I should just stick to prose.
I don’t know what I’m trying to accomplish with line breaks. No idea of mine is ever complete, so how can I possibly skip to the next line? It’s dangerous, a rolling current that intensifies and swells from the unnecessary shit it drags in. I’m in a foreign land without the sentence structure, asymmetrical rhythm and unbalanced timbre of prose.
Or maybe I should write neither and just shut the fuck up. Yeah, never mind.
“Wow! You guys have such a perfect window seat,” an RA said while checking me out of my room.
“Yep,” I said, barely paying attention. I was taking the last of my shit off the walls.
“You ever just sit up here and read?” She asked, patting the wide windowsill.
I turned around and cocked my head. On the windowsill…I had always thought of it as untouchable, no man’s land, something to temporarily put a water bottle on, I don’t know. I hadn’t ever thought of that, and my roommate didn’t either. “No,” I breathed, still looking at the windowsill.
She kept talking, I’m not sure what about. I can’t believe I never thought of sitting on the windowsill. That’s such a perfect place to read.
When she left a few minutes later, I climbed onto the windowsill, knees folded to my chest. I sat and stared out the window for 5 minutes until my cab came.
I think that’s the only thing I regret about my freshman year.
I’m going to miss this fancy little chicken coop we call college.
Can’t wait to come back.
It’s that time of year. Stressful exams are winding down, the weather’s warming up and the leaves and flowers are budding. With the approaching summer, I decided to make/participate in some fresh starts.
A couple college friends and I decided to make a non-sober adventures blog, called The Three Borrachos. It’s a group blog with ALS and RPV. It’s pretty awesome. They’re awesome people. Non-soberness is awesome. All of this overflowing awesomeness will land in that jar manufactured by Tumblr. We’ll collect those memories so that we can still be together, in a way, throughout the summer. When we’re united again, well, who knows what will happen.
I also started an individual interest-driven blog today for both legal and illegal activities, places, objects (mostly pictures) and ideas that I think are cool. It’s called Recalcitrance.
Check them out!
Feedback’s welcome and appreciated. Or just say hello, that’s cool too.
❝ If you start turning the Titanic long before you hit the iceberg, you can go clear without even spilling a drink of a passenger on deck. If you wait until you’re really close, spilling a lot of drinks is the best you can hope for.
❝ On the drive back from the hospital Becky said, “only the good die young”, another vague statement used to make someone feel better. She had said it with a blank look on her face, as though she knew this cliché knowledge didn’t make any of this easier. I’ve always wondered why we use this phrase. Maybe a better phrase would be, only the young die good, before they have the chance to be corrupted by the world. I am far past that. The world has had its way with me and I’m afraid that, although I’m only twenty-nine, I am far past this ‘young’ standard we put on the good.
thedustwillsing, “Only the Young Die Good”
a big black blanket full of secrets and dangers
it’s dark outside, so dark
i can’t see the streetlights or the stars or the moon not even
the silver lining of the clouds
under the moon
no light out there
that makes me nervous
i don’t know what’s coming
i am blind
absence of light is absence of hope
that’s how i feel at 3am
in the dark when everybody else is nestled
quietly, alone and content with their
dreams, or maybe they’re lonely too
but how will i ever find them
it’s too dark
maybe somebody with a lot of light
and hope to spare
can lend me some
and from that
i can build my own
maybe even enough to share
Negativity is overwhelming me right now.
I am too discouraged to write about it.
It’s nothing special. Everybody’s been there.
There’s enough words out there to describe it, much better than my own.
I will just wallow in my smallness until it drowns me into unconsciousness for 8 hours.
I guess things will seem better after dawn.
❝ Last summer I visited the beach on a busy holiday weekend. I never saw so much flesh: I saw more flesh than sand. Sunbathers hung over the sides or out the bottoms of their swimsuits. Sleeping old men roasted their round bellies then flipped like rotisserie chickens.
Brian Jay Stanley, “I Am Not This Body” from The New York Times 5/6/13
Today I Ripped Apart My Stress Pistachio
i want to be done fighting too
you have issues that need to be addressed
what did you expect my very first reaction to be?
that doesn’t make any sense
but we were having a bad day that day
i am a good person
fuck you for doing it all over again after we went through this
well let’s all hold hands and sing kumbaya in hell
it’s not worth it
you don’t know what friendship is
people who change their morale
who am i to stop you?
so suck my fucking toe
leave. it. be.
but you weren’t there
you know what look in the mirror. the fucking mirror just look at it for a long fucking time
okay. we don’t have to talk about it anymore
you don’t need to know anything about me anymore
why does it matter?
i will apologize… but
i am sorry about that. but
i wasn’t judging you as a person…i was judging what you did
she’s a BITCH
holy shit you have a brain
angry music or something
i don’t want to be judged
a big, giant, seething fuck you