Posts Tagged: writing
xmas rejection song
All wholly shit. My time is wasted rhyming. Who wants to hear me complain? Come flay me now, paper cuts to silver lining then fill each hole up with spackle and paint. I’ll take my fill of dope and wine
xmas rejection song
All wholly shit. My time is wasted rhyming. Who wants to hear me complain? Come flay me now, paper cuts to silver lining then fill each hole up with spackle and paint. I’ll take my fill of dope and wine
being seen (or a swan dive into a shallow pool)
The instructions went something like this: The first row goes first. The people stand up, walk single file onto the stage, stop, and turn to face the rest of the group. They stand at the front edge of the stage
being seen (or a swan dive into a shallow pool)
The instructions went something like this: The first row goes first. The people stand up, walk single file onto the stage, stop, and turn to face the rest of the group. They stand at the front edge of the stage
nest
(…this post is continued from here…) Finding a place that really looks and feels like home doesn’t always happen. Most of us make do with the place we’re in but I imagine everyone must have a dream home, a perfect
nest
(…this post is continued from here…) Finding a place that really looks and feels like home doesn’t always happen. Most of us make do with the place we’re in but I imagine everyone must have a dream home, a perfect
naked
The other day at the bookstore, a man brings a stack of items to the register. He’s jabbering intensely about the weather and fiddling with the buttons on his jacket when I notice the P*****y Magazine. The girl on the
naked
The other day at the bookstore, a man brings a stack of items to the register. He’s jabbering intensely about the weather and fiddling with the buttons on his jacket when I notice the P*****y Magazine. The girl on the
good looker
In bed one night, John is lying next to me watching something on his laptop, something with explosions and car chases and pithy dialogue, and I’m watching comedy. We do this a lot– tandem watching, an attempt at togetherness that
good looker
In bed one night, John is lying next to me watching something on his laptop, something with explosions and car chases and pithy dialogue, and I’m watching comedy. We do this a lot– tandem watching, an attempt at togetherness that
house in my head
I have a house in my head. At night I clamber up to look around. I found it years ago–reaching into darkness, fumbling along walls I discovered the opening and hoisted myself up into a low-ceilinged room, close, cobwebbed, clogged
house in my head
I have a house in my head. At night I clamber up to look around. I found it years ago–reaching into darkness, fumbling along walls I discovered the opening and hoisted myself up into a low-ceilinged room, close, cobwebbed, clogged
middle class worries (a list in progress)
Microphones. Popped buttons. Papercuts. There, on my left side, at the edge of my ribcage, is a strange red welt that won’t go away. You know what that means, right? That plus the mole and the ache in my lower
middle class worries (a list in progress)
Microphones. Popped buttons. Papercuts. There, on my left side, at the edge of my ribcage, is a strange red welt that won’t go away. You know what that means, right? That plus the mole and the ache in my lower
Hole In My Heart
1 I was born with a hole in my heart. I’ve always thought that would make a good first line for a story but in reality, it wasn’t that dramatic. It was a small hole and by the time I
Hole In My Heart
1 I was born with a hole in my heart. I’ve always thought that would make a good first line for a story but in reality, it wasn’t that dramatic. It was a small hole and by the time I
forgotten
(…) Is there a sticky residue marking the place where you first fell in love? What if someone died there or cut themselves and bled all over or broke a bone? Does trauma leave a trace? If you lived in a
forgotten
(…) Is there a sticky residue marking the place where you first fell in love? What if someone died there or cut themselves and bled all over or broke a bone? Does trauma leave a trace? If you lived in a
organic
(…) For the next eleven years we lived in a quaint old place originally built as a hunting cabin back when mountain lion, bobcat, bear, and elk could be found on Mt.Tamalpais. The living room was the original structure, a
organic
(…) For the next eleven years we lived in a quaint old place originally built as a hunting cabin back when mountain lion, bobcat, bear, and elk could be found on Mt.Tamalpais. The living room was the original structure, a
house head
(…this post is continued from here…) My father wanted a bigger house so we moved around the corner to 94 Roosevelt Avenue, a cavernous old haunted thing under deep shade. Even from the outside you could feel the psychic congestion
house head
(…this post is continued from here…) My father wanted a bigger house so we moved around the corner to 94 Roosevelt Avenue, a cavernous old haunted thing under deep shade. Even from the outside you could feel the psychic congestion
yellow wallpaper
Whenever I see wallpaper, I think of Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s story, The Yellow Wallpaper. I must have been in high school when I first read about the nameless woman whose patronizing doctor-husband confines her to an attic nursery as a
yellow wallpaper
Whenever I see wallpaper, I think of Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s story, The Yellow Wallpaper. I must have been in high school when I first read about the nameless woman whose patronizing doctor-husband confines her to an attic nursery as a
me me me me me!
finding truth in the mirror I sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the wall. I felt as flat as that wall, flat and covered with an airtight coat of pliant beige latex paint. It must have been
me me me me me!
finding truth in the mirror I sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the wall. I felt as flat as that wall, flat and covered with an airtight coat of pliant beige latex paint. It must have been
Road Trip (Stop To Think)
I love a road trip: an open highway, the hypnotic hum of tire against tarmac, a trip so long I forget where I’m going or where I’ve been. Paradoxically, while catapulting down the highway, I am forced to stop and
Road Trip (Stop To Think)
I love a road trip: an open highway, the hypnotic hum of tire against tarmac, a trip so long I forget where I’m going or where I’ve been. Paradoxically, while catapulting down the highway, I am forced to stop and
messing with my head
The instructions went something like this: The first row goes first. The people stand up, walk single file onto the stage, stop, and turn to face the rest of the group. They will stand at the front edge of the
messing with my head
The instructions went something like this: The first row goes first. The people stand up, walk single file onto the stage, stop, and turn to face the rest of the group. They will stand at the front edge of the
Matter Over Mind
The book Dune by Frank Herbert is one year older than I am. Growing up, I was a big fan of psychological-philosophical-science fiction of the 60s and 70s and had a well-loved, battered copy. In Dune, there’s a thing called
Matter Over Mind
The book Dune by Frank Herbert is one year older than I am. Growing up, I was a big fan of psychological-philosophical-science fiction of the 60s and 70s and had a well-loved, battered copy. In Dune, there’s a thing called
girl in the hat 