February 2011
2 posts
I'm just going to blow some adderal and bleed the...
I don’t think about writing. I am not consciously typing out these words. They flow out of me and the best I can do is channel them.
But they don’t always flow. And I need them to flow.
When I’m done forcing out a paper, it feels like I’ve poured all of myself out. I feel exhausted. I feel used. At least I feel accomplished.
All I do is write and drink and smoke and girls.
Well subtract the ‘s’ from girls. But then it doesn’t have a nice sound aesthetic. And I’m all about that sound aesthetic.
There’s a conversation about duality somewhere in there, but I don’t have time to write for myself. Four essays this week. Four. So fuck you sleep, I guess. Whatever.
Get ready for some bitching. I’m going to bitch all this week.
January 2011
6 posts
1 tag
that damn clock.
And it’s just the tick tick tick of the clock— And it’s just the tick tick tick of the clock— And it’s just the tick tick tick of the clock— And it’s just me standing here in this brown wall. I should not be here. I am. Get over it. Get over it. Get over— My face is pressed sideways against the wood grain. The wood grain is pressed sideways against my back. My back keeps bitching to...
1 tag
harsh words
I like criticism when I ask for it.
It’s the only way to grow as a writer. I need to know which parts good but more importantly, which parts are bad. Praise is nice, but harsh words are far more helpful.
I only hate advice when it’s unsolicited. When something is in the roughest of stages, I don’t want input. I don’t need input. I know there is room for improvement.
I...
1 tag
revised from last year
By the time the sun is tall enough to cast shadows, we’re inside and hiding from it. There is one great rectangular opening on the east wall. It is obscured by thick and faded blinds. A single slit of dull dust runs illuminated down the center of the courtroom. The Bench is on that side of the line. It is a monument of fake wood finish. There was polish. There is dust. All around there is a...
1 tag
I wrote this essay for colleges, but I hate...
[edit: all those annoying line breaks disappear on my tumblr page.]
There’s a fire on the mountain. It’s mid October and each step is a decision. I put my left foot out, feel the sole of my boot catch a grip and lurch my body up. I do the same with my right foot. And again with the left. I haven’t broken into a pattern yet, so each step takes more effort than the...
2 tags
We had to a rewrite of the Love Song of J. Alfred...
You should read the original poem. It’s very good. I hate writing these types of poems. I hate imitating. But I kind of got into this one, so I’m going to post it. The structure is not mine at all mine. Most of the words are. I left Eliot’s language intact either because: a) it served the tone/meaning of my poem b) I changed the meaning of the language by modifying the context.
...
2 tags
This blog will be much more intimate than my other...
I’m mostly going to post my writing. I will probably be rather infrequent and inconsistent with my updates.
This will also be quite personal: awkward and uncomfortable truths, things that frustrate me, etc. All the stuff no one really cares about.
But this is for me. Because I need a constant stream of attention to be happy. Because I am deeply insecure. Because I don’t really know...