| new thingy |
[22 Oct 2007|02:37pm] |
I'd appreciate some advice about how you think i should perform this.
The lies they label “pretty”
As she comes to you with questions
Hand pressed over stomach
As if it were the membrane of a drum
As if percussive and foreign
Hand her the bright unctious gloss
Of a women’s magazine
The blueprints for living the vixen life
Presentation of starvation
As a career goal
Every time they see the women
Whose bones clamor to skin surface
Like beggar children
Sigh like watching artwork
Sigh like frailty is the epitome
Of love’s desires
Tell them real women
Are best seen as competition
Or another pretty liability
The opportunity to safely
Become the prosecutor
Say sexy like
Predators tamed in zoo cages
like naked and just out of reach
is the new coy
like dance steps
and puppet show fire
When the blood comes
Whip out the anatomy books
Watch their skin stretch
With the eyes of one seeing
A container slowly giving up hollow
A shed meant to hold so much fruit
When you teach her make up
Make it a ceremony of oneirology
Banish the porous imperfections
They’ve cherished in the mirror
Teach them lifelike opacity
Tell them pretty is a greasepaint stain
Reach past their teeth
While holding a key
Unlock the door to the back of their mouth
Place a stranger inside
Leave them to reconcile
See them begin to imagine sex
As the throbbing predictable violence
Of the tide
Like something that erodes
And replaces past traces of beach
With lovely luminescent brine
Don’t mention the escapism of it
That it’s not something
To be used as a bartering tool
To get frost coated to another container
Don’t say enjoyment
Like it’s a simple word
Make them think it’s something
Done to them
Not something they have
Tell them they are territory
Let them interpret flesh adjusting
To the proximity of curves as gutters
Grateful to beg for the
Detritus raked off flat places
When they say love
Talk about fidelity and chemicals
When they say love
Talk about retention and clockwork
When they say love
Talk about gardens and manuals
Then point to the spittle flecking
Around mouth corners
Practiced pretty for movie plots
Which is only a small
Contingent’s drama story
Acted out with light
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[16 Oct 2007|01:00pm] |
lots of things have been buzzing about, yet i haven't felt like there's anything to diary about.
been spending 10-28 hour stretches of time with a guy named zac from my poetry class.
tacos and wine and movies and sleepover at drew's last night.
lots of caffiene crashes. i forgot how i trained my body to not quite need the stuff. i should switch to morning coffee. but it's not the same. i want to be smacked in the face with espresso.
i like visiting 19 albion a great deal.
i want to buy soft cotton clothing hardcore.
the room is more room-like. i need more tupperware shelf things. also a goddamn pole for my armoir.
dolly is so good. when i talk to her she grasps the bars of her cage with her little pink paw-hands. she's not a biter of bars. she wins. i was once afraid she was super neurotic. nope!
i have a pile of things i need to get rid of.
it's hard to think of how to break the ice with someone who "doesn't know how to talk to you."
layrngitis put a monkey wrench in memorizing poems goal. it's gone now, though. neeeext week (right.)
note to self: myspace is an effective medium of pimping self.
didn't go to knott classes for awhile because i'd sleep through them or the day in general. he wasn't so bitter today. i workshopped the frustrated wife poem today and this kid matt sitting across from me is usually super reserved, but he stared at me all mouth agape and scared eyes. i can't help this quiet violence thing i'm good at. nor am i going to stop making people uncomfortable. lovely.
knott is a strange man. i kinda want him to be my way more bitter version of tuesdays with morrie.
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| WOAHHHH |
[02 Oct 2007|12:00pm] |
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mood |
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 giddy |
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bill knott told me to get the poem published. not only in n emerson publication. he told me someone might pay for it. he said the words "out into the world."
also- a kid wrote a poem modeled from a picasso i was looking at for a long time last night. i spouted on about it a little bit.
oh man.
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| i poemed this |
[01 Oct 2007|01:03pm] |
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mood |
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 rushed |
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The Change Cups of Uptown Manhattan Speak
Can Anyone please spare a hello more happy
greeting and less stone breaking offensive window?
Can Anyone drop me change with finger motions
less the story of suntans leaving skin?
Can Anyone put the animal grace
back into the fold of their work clothes?
Can Anyone speak to the sunset as it
ricochets off glass and acknowledge
that they can talk to the warmest parts of themselves?
Can Anyone please give me a picture of their
child looking at the world through smooth face
ignorant amphibian smile beaming?
Can Anyone tell me the story of that child’s
first steps like planting a tree not a flag?
Can Anyone unlock the iron catacombs of their
heart protection and convincingly tell me we
weren’t born like this: greedy and stupid and mean?
Can Anyone read the people back into tabloid pictures?
Can Anyone please love more prison break
less concrete scar tissue shoved into sidewalk?
Can Anyone fondly remember their mother’s smile
until the word slut is stripped from
the gears of their thought machine?
If we all held hands could we remember
What we thought about outer space
Before facts were brought into it?
The moon hovering lamplight in velvet.
Hands pasted next to the stars with hope
But still not able to touch them.
Can Anyone remember how good it felt
To not know why we can never touch them?
Can Anyone make Jesus slap televangelists?
Can Anyone tuck a foreigner’s fear into their gut?
Can Anyone shout with me there is no shame
in going hungry, only in complacency
about people starving?
Can Anyone replace the bullets
With the soft of water glasses untouched?
Can Anyone spill indignation from an
ever-flowing cistern onto all the rich people?
Can Anyone please teach us we were once
more scared of the ocean than each other?
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[29 Sep 2007|02:15pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 awake |
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so many things are different. i am encouraging myself to get excited about the little things. the best thing about little things (so as email, tea, and kiwis) is that they are so fucking grand if you just let them be. grand in the way that over glorified things are not.
kiwis, you make me wish i was smaller.
email with prof, i'm going to share you:
(preface- we have to do one page responses before each class and email them to her. i over-slept in a big way on friday and emailed her this thing about shadows in dante's purgatorio.)\
her-
Marry me. Please!
Seriously, I love you. You always have smart things to say and you are really pushing yourself to try to be creative about thinking about literature.
I was kind of shocked that you are taking this class, because you NEVER SHOWED UP for American Literature and I basically thought that was because you thought I was doing a crappy job.
That might still have been true, but I'd like to think not.
Anyway, I'm glad you are taking this class.
Probably British Literature would have been a better class to take (since people are starting to clam up in this class as well -- oh dear), but we'll see.
Anything can be turned around.
We should hang out.
Best,
Christina
me-
oh god. i loved that class. for serious. it was just so early and i worked so often and yea. there's still another semester for brit lit. and also beyond for hanging out. you are not doing a crappy job, you are doing a great job! you are one of the best profs here. you are not falling back on pretentious jargon or trifling away anyone's time with nothing classes. for serious.
have my babies?
~griffin!
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[26 Sep 2007|01:49pm] |
so. i don't even think you're the most attractive boy out of the crop anymore.
missing you was missing someone else, but projecting it onto someone who could theoretically be reached.
you don't understand my double negative sentences. ever. and if you were ACTUALLY GOOD with logic problems you'd probably be able to understand them.
take
that
douche
bag.
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| i have a tattoo! |
[20 Sep 2007|12:39pm] |
getting it was wonderful!
best part:
josh (tattoo artist)- how are you doing?
me- i'm okay. what about you?
us- laaaaaaughter
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[10 Sep 2007|01:36pm] |
moved into the new apartment about two weeks ago. spent four days with the completely bare apartment. it was lonely, but lonely in an almost reassuring way. certainly reassuring when the room mates moved in and everything warmed up.
i live with jon covert. he has the potential for a very good drinking buddy. jasmine has pointed this out at least twice. we drabnk whiskey together and he said "you drink like a pirate." i'll take it as a compliment.
i'm still relatively on the "let's break away from vices, shall we?" kick. but it was easier in somerville.
classes today. my phone was set to silent and so my alarm didn't go off. even so, i was only ten minutes late to 10 am class. this year i have an excuse for being late to the first class. other years i was just late.
i want to go to tomorrow's class so bad. but it's not tomorrow yet at all.
bill knott is notorious for ripping people's poems apart.
yum.
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| my body is a cage |
[28 Aug 2007|07:08pm] |
i should note: my emotions felt like seeing colors are usually overblown misunderstandings. this one was mostly due to missing.
things have unfolded the best they can, i think. it was a catalyst for something very important.
i just feel foolish, selfish, vindictive. and yet, the anger was going to come anyway. it was purged this way with bad timing yet minimum drama.
i've started to understand how people see me. which is to say, i think there are some positive things about myself now and i don't need to see things as a competition to accept it.
in other news: my father has moved to CT to cohabitate with his mother.
worried is not the word.
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[23 Aug 2007|11:31am] |
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i haven't been this angry in a while. but i'm crying about it. there has been a minimum of excessive punching. maybe this is what turning into a person is like. i've lost so much respect for the birthday boy.
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| arachnocampa |
[18 Aug 2007|11:29am] |
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mood |
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 confused |
] |
when someone sees a spec hanging from a tree lighting up the air they think the word "glow-worm." in reality they're not all the same creatures. femalr fireflies can't fly, but they can still shine. and they do.
the arachnocampa spits strings from cave ceilings and uses light to prey on microscopic midges.
in the ceiling of my cave there's a glow worm. the things spilling out its mouth build on themselves and the worry glow sinks down. today it takes up residence in my belly.
you fickle thing. so many think you're beautiful.
i still do.
it hurts.
it hangs in me like spit string, the components combining and expanding into light.
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| the charm of the highway strip |
[13 Aug 2007|12:03pm] |
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mood |
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relieved |
] |
pandora radio+ kitchen+ free time= great.
I'm pretty sure something amazing happened two days ago. While meditating and streatching I found there was a greater range of motion in my left (injured) knee.
drive backwards:
Last September when my knee gave out on me I felt a wrenching and then heard a fibrous sound in my knee. The orthopedist at MGH kept looking puzzled when I would correct the way she reconstructed the scene. Things about sounds and tearing versus a more pinching and forcibly moving sensation were debated. In any case there was a moment in the second session (late October) when she said I may have sprained/torn the miniscus (sp?) or I may just have naturally loose ligaments in my knee and have something akin to a trick knee. She kept playing around with my right knee and hrmming and then was all like "pay this whack-ass amount of money for an MRI" and I said "no no no".
potential awesome:
Something slid and then clicked back into place. That's all I can say to describe it. The empty cavity feeling under my kneecap that bothered me so freakin' much is gone. It's pretty much fluid motion of tissue on tissue holdin' it down like foxy brown. And it's crazy how I could have taken that for granted my whole life. And it's comforting that my prediction about running at the Y track less than two years after the injury might be true.
The pacing of this summer has just been nice. Relaxing at yet productive. This summer rolling into autumn has been alot like a new tide gliding in. More time spent sitting around the house, but a completely new kind of sitting that isn't wiling away time completely. There's watching over a home and lots of little chores to get up early and do. Sometimes I sing in my head over and over "shifting to adult shifting to adult shifting to adult."
A switch from coffee to yerba matte took place last week. It's pretty glorious.
I also got a burn from our oven that reminds me of an owl.
thend
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| all my employers in boston have been raised by wolves |
[01 Aug 2007|12:02pm] |
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mood |
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 discontent |
] |
wolves on drugs.
First there was Jolie Cafe. It was fie when the day manager fan everything. He was helpful and let me take gelato etc. However, the owner came back from his near/middle east country of origin ( I want to say Jordan, but I have a feeling that's horribly wrong) where he was getting heart surgery. Needless to say, this guy was hardcore not respecting college ladies. There was nothing I looked forward to more than being heckled as I served wasps poorly cooked fake Italian food after a full day of classes. I quit after two big changes happened: 1) he started letting his EIGHT YEAR OLD DAUGHTER spend time in the restaurant during my shift. I was basically entrusted to make sure she didn't kill herself after her father shooed her away. She also loved to mention that if I didn't let her wait on people that he could get me fired. 2) he put a third girl on duty during weekend days. The tips were already split in a horrible way (by management and not the waitresses, there was no room to move around anymore, and the new girls never seemed to learn the deffinition of hurry.
Mass quitting ensued around june. months worked:7ish.
Savenor's grocery. There was an exceedingly annoying butcher. ONe of those guys that tries to establish a repor through insults and then thinks you're a jackass if you don't rip into him back. Also that butcher I went on two horribly awkward dates with. No real wolves on drugs within the bosses. But old women complaining about the prices of the same produce every day? wolves on drugs.
Quit around August. Months worked: 2.
CREPERIE! The best of times and worst of times. How to begin?
Lisa. Lisa was 24 going on 40. She began managing this failing business during college and then started dating the partial owner, Tony (actually 40ish man who wore crazy pajama pants and a cowboy hat to work without fail). This was kind of awkward. Awkwardness compounded by her tendencies to wear pants that revealed her thong every time she leaned over,treat me like I didn't know what I was doing as she would burn people's meals during the lunch rush, talk about her parents in CT or therapist's advice, SKIM PEOPLE'S HOURS FROM THEIR PAYCHECKS AND THEN DENY IT WHEN CONFRONTED.
Terrell. He was great. I mean it. Hillarious ladies' man from dorchester going to suffolk. However, whenever I had to open with him he would be an hour and a half late. During closing shifts he would perpetually sneak off to the back alley connecting us to another restaurant to smoke/sell weed with workers there. However, he was hillarious and many blunts were smoked while mopping that enormous fucking floor.
Steven. Stopped showing up. Got fired.
Bart. Oh god. Masogynist vietnam vet. Need more info? No. No you don't. Except maybe that he would disappear to do his laundry during shifts and return ready to scream his head off about knives and batter.
Jasmine and Rusty. Good people. My friends. Actually did their jobs.
I. hurt my knee and then left because Lisa didn't know the deffinition of just give me a week or something off, whorecunt.
I did give two weeks notice. Time working:about 5 months.
Barnes and Noble:
My manager Rico would constantly schedule me to close on thursdays and open on fridays. It was a choice between failing a photography class and having a job that didn't really help my whole knee sitch. My mom convinced me to quit.
Two Weeks notice. About 6 months working there.
Crazy Celt book store:
First off- run by an aging Jewish hippie from forrest hills, queens. He's very defensive about people asking him why he's so interested in Celts. Also once asked me to spell psychedelics for him because he's "done too many to remember how to spell it" and then told me I didn't know how to spell it either.
Doesn't come to the store until about four hours after we open. This is about one hour before I'm supposed to leave. He proceeds to mill about his desk for a half hour while he gives me a huge list of random tasks to get done before I go home. None of these tasks involve bills, advertising, or registering for sales tax rigamorole. They all have to do with unpacking boxes he keeps bringing in, which he then repacks awakwardly on my days off. My jobs is to humor this, pack up internet orders, and harrass him about chores he night want to take care of if he doesn't want his business to go under.
My job is also made difficult by the fact that I'm supposed to be the book keeper. I've labeled and organized all the composition notebooks he insists on using to record business, yet whenever I'm not looking over his shoulders he grabs a notebook at random and scrawls notes in it that not even he can read at times. When I ask him about this he says "I couldn't find the ____ book" and I die a little inside because I always leave them in the same place.
Also- we only just recently got AC.In August.
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[02 Jul 2007|02:43pm] |
went to nyc this weekend. it was super fun. virgin megastore is perpetually having a sale this summer. i enjoy. i got this amazing bob dylan boxed set of bootlegs. i really missed the tunes from the gaslight tapes and the basement tapes i lost due to the hard drive crash.
if anyone can get them and burn them i'd love you forever.
i don't think i'm going to set up my computer again until i have a desk. desks seem to help with the computers not hating me.
i don't feel crazy weird awful visiting new york anymore. i like the city alot. i've finally got a perspective to look at it through that's positive.
my job is going really well.
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| updatey |
[15 Jun 2007|03:24pm] |
well, i'm living in somerville for the summer. my room mates and my room please me greatly. i have a job, but it is teh suck. i plan on looking for another one. i plan on joining the ymca and finally building up my knee sufficiently. i used to be good at saving money, now i'm fantastically bad at it. i think actually sticking to a balanced checkbook will help.
in a kind of uncomfortable note-
to someone who might not even me referencing my presence in their presence on the 14th so i'm not leaving you a note (not even sure you read this):
WOW.
so i'm compltely civil to you. in fact, i'd say pretty damn nice given the fact that whenever you see me you put on a face as though you've just bitten a lemon. i'm gonna have to get off my chest that you are the person making yourself uncomfortable. i wasn't bullshitting when i said i wanted to be friends. we have the same sense of humor and i appreciate that. the reason i didn't call you was that you have no phone. even though i've tried to stop giving you a shit eating grin in lieu of hello i can't. being mean and a tight ass just isn't worth it. i don't want to ruin anyone's fun, least of all my own, which is what acting stubborn and mean does. you're a good writer and this shouldn't be the reason you stop sharing and getting feedback. how about manning the fuck up and maybe venting to me? it might make you feel better and i'm willing. you don't have to actually think i'm a good person, just stop being a little shitter, please.
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[09 May 2007|04:18pm] |
Writing chapbooks makes me happy. I shall be a busy bee in boston starting tomorrow. I like busy bees.
also- Kurt Vonnegut
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| crazy jane talks with the {online diary medium} |
[06 May 2007|11:35am] |
I feel very strongly that I'm failing at life. I spent alot of time this semester on things I was pretty proud of, such as reading and photography and figuring out how to wirte plays. It turns out I didn't see anyone very much and all that I have to show for it is a list of grades saying that people hired at emerson college think I'm pretty mediocre. Except for the play. That was read aloud and it made me and man others visibly uncomfortable. Therefore, it was a complete success.
I like making people uncomfortable and I don't know how to feel about that alot of the time.
I know I don't like that I didn't see people very much this year. Or at all in some cases. I think that it might have hurt them, and then I don't because that seems very self involved. I wish I had more to show for it. If i had at least fucking done well it might have been consolation for not being a real person.
I feel like I am failing at life. I don't like the options that are popping into my head. Not at all. And being in New York is weird. The thoughts swing between two extremes. In Boston things are more middle ground.
I don't know how many people know this, but ever since I was very small I've had a certain way of percieving myself. It's hard for me not to see myself as a corruptive force. I feel like bad things happen when I'm around. I essentially kill myself to others by just not being around ever. It feels kind of satisfying.
Thinking about boston makes me realize people will miss me. And maybe I'm not this big black oily spot.
I really need to keep in mind the fact that people will miss me if I'm gone.
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[05 Mar 2007|03:24pm] |
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i miss____. i'd rather not.
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[27 Dec 2006|08:09pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 lethargic |
] |
is there any way to incrporate taxidermy into a poem and not freak people out?
will i ever go back to the cantab?
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[28 Sep 2006|11:31pm] |
i tell people i'm an asshole and they don't believe me.
then i prove myself.
and things start working out for me again.
i honestly don't understand.
adam- my email address is emilymercury@yahoo.com
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