Forget all your politics for a while, let the color schemes arrive.
Where to start?
Life is good. Solidly & strangely. I am in college (w00t sophomores!), I'm learning so much my brain feels like it's swimming in it's own brightly hued typography vomit. I'm constantly gawking over typefaces & kerning & leading & I never thought I would give a shit about the difference between smart & dumb quotes,Helvetice Neue and Helvetica. It's just where I am, I guess. I just about shat bricks on election night, screaming and drinking with like-minded people and having four years of set ambitions and hopes come down to a whopping landslide. Victory! Yes!
Lately I've found that I have let some major peeves go (loud chewing is background noise for the most part, now.) and made some major life inconveniences (knuckle cracking, having wet clothing, especially wet sleeves or socks) for myself, but whatever. This is such a major shuffling zone it's unreal. Things that are solid suddenly aren't, and the only major constant is that life is really really good (except for those times when it isn't. :P)
This weekend means trips downstate (Jeez, I just wrote "downstairs") and snuggles with the boy and it's almost been four years-- what what? Yesterday my phone somehow reset it's date to Feb. 16, 2007. It made me chuckle quite a bit.
I just felt the need to update. I need to do this more. writing grounds me enough to remember what the hell I did last week in relation to what I'm doing next week. Comprende?
P.S. I am a baker now. How badass is that?
- - - - - -
September 16, 2008
A Self Portrait/For Pog:
When we met I had short hair and a long face.
What else was I supposed to do?
Matt was gone, and I
was walking alone on the beaches looking for pieces of glass.
I was trying to see-through something--
Yes. Something.
Ambiguity looms large in college, no?
I’m getting up in front of crowds now
and using things I learned from English to define my art.
Why is it sideways? Why is it black? Why is it blue?
I’ve got a bruise on my arm from climbing out of bed,
Too early,
Beating the sun back down with my
Severe
lack
of optimism.
When we met I was sadder, I think.
I wrote more, thought less,
Looked a lot like a skinny white girl in jeans
Trying to blend into a beige cinderblock wall.
I feel bigger than 12 by 12 feet
and smaller than a drop of water
That flows into the lake and is as
vile and unpredictable
as myself.
And you?
Ah, dear friend, you sleep, and I watch.
Sometimes I awake next to you and wonder
Who you are and where I am and why
I’m here and Matt isn’t and you are.
Sometimes you need to write poetry in a continuous thought,
Not looking at your screen, shitty as it is,
Not using a thesaurus.
Sometimes you see long hair
And want to see short
Blending in,
Blending in,
Blending in,
Gone.
Life is good. Solidly & strangely. I am in college (w00t sophomores!), I'm learning so much my brain feels like it's swimming in it's own brightly hued typography vomit. I'm constantly gawking over typefaces & kerning & leading & I never thought I would give a shit about the difference between smart & dumb quotes,Helvetice Neue and Helvetica. It's just where I am, I guess. I just about shat bricks on election night, screaming and drinking with like-minded people and having four years of set ambitions and hopes come down to a whopping landslide. Victory! Yes!
Lately I've found that I have let some major peeves go (loud chewing is background noise for the most part, now.) and made some major life inconveniences (knuckle cracking, having wet clothing, especially wet sleeves or socks) for myself, but whatever. This is such a major shuffling zone it's unreal. Things that are solid suddenly aren't, and the only major constant is that life is really really good (except for those times when it isn't. :P)
This weekend means trips downstate (Jeez, I just wrote "downstairs") and snuggles with the boy and it's almost been four years-- what what? Yesterday my phone somehow reset it's date to Feb. 16, 2007. It made me chuckle quite a bit.
I just felt the need to update. I need to do this more. writing grounds me enough to remember what the hell I did last week in relation to what I'm doing next week. Comprende?
P.S. I am a baker now. How badass is that?
- - - - - -
September 16, 2008
A Self Portrait/For Pog:
When we met I had short hair and a long face.
What else was I supposed to do?
Matt was gone, and I
was walking alone on the beaches looking for pieces of glass.
I was trying to see-through something--
Yes. Something.
Ambiguity looms large in college, no?
I’m getting up in front of crowds now
and using things I learned from English to define my art.
Why is it sideways? Why is it black? Why is it blue?
I’ve got a bruise on my arm from climbing out of bed,
Too early,
Beating the sun back down with my
Severe
lack
of optimism.
When we met I was sadder, I think.
I wrote more, thought less,
Looked a lot like a skinny white girl in jeans
Trying to blend into a beige cinderblock wall.
I feel bigger than 12 by 12 feet
and smaller than a drop of water
That flows into the lake and is as
vile and unpredictable
as myself.
And you?
Ah, dear friend, you sleep, and I watch.
Sometimes I awake next to you and wonder
Who you are and where I am and why
I’m here and Matt isn’t and you are.
Sometimes you need to write poetry in a continuous thought,
Not looking at your screen, shitty as it is,
Not using a thesaurus.
Sometimes you see long hair
And want to see short
Blending in,
Blending in,
Blending in,
Gone.