News

'Operation No Compromise', a poem by Mark Cugini

liftedbrow:

image

‘Pipesmoking Whale’, a photograph by Askal Bosch. Reproduced under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic Licence.

Do you

ever look up and

wonder why the

sun is there? Do you

ever think the sun is

supposed to do anything

but burn us?

We…

god I love this so much

'Lying in a Bed of Bee-Shaped Flowers: On Being Watched', by Chelsea Hodson

liftedbrow:

image

No one forced me to enrol in drama class during fifth grade summer school, but I chose it because I liked the idea of being a performer. I imagined myself spotlit, showered in stray roses and applause.

But when I read the script and was instructed to write down my top three character choices, I abandoned my fantasy and wrote down the three disposable roles—the ones that had just one word. My line was part of a list of ingredients for a meal the lead characters were cooking. I took drama class all summer so I could be on stage for one night and say bread with an exclamation point.

My parents sat in the audience while my classmates did all the work and I stood there, ordinary. I wanted to be admired, but I refused to risk anything, so I watched the female lead glide around the stage wearing a wreath made of fake flowers. I observed her so intently that I nearly missed my line. Bread!

I remembered this school play when I downloaded Somebody, the half-app/half-human messaging service created by Miranda July. From the website:

When you send your friend a message through Somebody, it goes—not to your friend—but to the Somebody user nearest your friend. This person (likely a stranger) delivers the message verbally, acting as your stand-in.

I downloaded the app right away, created my profile, but I didn’t dare use it. Once again I’d completed my childhood routine: I’d signed up for more than I could handle. I liked the idea of approaching strangers, but not enough to actually do it.

Read More

This is so wonderful and we are so grateful that Chelsea shared it with us.

<3

An excerpt from my book/poem IRL | [PANK]

heyteebs:

My hard won
sense of self surrenders thru
the sieve of yr attention
every time What I mean
is for fifteen years
I give all of myself to every
man I meet, mostly bc
I have nothing worth
holding I want
to get lost, to merge and b
someone else. I look into
the water, a rolling exact
me I promise to find
or make something worth
holding onto. I’m giving
it to you. What I mean
is guard yourself. Erect
fences. Crop a mound
onto the bald land
sing a Beyonce song
at karaoke w/yr friends
Envision consequences n make
decisions loose needles
of light from the dark
tent within

tommy is a sick lord

‘Remember that poets are part of a holy tribe. Our egotistical and individual need to be praised is not more important than the greater good of writing poems, and being part of this ancient tradition of being the self-designated lucid dreamers of society. Nobody gives a fuck who wins what prize, everybody forgets who won about five minutes later, nobody gets any money from being a poet, nobody gets any real praise, and you turn to dust just like everybody else, but along the way you get to be a poet. You get to be a member of this tribe. That’s what you get.’

Matthew Zapruder, here

You fall apart
at twenty-two, twenty
five until nine, we watch
new clouds do exactly
what the old clouds did—
still we are arrested
by the sky’s vicissitude.
Things we never do: learn
to control the way we feel.
— Zoe Dzunko, “Things We Never Saw Coming,” published in Voicemail Poems. (via bostonpoetryslam)

voicemailpoems:

‘THINGS WE NEVER SAW COMING’
by Zoe Dzunko

You fall apart
at twenty-two, twenty
five until nine, we watch
new clouds do exactly
what the old clouds did—
still we are arrested
by the sky’s vicissitude.
Things we never do: learn
to control the way we feel.
There was that summer
when I was fourteen
and my neighbors
mother had an affair—
I should have seen it
in the way she sang
that song just so.
Do you regret failing
to undo the damage
of others, or is that just
an easy way to hate yourself.
When I was twenty
seven, another summer
to be expected, kept
falling in and out
of love with my choices
my hair, cigarettes, home
made bread, oil pulled
from walnuts, the jars
with foreign labels
only the adults drag
home—everything
sparkled once or twice.
I think you know what
that means without me
having to explain it
but let me try: you cry
in a supermarket halfway
through a Jewel song
with milk gleaming so
white in a red basket;
watch your grandfather die
many times in fitful sleep
and wake up with a need
to record his stories—once
he flew that plane through
the Grand Canyon and who
will remember but you soon.
If you know anything about
misattribution of arousal
you might understand
that we are not machines
and I’m not certain we
ever really loved each other.
But running on hunches
I start to accept that
all of my allergies were
programmed by myself.
If you believe this fact:
Toxoplasmosis diminishes
a rats fear of cats to increase
the likelihood of transmission,
perhaps you start forgiving
yourself for those feelings
not yours to control. I believe
I am loved, I believe I am in love
as though you whispered
that truth against my sleeping
face, nightly. If you know
something about failure
you understand why it hurts
to be fucked sometimes,
when one heart is flatlining.
I am often so unsure, I think
if you were to play to me
my own heartbeat and sped it up
at the very moment I imagined
I should feel desire, I would
believe you, even if I did not.


———————————————————

Zoe Dzunko called us from Melbourne, Australia.
More about Zoe.

1-910-703-POEM

[soundcloud] [podcast] [facebook] [twitter]

Source: http://voicemailpoems.tumblr.com/post/9949...

Poetry Mixtape #7

heyteebs:

image

The world, pop culture, govt, -isms n -phobias n shit make me feel prone, and sometimes vacuous, a little dark? Like a darkness that will never go away. But poetry n art n music n sometimes photography even make me feel okay with that, n that maybe at some point darkness is a visitor who…

<3

Not everything is a mermaid
that dives into the water,
so I am becoming a fiction.
Once we helped each other
swim and tried to drown
one another at the same time.
My bikini fell to the floor
of the ocean and marked an x;
made a whalebone reanimate
by force of will. On land I leave
fragments of magic for you
to wish upon, my fallen eyelashes
asleep on your pillow, lipstick ring
kisses so you won’t miss the curl
of my tongue.
— Zoe Dzunko, “X,” published in Souvenir (via bostonpoetryslam)

chelseahodson : 

  Inventory #607:  All of the Men I Have Never Loved  by Zoe Dzunko 
 ——- 
  REGARDING REPUTATION  
  You are such a trivial thing now    that we have our modern ocean  
  liners and our GPS systems, we    are not scared of you and your  
  ominous name.   
 —Zoe Dzunko  



my book has never looked this pretty before

chelseahodson:

Inventory #607: All of the Men I Have Never Loved by Zoe Dzunko

——-

REGARDING REPUTATION

You are such a trivial thing now
that we have our modern ocean

liners and our GPS systems, we
are not scared of you and your

ominous name. 

—Zoe Dzunko

my book has never looked this pretty before