June 2012
19 posts
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Whenever I hear this song I think of unfinished...
Best Author-on-Author Insults In History
Virginia Woolf on James Joyce: [Ulysses is] the work of a queasy undergraduate scratching his pimples.
Harold Bloom on J.K. Rowling: How to read ‘Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone’? Why, very quickly, to begin with, and perhaps also to make an end. Why read it? Presumably, if you cannot be persuaded to read anything better, Rowling will have to do.
H. G. Wells on George Bernard Shaw: An idiot child screaming in a hospital.
Ralph Waldo Emerson on Jane Austen: Miss Austen’s novels . . . seem to me vulgar in tone, sterile in artistic invention, imprisoned in the wretched conventions of English society, without genius, wit, or knowledge of the world.
William Faulkner on Ernest Hemingway: He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary.
Ernest Hemingway on William Faulkner: Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?
W. H. Auden on Robert Browning: I don’t think Robert Browning was very good in bed. His wife probably didn’t care for him very much. He snored and had fantasies about twelve-year-old girls.
Mark Twain on Jane Austen: Every time I read ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ I want to dig her up and hit her over the skull with her own shin-bone.
Truman Capote on Jack Kerouac: That's not writing, it's typing.
Twain's insult of Austen is always one of my favorites.
I had fun at the wedding of one of my best friends last night, but I have to admit, that sitting with one of my old classmates and her fiance and another and his long term girlfriend, in this room of so many in love, I was jealous of all of them, there in my tie, cleaned up, and nobody to introduce on my arm. I was almost ashamed of it.
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la lune
How this moon makes her wild with slow dance, her every angle all ballroom and dark tide, her hair every dancer, this night will only make you fool, the kindest, and biggest you’ve ever been, the most restless and at ease. How this night is never dark enough and all too bright.
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Listen
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in rebuttal to 61% of North Carolina and those...
Because faulting something for being unnatural is a failure to applaud the gold medal gymnast who bends her body into the arch of cathedrals, given the stiff bones of man to shape.
It’s pretending the platypus is anything less than adorable.
It’s ignoring the beauty of Bjork’s oddly packaged heaven hitting high notes.
It’s damning every sweet tea and sugar cookie.
It’s falsely assuming the...
cup of coffee, you’re doing wonders this morning, you magic morning sun spit nectar, restore me
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My best friend I have these simple text message chats and he always says the most encouraging things to me. Tonight, he reminded me to stop selling myself short, to know how talented I am and how much I deserve good things. We’re generally not too outward with our emotions, not because of that male condition of burying it, but because I think we usually understand where the other’s...
When you go to a wedding where classmates you haven’t seen since high school are present, you shake hands when you greet one another. It seems all of them now have careers and are married or engaged or in a long term relationship which appears to be headed towards an engagement. Everything I haven’t figured out yet, essentially. It’s nice to know they’re doing well,...
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“I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self respect....”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald (via ellagee)
F. Scott always gets it
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Douchebags Robbed My Friends at the Portland...
mikemcgee:
The Pointy House in Portland (PDX), Oregon is becoming a landmark for spoken word in the Pacific Northwest. Eirean Bradley (PDX Slammaster) recently moved in, along with my Whirlwind touring compatriot, Brian S. Ellis, only reinforcing the radness that has resided there for some time.
The house has been a haven for many a hobo-artist over the years; a fine place to land after a long...
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My new thing as of tonight
I placed a small, plastic dinosaur on my receipt at the restaurant, then, in the line left for a tip, wrote the amount and beneath it wrote, “+1 dinosaur yay!!”
May the rest of your night be wild and ferocious, waitress.
I will now do this everywhere I eat.
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A Thing I Ate Before Dinner
dcpierson:
I realized I ate an Oreo with a spoonful of peanut butter on top in full view of the neighbor’s house. Then I thought, “Eh, if anything, it humanizes me.”
Then there was a second when I couldn’t find the top to the peanut butter jar, and my immediate thought was that I would have to eat the whole jar. I instantaneously resigned myself to this with equal parts fear and zeal, like a...
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May 2012
252 posts
“We met when we were almost young
Deep in the green lilac park.
You held onto...”
– Leonard Cohen, “So Long Marianne” (via fuckyeahmrleonardcohen)
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This song: a Trojan horse full of poppies, every...
I ran outside, in the rain, to back my car out for the free wash only to discover that this particular rain is made of polar ice cap and hot pocket box unearthed from the deepest corner of the forgotten freezer.
I am so cold
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Watchit’s tornado season in Kansas, always
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An elderly man on television was just asked what he wanted his legacy to be and he replied “worth being associated with, ‘he was a good fellow.’”
I hope mine can be the same. I like that.
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Listening to the new Sigur Ros album feels like your body’s exploding into a solar flare of rainbow fish and starfruit, in slow motion, in an ocean in a cave on the moon, and somewhere there’s a man playing a piano on a mountain on Saturn, and you can’t see him, but you know he’s there and you can hear that song underwater, so you just keep floating and exploding, in this...
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[333w3c] - 5/29
Maybe it was my hand curled over the top of yours, the strange animal it formed, that awkward knot of knuckles that spoke too loud for me. There are nights I rest my hand on top of the other in hopes of remembering the beat of my chest against your back. There is never any answer. My pulse is too soft, the quilted mallet, a fist of ribbons. Alone, you don’t question the smell of your breath...
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I have this habit of sending out a lot of poems/writing all at once. I’ve gotten more rejection letters the past two weeks than I ever have in such a short period of time. It’s part of the process. I wanna be so much better, I’m still trying to figure out how to do that.
On the flip side I still have pieces up in the newest issues of kill author and The Legendary!
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music box
hitrecord:
Text by blbest
==
My chest is full of branches. They are woven together in a basket of black mud and asteroid. It’s a nest that still glows with strands of cosmos tangled in. This bird that builds it has feathers the size of car hoods. He’s half owl, half comet tail. He was raised by a pack of subterranean desert coyotes. His mouth is claw machine and firemen shoulder. He fills...
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WatchBarefoot on the deck, tiki torches lit, coyotes howling in the distance, whippoorwills callin’, a cool breeze, lightning bugs swarmin’, join me. Stay up for hours, we’ll talk about everything, growing up, childhood, love, figuring out what to do with these strange bodies in a strange world, c’moooooon
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My poem “music box” is featured on the front page of Hitrecord.org Such a wonderful and flattering thing to wake up to today!
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Dream man wanted (v2)
Honey, my application may look a bit bare to an employer like yourself, but I assure you my mother’s a good reference. She’s an honest woman, an elementary school teacher at that. If you’re a nice girl, or a living one, she’d really like me to give you a call sometime. My past work experience includes 24 years of ghost skin modeling, brief childhood stints of blanket fort architecting, and a...
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The man in the restaurant at the table in front of me, kept making fun of the waitstaff to his date once they were no longer in ear shot “thanks, tubby, or maybe I should call him fluffy” and “that lady’s so weird (then mocks her voice).” I tried to mind my own business but it was irritating. You don’t talk about people this way. You especially don’t do...