterflies. Precision is the needle of hair on skin; the clavicle of ornate
physicalities. Knuckle to propeller, these vertebrae, I would like
to burrow into your alchemies: Whisper linoleum sheen onto forehead.
Back bent with fish lures, sigh into gold.
I will wake with pen in stomach and sins of lizard scales; scuttled
loose and painted marrow. I do not know you. I will writhe in burrows
of fist, blister into blossom parades. Assemble delicate loves
from velour silences and an array of saccharine enjambments.
sometimes one tries to reach out to his or her friends and one simply cannot. i should begin utilizing standard capitalization in these entries, as that is something that i am trying to do in my creative writing. why? because tina chang says so! ah well. next time.
i have had a very pleasant second semester thus far and i think that it is heralding forth a generally pleasant time in my life, which is--with any luck--to say, the rest of it. my security clearance is being processed as we speak. i am not taking a course at georgetown over the summer because it is simply too expensive, so i will have time to work in a cafe to pay my rent while i am a slave to the man, and also composing the massive independent project that my college requires for me to get five whole credits for my 400 hours of unpaid work for the government.
i enjoy scooping gelato for total strangers. really, i do. i appreciate the fact that a person's day can be brightened solely by gifting them an additional vanilla wafer. these are not my vanilla wafers, and so, much like the liquors that i bartend with at private events, they are expended quickly. but a happy person comes back. i have learned this in more than one facet of my life. and they tip well.
now i am tentatively saving up for a whirlwind trip to London, involving a $12/night hostel and $500 roundtrip airfare.
i miss my beautiful cornsnake friend.
it is almost spring and that is one of my favorites.
---
Viscera Kiln
To be imperfect. Lisp laments across your knees, wax problematic, a sprawling
indigo of thread in snow. Bursting with extremities or
butterflies. Precision is the needle of hair on skin; the clavicle of ornate
physicalities. Knuckle to propeller, these vertebrae, I would like
to burrow into your alchemies: Whisper linoleum sheen onto forehead.
Back bent with fish lures, sigh into gold.
I will wake with pen in stomach and sins of lizard scales; scuttled
loose and painted marrow. I do not know you. I will writhe in burrows
of fist, blister into blossom parades. Assemble delicate loves
from velour silences and an array of saccharine enjambments.