Hello there.
I am writing the entrance essays for a creative writing grad program.
It's horrifically dull, what with all these absurd word count limits and page edits and whatnot, but I suppose that's what the joys of academia are all about, finding your own method to exploit the cage.
Publishing in general...I think.
Red wine helps.
Bret Easton Ellis revisiting helps.
Remembering what you are grateful for, and where you find inspiration, also helps.
I am reading What the Dickens by Gregory Maguire right now.
Gregory and I have a long standing relationship. Half my life actually.
I got Wicked (The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West) for Christmas my freshman year of high school. I was fourteen.
I also got a best of Enya cd.
I read Wicked in four days flat. Which is a bit of an achievement for me considering I am a very slow reader. There are still Enya songs that call to mind very specific scenes. Watermark. Look it up. It's heartbreaking, and every time I listen to it I mourn Fiyero and Elphaba and Nor. It's totally dorky. I know.
Anyway...
I hadn't read anything by Maguire in a while, and somebody passed me along this YA book of his which is supposedly a re-imagining of the tooth fairy legend. I'm digging it, but it's got me feeling very ethereal, and faerie close, and I've got all kinds of pent up writerly type energy that simply does not coincide with structured essays examining the style of prose I write.
So I go bananas about magical realism, and I write a whole bunch about Neil Gaiman and Audrey Niffenegger, and then I paw open an old copy of The Informers by BEE, and I'm lost to the world, all turquoise fingernail polish and cheap red wine for at least twenty minutes.
Disappear Here.
I am.
Again.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Stagnation Creation Myth
We are all born of this earth and it's light, carbon dirt,
and we're molecules one and the same,
except for trillions of years we've been light before this,
and then particles, but now we have brains.
And the brains are unsatisfied because they're in bodies,
and the bodies have needs and desires,
and they have to be fed, slept and loved on occasion
and they have to be moved once in a while.
I knew this when I was a fifteen year old girl
on my floor on a saturday night
listening to music and writing my poems
and spacing out under white twinkle lights.
I forgot sometime after turned twenty one
and the world got so complex and mad
and my brain wanted out
and my body wanted in
and I couldn't explain the sickness I had.
There were moments
after too much drink late at night,
after my tears fell and
pierced the white mantle of snow
During electrical storms,
during naked sauna sojourns
on top of trees
under tables
sucking face
telling fables
falling off boats
and gripping for fingers in the dark ugly places
There were moments
when I thought I might matter
and my time here
was a place i could go.
Fall in love,
make a memory.
Break it down
trade it for a dream
of something better
something else.
Tell yourself it's what you wanted.
Tell your bartender
tell your friends
call your parents and tell them
lie down amongst the gravestones and tell them
As I closed the noose on my thirtieth year,
I fought my impulses and whispered I had nothing to fear
that my life was just gaining momentum...
There were blogs to be written
connections to make
hands to shake
bread to bake,
and I could schmooze
tell my jokes and be merry.
I could smile and get by,
I could hold fast and survive
It was enough
that I didn't get buried.
and we're molecules one and the same,
except for trillions of years we've been light before this,
and then particles, but now we have brains.
And the brains are unsatisfied because they're in bodies,
and the bodies have needs and desires,
and they have to be fed, slept and loved on occasion
and they have to be moved once in a while.
I knew this when I was a fifteen year old girl
on my floor on a saturday night
listening to music and writing my poems
and spacing out under white twinkle lights.
I forgot sometime after turned twenty one
and the world got so complex and mad
and my brain wanted out
and my body wanted in
and I couldn't explain the sickness I had.
There were moments
after too much drink late at night,
after my tears fell and
pierced the white mantle of snow
During electrical storms,
during naked sauna sojourns
on top of trees
under tables
sucking face
telling fables
falling off boats
and gripping for fingers in the dark ugly places
There were moments
when I thought I might matter
and my time here
was a place i could go.
Fall in love,
make a memory.
Break it down
trade it for a dream
of something better
something else.
Tell yourself it's what you wanted.
Tell your bartender
tell your friends
call your parents and tell them
lie down amongst the gravestones and tell them
As I closed the noose on my thirtieth year,
I fought my impulses and whispered I had nothing to fear
that my life was just gaining momentum...
There were blogs to be written
connections to make
hands to shake
bread to bake,
and I could schmooze
tell my jokes and be merry.
I could smile and get by,
I could hold fast and survive
It was enough
that I didn't get buried.
We are all born of this earth and it's light, carbon dirt,
and we're molecules one and the same,
except for trillions of years we've been light before this,
and then particles, but now we have brains.
And the brains are unsatisfied because they're in bodies,
and the bodies have needs and desires,
and they have to be fed, slept and loved on occasion
and they have to be moved once in a while.
They have to be moved once in a while.
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