January 2011
52 posts
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It's Nice Already. (by roomwithoutadoor)
roomwithoutadoor:
Wouldn’t you like a life
in poprocket red
in eternal summer?
New pages
uneaten
adorn my casual carpet
and a fine film
powders the bookcase.
Illinois links me
to 1995.
I sing along.
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Wouldn’t you like
Arabica beans
and gratis gateways?
My skin is mottled
because I’m eighteen
and don’t listen to my mother anymore.
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Wouldn’t you like
cicadas
and Sharapova...
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“…who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked / and trembling before...”
– (but a moment of—) Howl, Allen “Ginzy” Ginsberg
might i add, this is my first association to the word ‘pederasty.’ a truly ginsbergian word.
(“Ginzy,” as he liked to be called…” haha that’s news to me. sounds like a factoid i’d make up.) Hold...
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I'm listed in Tumblweeds under ukulele,...
I’m listed in Tumblweeds, a user-generated community directory that rates Tumblr bloggers by their number of followers. Find me listed in #ukulele, #vaudeville, #poetry
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“On the trip to France, Maurice did not tell his father anything about what had...”
– Island Beneath the Sea, Isabel Allende
i know this is the *other definition of garconniere, but it made me think of you, julia, none the less! i’ve had it dog-eared to just slip in here. “ladies of the DAWN” and all for a while…
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"Scylla and Charibdys" from Leave the Earth Behind... →
Edrie *wrote a piece on local bands of 2010 for Yourband.info— she selected bands that’ve recently (or will soon) release(d) music. That was a goofy sentence. She raves about our bestie band, Jaggery as well as Trabants. But here and now i must ask, have you heard our dear music-colour perfect pitch Shakespearean minstrel synesthetic superhero friend Mary Bichner’s band, Box...
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The Open House, This Week's Poem on Linebreak
The Open House
BY MATTHEW SMITH
In rain, the smell of pine and old cement
returns to me, unlike the night, which can’t,
we raced downtown past colds we should have caught
to see some place our friend had bragged about
with marble steps ascending from the park,
and shelves in wood antique as it was dark,
an antebellum chandelier and view,
at bedside, of the monument. All true,
and all...
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From 'The Hunger Bone: Rock & Roll Stories' by...
RIDING SHOTGUN THROUGH IOWA WITH QUEST
This musician’s life. Play until one o’clock, pack up, get paid. Send the dancers home drunk, sweaty, clinging to each other. On the long way home, I ride shotgun with Quest helping keep watch over the night.
Our talk turns to women and death, what Quest calls all things inevitable. He is not so afraid of the final embrace as the moment...
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kittencoaster:
I wish I knew what I wanted to do with my life, schooling-wise. I’ve always wanted to do creative things, like either creative writing or filmmaking. But now I also want to do something like history, or poli-sci, or womens studies, or any mixture thereof. But if I chose one of the more political ones I don’t even know what I’d do for an actual job.
SO LOST~
i profoundly...
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WHAT IS GLITTER POLITIC?
garconniere: “i am ALL OVER THIS SHIT. [this is also a reminder that i definitely need to write more mandates for my internet prescence(s).]”
glitterpolitic:
Glitter Politic is self-love blown open.
Glitter is a beautiful external reflection of the brightest, most powerful light that shines inside each one of us. In a world that makes hating yourself and others so easy and...
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Housing Works Bookstore knows "burlesque acts of...
housingworksbookstore:
timeoutnewyork:
housingworksbookstore:
Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi
Join the line to get your book, or abs, signed.
I don’t know why Time Out thinks our Whiting Award-winning poets won’t sign your abs…
If you make it happen, we’ll mention it in a newsletter. I guarantee it!
Housing Works Bookstore Cafe: We never back down from a challenge:
2010 Whiting Award...
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"Let the Day Perish" by Cate Marvin, in The... →
more mentor-lovin’ tumbles today! Cate is a co-creator/director of VIDA: women in literary arts, and an all around badass. sample:
I was meaner than a flimsy dollar the change machine refuses.
I was duplicitous as a Canadian dime.
I slid through your town only to announce my prejudices.
And only to slip my tongue into the slot of your mouth.
Bade you come over. Covered your hand with...
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[Sonnet] You jerk you didn’t call me up
BY BERNADETTE MAYER
You jerk you didn’t call me up
I haven’t seen you in so long
You probably have a fucking tan
& besides that instead of making love tonight
You’re drinking your parents to the airport
I’m through with you bourgeois boys
All you ever do is go back to ancestral comforts
Only money can get—even...
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Call for work (YO writahs!)
VIA the Women’s Poetry list-serv i’m on. which is currently a flurry of snow and cunt poems. i’m a bit confused and stoked. This is an email from Deborah Poe, and here i am “fwd-ing” or passing it along. i started writing “sonnets” after reading Bernadette Mayer in my first college creative writing class back in the day…spring04 with Kate Lilley (who...
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a bright wall in a dark room.: Black Swan (2010) →
brightwalldarkroom:
I JUST WANT TO BE PERFECT.
by Edward Montgomery
Being one of the lucky ones able to see Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan premiere at the Telluride Film Festival, I have a unique memory of the director introducing the film to a restless audience and ending his remarks with, “Judging from the reaction at Venice, I’m sorry—we didn’t know we were doing it at the time.” An...
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ON THE ISLAND (Part I.) by L.E. Sissman
To an isle in the water
With her would I fly.
-W.B. Yeats
I. Friday Night
We issue from the meat of Pineapple Street,
Skipping in unison in the jet rain to
The cadence of our footsteps left behind
Just momentarily as we bound on
To water, laughing, soaked, four-legged and
Three-armed, two-hearted, Siamese, unique,
And fifty put together. On the Heights,
We embrace like trenchcoats on a...
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CONNAIS-TU LE PAYS? by Richard Shelton
I have discovered a country
where the pages of books are all
margins and the calendar is frozen
in a wall of ice. Its mirrors are kept
in cages and covered at night.
I cross its border by way
of the labyrinth in the radiator.
The doors close behind me.
The guards at the gate of the principal
city are dangerous. Also
the porter who hangs on the wall
like a silver knife. As for the...
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“It was one of those nights that like, later on, every time anybody mentions it...”
– Kathleen Hanna, Our Hit Parade (via feminismistheshit) 