Tag Archives: art

Memories Forgot

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Piled under blankets,
pigment greased thick
under fingernails – scrubbed once
or twice – her breath falls soft.

Fast as Nike, she slept.
Night crept darker still;
under what pretense
would light appear but dawn?

An hour forgotten, a day forgotten.
The memories fade and no witness
to bear this breath in or out.
Snow drifts. One hurricane
follows another, falls dark.

Muse Memory Writing Prayer

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Memories are dim –
white clouds on the outside.
I’m waiting for dark,
for gray or black or that sheet of sky where stars wink through holes
in cut fabric.

The Sullen One, the Dreamer, the Spectacle, the Net-Caster –
Oh, Weaver
I am alone in myself without drift or muse
Words on the horizon.

Is there a miracle invocation to be made?
Inspiration could be
a ghost from my past, or a spirit to prompt dreams
of lampposts in winter,
of burning oils and incense and
a poem without rhythm or reason
or rhyme
that flows like the ocean and whispers like the salt.
Simple rhythm.
A misguided drum.

And so, into the abyss, slowly,
I go descending

With my dreams scattered among nightmares,
the cutting edge of joy on my wrist;
hungry for life and death and the deepness of feeling.

So we are the painters, the artists, the diplomatic chief designers for our own lives, deaths and in betweens.

Snow falls and everything is soft and clean again.

In Which I am Clumsy and Mature and Also Make a Trek

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I hit my head on a cupboard door and at first it hurt and I felt funny, but now I feel giddy. I don’t know what this means, but it does seem significant.

Also, over the last few months I’ve been working my way through Middlemarch (George Eliot) and enjoying the slow reading process. It’s weird for me, because usually I’m a plow-through, addict type reader, but this might be a sign of maturation or decreased attention span. Hard to say really. Though I never used to be able to write things in my head before and now I can do haiku if I’m running without music, so I prefer to think of these developments as maturation.

New topic: the post below this one includes photos taken during a 12-hour drive that GT and I embarked upon last Monday in hopes of hitting all major Scottish tourist centers on the mainland in a single day. While I’m not sure that we were entirely successful, we did see a lot. Places where we stopped and walked included:

the Falkirk Wheel (weirdest non-invention piece of construction on the planet — it’s just a big non-useable lock to model a historic lock that actually didn’t exist between canals in that area — it was complete in 2002 — who knows what anyone was thinking),

Stirling Castle (cool, but we didn’t pay the 13 pounds to go in, so I don’t know much about that),

Loch Lomond & the Trossachs (fantastic — see pictures of the swan in the previous post),

a B&B somewhere between Loch Lomond and Loch Ness (we didn’t make it to Loch Ness because we would probably have died somewhere along the winding roads of the Scottish highlands — totally not a plus).

During the course of this trip I discovered that I can talk a lot and pretty much without major pauses over a twelve-hour period. I also realized that I am going to miss GT so much that it’s a little hard to contemplate without triggering the telltale throat knot. It’s ok though. He let me take a lot of pictures and this has been a good year. I’m lucky.

Another picture, to illustrate the essence of the ramble:

Scotland, as is

Or two:

In Leven… definitely something

Or three:

GT treated me

Ok, last one:

the kiss

 

Everything Funny. (Ha. Ha. Ha.)

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Me walking to work with my microwaved egg and applewood smoked cheese in a mug with a fork and an apple.

The mug starts out really hot because I just microwaved it for like 2 minutes so that I have to be careful and sometimes hold it with my hand pulled inside my coat sleeve. It’s good cheese though. And breakfast is really important. Plus this breakfast includes three food groups, which is good because apparently a mixture of food groups is more filling.

Me picking up a bowl of fruit from a stand in the middle of the breakfast dining area at a five star hotel intending to refill the bowl, only to have the entire stand topple over (five large white ceramic bowls) onto the juice pitchers to the right (six plastic juice pitchers).

This made a loud crashing noise which cause the diners to all look around and make a big “oh” gasping sound. Then, the rest of the hotel staff descended around me to pick up the massively destroyed area (really only one bowl broke) and I moved around in shock, having been unaware that the stand could actually fall over. Doesn’t it seem like a bad idea for something that customers use to just topple when it becomes unbalanced? Doesn’t it seem like a bad idea not to tell employees that the stand can topple over? Maybe it seems like common sense. But come on, people, I don’t have common sense. I am studying creative writing. That should indicate something. Also, I bruise myself at least once a week by running into inanimate objects.

Me getting confused and almost forgetting my second-attempt at getting immunizations for a trip to India and therefore calling GT in a panic saying “I need the van urgently.”

Fortunately, GT responded by saying, “Oh, I’m just getting to it now; I can be there in five minutes.” Of course, (disclaimer to my Mom) if he hadn’t said that, I could have made it to the hospital in time to get my shots. It’s just that it would have been less pleasant because I would have had to start running immediately. It would have been funny though… right? This moment was also relatively entertaining because GT came in with me to distract me while I got my shots. He did this by talking first about the weird St. Andrews’ tradition of dumping water on people finishing their final final exam (it’s cold here, do people not get that?) for the first arm, and then by making commentary about the “clinical waste” receptacle in the doctor’s office for the second arm. Mostly though, I can picture the big-eyed look he was giving me in order to be especially attention-worthy for the second one. It was absolutely distracting.

Me watching Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy with Liberty and getting really excited that Zooey Deschanel is in it and then staying up with Liberty really late because we were doing cool pastels and talking shiz.

That was fun. My pastel is weird and cool and maybe I’ll post a photo of it. Like, right now. I can’t post one of the Liberty’s because she took it with her. Maybe later. Also, I think Zooey is actually more attractive now than she was then. How has her hair gotten so sexy? I want that to happen to me.

it’s a bubble tree

Me and the crew doing the Lonely Boy dance to celebrate a massive MCAT score achieved by Liberty.

This actually might be the best image of the week. The ultimate winner. There were four of us and we watched the music video and imitated it with extreme exuberance to demonstrate how excited we were that Liberty is super smart. Because a standardized test said so. We pretty much already knew, but confirmation is always nice.

The seagulls who can’t navigate when it’s super windy.

They’re just funny. Haha.

Old Poems Posted (3) “Casting”

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1

Vision – like drawing a picture, or doodling, you have an idea how it will look, even a precise image imagined. But rarely does it go very smoothly. If you cannot adjust to a bump in the paper or a twitch of your own hand, then you cannot finish. You must find a way to include mistakes in the final product. You must learn to work through them. Sometimes it exceeds all expectations, even those of its creator.

2

My dreams like water
dripping from my outstretched hands.
Wet hands.
I remember
without pain
what ache is.
This indecision.
No aspirations can be
separate from childhood,
from parental input.
No collaboration
can dim the floodlights
on a mistake.
On fire.
My promise to myself
is an abstract on life.

What is the long run anyway?

3

Never keep secrets too long
inside, to must
to memory’s withering.

A mouth opening
closing, a fish spitting
thoughts wide

reality shelved temporarily
self-interest on pause
leaves us feeling emphatic

out-of-place.
I hear my voice in the abyss
and all the attention paid
crashes and echoes.

Essay Reject #1

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Twice since arriving in Scotland, I have woken up with a slam nascent and pacing, on the perimeter of my consciousness. Even in the dark and the cold of my room, this is the muse and it gets me up writing.

Slam poetry is performance – natural territory for truth telling, the way most art is. That sleepy scrawl is just the beginning. What develops later is quick, tight phrasing, a vocal explosion, and then, in the fashion of traditional rhetoric, a gentle return to the repeated line. When the interaction of poem and performance is accomplished, it lands between image and emotion, making a case for something logical and occasionally preposterous. Emotional truths are not always logical, but the most powerful story or argument is both. Slam poetry is an ideal venue for truths so funny your belly aches from laughing, or so full of sorrow that breath catches in your throat. Sometimes truth leaves you running for cover.

Discipline cultivates the ability to recognize and grab hold of opportunities to render truth. I am learning to be ready for it, learning to channel its offerings in the wee hours, the minutes in transit between classes, even in the grocery store.

A good slam poet compels you to stand waist deep in a marsh, waiting cold for the punch line or resolution. I want to be a person who brings poetry to debate. I want to tell truth so it can be heard. I want to slam.

This is your reward for making it through Essay Reject #1. I realize you could skip directly to the reward, but that would be cheating, so I'm sure you didn't.