February 2012
76 posts
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January 2012
60 posts
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Day 6.
I am almost ashamed that I am doing well today because so many of my people are having trouble.
An early morning to work was both delightful and horrifying. The former because of a lovely latte and my favorite flavor of muffin. The latter because a university van ran into me as I tried to cross the road in front of it. The driver rolled her window down and apologized. I told her no worries, and...
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The Beautiful Poem
I go to bed in Los Angeles thinking about you.
—Richard Brautigan
Except I’m not in Los Angeles, and I actually woke up this morning thinking about you.
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Dear Man Whose Marriage I Wrecked
If it’s any consolation, when your wife took me in her mouth, I closed my eyes and pretended
I was a piece of wedding cake. I was the instigator, bringing her flowers so often her co-workers
nicknamed me carnation hands. At night, I’d look at the stars and slither my petals through her hair.
It was like we were on Mars–me staring over her skull at one moon, her gazing at another.
What I’m...
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December 30
At 1:30 in the morning a fart smells like a marriage between an avocado and a fish head.
I have to get out of bed to write this down without my glasses on.
—Richard Brautigan
Because it’s a Monday morning in winter.
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The Fourth Dimensional Penis: My Attic →
fourthdimensionalpenis:
My Attic
One morning I woke up
Peed in the toilet
Ate a bite
And I heard the sound in my attic
I crept up there with trepidation
And there you were
Sitting on the floor
You looked forlorn
And I was already smitten
So I let you stay
I checked on you every day
Brought you sandwiches and drink
Listened as you spilled your heart out
Like how a child pours out...
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Ernest Hemingway wrote poetry.
I just picked up a copy of his collected poems. They are just what I would expect, being familiar as I am with his novels and short stories. When you read this poem, imagine him writing it as he appears in these pictures.
Ultimately
He tried to spit out the truth; Dry mouthed at first, He drooled and slobbered in the end; Truth dribbling his chin.
—Ernest Hemingway, ca. 1921,...
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We Stopped at Perfect Days
We stopped at perfect days and got out of the car. The wind glanced at her hair. It was as simple as that. I turned to say something—
—Richard Brautigan
Yes, that’s the whole poem, a beautiful, complete fragment.
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Day 3.
“Don’t do it. It’s not worth it,” she said.
“I know it’s bad for me, I know it screws me up, and I know it’s my fault,” I admitted, then hesitated. “But will you still love me even when I do it anyway?”
“Of course I will.” She drew me into her arms.
—
I had this conversation with my favorite girl in early December....
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Day 2.
So I missed Day 1. I don’t give a fuck, but if your OCD is really acting up, I’ll give you a fuck, too.
I’m feeling OK. I would say pretty great, but I’m even afraid of getting too happy, because there’s the inevitable crash after the high. So I’m just OK. Not sad, not happy, in general. I can be happy about individual things, like the fancy hand knit lace...
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The ties that bind
Your words circle tighter around my wrists cinching, binding, clenching tighter stronger
Trapping my hands, joining them together arms stretched, raising higher taller
Hooks slide into my flesh, searing and biting assurances, promises and platitudes firmer
Ropes of your words pull me nearer to you slowly, deliberately, persistently closer
Will we be sorry? Will we say we’re sorry? bound...
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Rommel Drives on Deep into Egypt
—San Francisco Chronicle headline, June 26, 1942
Rommel is dead. His army has joined the quicksand legions of history where battle is always a metal echo saluting a rusty shadow. His tanks are gone. How’s your ass?
—Richard Brautigan
Always an important question to ask, because in the midst of tragedy, politics, and war, life goes on.
grumpyfelix asked: You have one of the tidiest vaginas I've ever seen, and I want to repeatedly draw picture of it.
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The other kind of pain.
I wrote about pain yesterday, about the influence of dealing with chronic and persistent aching, pounding, or throbbing. A text from a dear friend yesterday reminded me of the other facet of pain. She said, “So sad my whole body hurts.” I asked if she was sad because it hurt. Unfortunately, it was the other way around.
You hear about it on commercials for pharmaceuticals: the physical...
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All Girls Should Have a Poem
For Valerie
All girls should have a poem written for them even if we have to turn this God-damn world upside down to do it.
—Richard Brautigan
My first boyfriend was (and still is) a poet. He wrote poems about me, and I kept them all. My favorite is the verse he wrote after the first time we had sex (the night I lost my virginity). I love words.
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I walked into the pharmacy this afternoon.
I was there to pick up a refill of my antidepressants. I had cut out of work early because I didn’t want to cry there. My instinct was to go home instead of running this errand, especially given the events of the day. I wanted to curl up in bed and fall asleep to forget about feelings for a little while, but I didn’t have enough of my prescription to take tonight. I’ve been...
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Attraction to pain.
In early spring 2010, I walked into the office belonging to a dear friend, sat down next to her, placed my head on her shoulder, and began to sob. I don’t remember forming coherent thoughts except to say, “It hurts so bad.” Indeed, the pain was so intense I couldn’t even speak in grammatically correct sentences.
Why so much pain? I’d had a Mirena IUD inserted the...
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I Feel Horrible. She Doesn't
I feel horrible. She doesn’t love me and I wander around like a sewing machine that’s just finished sewing a turd to a garbage can lid.
—Richard Brautigan
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Truthful Tuesday
Don’t worry. Good or bad, everyone gets a spanking.
blondhousewife:
I am aware that many of you like people that I do not. And even more people who don’t like me.
While I can’t say that I hold that against you, it has been annotated in your personnel files and will reflect come review time.
Policy is policy.
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15%
she tries to get things out of men that she can’t get because she’s not 15% prettier
—Richard Brautigan
I hate this poem.
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“And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul,...”
– Sylvia Plath
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In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m on a Richard Brautigan poetry kick.
I happen to also be on a happy goat photo kick, so expect that joy as well.
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Nice Ass
There is so much lost and so much gained in these words.
—Richard Brautigan
This poem makes me laugh hysterically, then sob.
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Please
Do you think of me as often as I think of you?
—Richard Brautigan
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Thank you for helping me.
My mood kind of crashed and burned in the middle of last month. Having an emotionally rough holiday season is nothing new for me. Call it seasonal depression, buildup of stress/anxiety, or anything else which floats your boat. The end result is the same. This year, though, I noted a marked amplification of feelings of despondency, resulting in the worst depressive period of my life.
While 75% of...
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How I can tell I'm depressed.
I’m a moody motherfucker and I know it. What are the trademark signs I’m actually depressed and not just garden-variety sad?
There are the behaviors recognized by the National Institute of Mental Health, like changes to eating/sleeping patterns, decrease in sex drive, hopelessness/helplessness, and cognitive impairment.
Let’s face it…there’s lots of other shit...
Down the Rabbit Hole: I could do this all day. →
I ache.
alicedigitalis:
He said this with his fingers between my lips, stroking and searching for the perfect touch.
I could do this all day.
I’ve wondered ever since - what exactly about that moment could he do all day? What gave him the kind of contented, comfortable feeling that would make you want to stay in that…
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