How do you write a poem that isnt about language. At all ( Read more... )

 Read the word before this one. Now read the word after the period. I'm breathing deep as I write this. Are you aware of your breath? Count in and out until 5. One in is One. One out is Two. One in is Three. One out is Four. Why did you stop counting? Did you actually count the breaths? I am suspicious of you. I know I wouldn't have. I'm lying out ( Read more... )

I love it for all its rickety sway and uncertainty. Growing up is parting with the pat on the back. Its finding the infinite ways in which to be and discovering that justification and encouragement are variables just like any other. Its being strong in a tornado of opportunity-the strength is in the continued searching and the decision of whether ( Read more... )

 This is an exercise in sleep deprivation in order to sleep well into the day tomorrow. On principle.

What does it mean that I'm paranoid that lamentation...a search for compassion, now simply seems like whining, bitching. Have I been listening to my insecure boyfriend too much? Probably, but I don't worry about that too much. I believe that myself ( Read more... )

 ugh.
25th birthday party not really happening now. Looks like Im just going along with whatever happens tomorrow.
oh whatever. It's just too difficult nowadays I guess.
Maybe 30 will be a big deal.
*shrug*

She kept flexing her hand as if it was a distinct apparatus to the wrinkling of her brain. She flexed it with every thought, sometimes multiple times, if the thought warranted several degrees of investigation. The hand didn't ache though, so she started to feel the distance surrounded her hemispheres, as if her body, a geopolitical map, belonged to ( Read more... )

This is my speech to MoMA, for posterity and for myself. I may give this publicly, but probably not. But I write it here, because I've had this public journal for almost 10 years, and it is my record. For better or worse, with a 15 year old's hella cool journal nick (mydarkestangel was right around The Crow's heyday), I will write this speech for ( Read more... )

I walk past emotions to keep from falling off the line.
Below the line, the beam, the bridge, whatever it is.
Is everyone else and what I've thought they would be.
When I'm alone
now
I am aching not to cry
or step on sharp things 
purposefully
I don't hold hot pans
or watch Charlie Kaufman films
or drink whiskey by myself.
I drone on in my head
soft beaten ( Read more... )

And maybe purity is the end ( Read more... )

Desperation is terrifying.

It's as if I went through a terror, clawing like an animal to get away. Oscillating between survival and suicide, supreme anger and love.

The lesson learned? Whatever we do will not be easy but moments cannot color us. We cannot measure the world with moments of doubt and hate. They are strong because they are fleeting. ( Read more... )