Autumn, the anti-spring--when colors bloom for death and not life. Your parting gift. Everything from here on revolves around warming yourself internally. Mulling spices. I'm catching cold. I woke up with a sore throat and I thought a cup of tea would be a quick fix, but 2 cups later I'm not feeling much better. I can feel my glands swelling. I can feel my sinuses bracing for impact. I feel the sick kind of tired. Curse me, never wanting to shut the windows when I sleep. I've been feeling a tickling in my chest for the past day or two, but blamed all the smokers around me.
I was supposed to go to an arts festival in West Philly today with my friend Chris, but looks like I'm going to pass on that. My throat is feeling worse by the minute. Garbage.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
It's not just a one-night stand
Nothing keeps me up at night anymore, save my boyfriend's cat nagging me like an irreverent step-child--and I should know. My mother remarried when I was 21 and too old to be tricked into second-string father-daughter relationships. My father had been wearing dresses for 7 years and 5 days by then, and every wedding anniversary thereafter will be the year + 5 days anniversary of my dad painting his toe nails and secretly wishing I had nicer clothes and prettier hair.
But the point of all this: I no longer write out of desperate need. That's the worst of it. I'm stable.
I stayed up till 2 watching the rerun of Oprah. Mackenzie Phillips was on talking about her memoir and her drug-fueled sexual relationship with her father (John Phillips from the Mamas and the Papas). Her drug-fueled life in general. I hate Oprah as an interviewer.
"At 16 I started shooting coke, and I--"
"Wait, let me just clarify, at 18 you were raped by your father, and after 10 years you were 29 and weren't you old enough to know better?"
"Yes, I was and I knew better. At 16 he taught me how to shoot--"
"So you knew having sex with your father was wrong."
"Yes, and he allowed me to do so many drugs--"
"You knew having sex with your father was wrong and you kept doing it for 10 years."
"Yes, I was on drugs all the time and that ruins your capacity to reason--"
"So it was wrong and you kept doing it?"
Ugh. Anyway, it hit me that I seem to be drawn to women who crumble. Regardless of whether they fall into ruin or rebuild, I admire them. Perhaps it's because in either case they never say they found Jesus or "by the grace of God." In either case they find themselves and proceed accordingly. I'm just enthralled by the awful things that are repressed and that build pressure over years till they explode one way or another. Super volcanoes.
Side note: the women on The View are at least mildly retarded.
I've been having such weird/bad dreams lately. They're super vivid and really ugly. I'm never quite sure what they're about. One I had last night involved some sort of altercation in which AE got shot and died. I didn't see it happen, and I think Biff's boyfriend got shot and died, too. I'm not sure, but there was someone else that also died. The thought of AE dying was enough to make it a nightmare and I kept thinking, this isn't right, and I forced myself awake and had to talk myself out of calling him at 3 or 4 am to make sure he was really still alive.
I found a press last night that caters to writers like me who write poetry, but specifically prose and short-shorts (vignettes). They're called Rose Metal Press and they're having a chapbook contest. I need 25-40 pages of good stuff by Dec. 1st. Fingers crossed. There are a couple books I want to buy from them, so I need to reason with my budget. I'm going through the classified section of P&W magazine and researching different presses to see which contests I'll enter and who I'll submit to. My to-do list today. Let's get movin', kid. Let's get it on.
But the point of all this: I no longer write out of desperate need. That's the worst of it. I'm stable.
I stayed up till 2 watching the rerun of Oprah. Mackenzie Phillips was on talking about her memoir and her drug-fueled sexual relationship with her father (John Phillips from the Mamas and the Papas). Her drug-fueled life in general. I hate Oprah as an interviewer.
"At 16 I started shooting coke, and I--"
"Wait, let me just clarify, at 18 you were raped by your father, and after 10 years you were 29 and weren't you old enough to know better?"
"Yes, I was and I knew better. At 16 he taught me how to shoot--"
"So you knew having sex with your father was wrong."
"Yes, and he allowed me to do so many drugs--"
"You knew having sex with your father was wrong and you kept doing it for 10 years."
"Yes, I was on drugs all the time and that ruins your capacity to reason--"
"So it was wrong and you kept doing it?"
Ugh. Anyway, it hit me that I seem to be drawn to women who crumble. Regardless of whether they fall into ruin or rebuild, I admire them. Perhaps it's because in either case they never say they found Jesus or "by the grace of God." In either case they find themselves and proceed accordingly. I'm just enthralled by the awful things that are repressed and that build pressure over years till they explode one way or another. Super volcanoes.
Side note: the women on The View are at least mildly retarded.
I've been having such weird/bad dreams lately. They're super vivid and really ugly. I'm never quite sure what they're about. One I had last night involved some sort of altercation in which AE got shot and died. I didn't see it happen, and I think Biff's boyfriend got shot and died, too. I'm not sure, but there was someone else that also died. The thought of AE dying was enough to make it a nightmare and I kept thinking, this isn't right, and I forced myself awake and had to talk myself out of calling him at 3 or 4 am to make sure he was really still alive.
I found a press last night that caters to writers like me who write poetry, but specifically prose and short-shorts (vignettes). They're called Rose Metal Press and they're having a chapbook contest. I need 25-40 pages of good stuff by Dec. 1st. Fingers crossed. There are a couple books I want to buy from them, so I need to reason with my budget. I'm going through the classified section of P&W magazine and researching different presses to see which contests I'll enter and who I'll submit to. My to-do list today. Let's get movin', kid. Let's get it on.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
The dreams I dream, the song I sing for you
Some thoughts I had on seeing Foxy Shazam, The Sounds, and Bam Margera all in one place last night:
1. Foxy Shazam is, for all intents and purposes, a group of really drunk friends who got together and decided to play music while drunk, and it's possible that none of them are playing the same song, but it works as a soulful and irreverently entertaining spectacle.
That's what it is. It's a spectacle. And I would gladly see them again. So if you find yourself in the unique situation where you're feeling blue and have an opportunity to see Foxy Shazam, see them and a smile will spread across your face. For days you will not be able to comprehend just what exactly you saw. There are no words for it.
2. Bam Margera is a rich asshole who dresses like a rich asshole. His wife is waif thin, and they're both so full of it despite the fact that Bam made his fortune by being an idiot on TV and not because he did anything relevant, noteworthy, or particularly skillful, and when you get down to it he's not different than any other douchebag in Southeastern PA except that he's a millionaire for no good reason and he drives a Mercedes. But I'll admit I was mildly star-struck; I got a small kick out of seeing a local "celebrity" from cable television.
3. Gay men LOVE the Sounds. According to my BFF, gay men love Swedish pop in general. There were lots of jazz hands and limp wrists. I'm not hating. I thought it was funny in a nice way. I mean, my dad is half gay, so...I'm practically gay myself. Anyway, I wouldn't have called myself a Sounds fan prior to this show; I went mostly because my best friend has been aching to see them for at least 2 years and I knew it was something special for her. But they put on a really fun, energetic show, and at times we felt like we were in a circa 1992 spaceship. Asymmetrical hair cuts, vests, curled lips. Look at the guitarist or keyboardist and you'll probably understand another reason why gay men love The Sounds. The singer is incredibly sassy and has nice legs, but spits a lot on stage. I'm probably a fan now.
All in all it was a good night that made me feel kind of happy despite my current situation with my dear boy. Essentially, I do dumb stuff and think nothing of it because it's all nothing to me; but he's something and he's something very special, and if the nothing hurts him then it's not nothing--it's something I have to fix. Sometimes I wish that, when you can't find the right words for a particular situation that you could crack open your heart and show someone the colors inside and it would be enough to make them want to take a chance and keep investing in you. Maybe someday I'll gather enough strength/courage to crack open my rib cage and incandescent light will shoot out everywhere.
My brother is moving today. I'm helping because, frankly, I have nothing else to do, and I'm looking forward to not finding ass hair on the toilet seat whenever I go into the bathroom. Seriously, I could knit a sweater.
And frankly, my heart is too anxious to do any serious work today anyway.
1. Foxy Shazam is, for all intents and purposes, a group of really drunk friends who got together and decided to play music while drunk, and it's possible that none of them are playing the same song, but it works as a soulful and irreverently entertaining spectacle.
That's what it is. It's a spectacle. And I would gladly see them again. So if you find yourself in the unique situation where you're feeling blue and have an opportunity to see Foxy Shazam, see them and a smile will spread across your face. For days you will not be able to comprehend just what exactly you saw. There are no words for it.2. Bam Margera is a rich asshole who dresses like a rich asshole. His wife is waif thin, and they're both so full of it despite the fact that Bam made his fortune by being an idiot on TV and not because he did anything relevant, noteworthy, or particularly skillful, and when you get down to it he's not different than any other douchebag in Southeastern PA except that he's a millionaire for no good reason and he drives a Mercedes. But I'll admit I was mildly star-struck; I got a small kick out of seeing a local "celebrity" from cable television.
3. Gay men LOVE the Sounds. According to my BFF, gay men love Swedish pop in general. There were lots of jazz hands and limp wrists. I'm not hating. I thought it was funny in a nice way. I mean, my dad is half gay, so...I'm practically gay myself. Anyway, I wouldn't have called myself a Sounds fan prior to this show; I went mostly because my best friend has been aching to see them for at least 2 years and I knew it was something special for her. But they put on a really fun, energetic show, and at times we felt like we were in a circa 1992 spaceship. Asymmetrical hair cuts, vests, curled lips. Look at the guitarist or keyboardist and you'll probably understand another reason why gay men love The Sounds. The singer is incredibly sassy and has nice legs, but spits a lot on stage. I'm probably a fan now.All in all it was a good night that made me feel kind of happy despite my current situation with my dear boy. Essentially, I do dumb stuff and think nothing of it because it's all nothing to me; but he's something and he's something very special, and if the nothing hurts him then it's not nothing--it's something I have to fix. Sometimes I wish that, when you can't find the right words for a particular situation that you could crack open your heart and show someone the colors inside and it would be enough to make them want to take a chance and keep investing in you. Maybe someday I'll gather enough strength/courage to crack open my rib cage and incandescent light will shoot out everywhere.
My brother is moving today. I'm helping because, frankly, I have nothing else to do, and I'm looking forward to not finding ass hair on the toilet seat whenever I go into the bathroom. Seriously, I could knit a sweater.
And frankly, my heart is too anxious to do any serious work today anyway.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
AE's friend went home to Egypt today. I'm astonished/baffled/speechless that a whole month has passed since I quit my job. I'm mostly shocked at how quickly the month passed.
Perpetual Sundays.
Been pushing myself to write. I spent all of Monday at Temple sitting in the grass, people-watching, eavesdropping, reading and writing. I have a general theme for my portfolio; it's something of change/progress/metamorphosis/growth/rebirth/etc. Kind of hopeful and moving forward with the respectful nod to the necessary things such as death, and with the nature aesthetic and the subjective journalistic quality that I think is becoming signature of my work. My portfolio will be something of a journal much in the way my other blog is ambiguously my diary. I have the first two pages decided, though I'm sure they will change greatly between now and December. I'm pushing myself to get the new stuff out; can't rely on the old stuff.
My time has been unbalanced. I read more than I study or write, and I think the most important thing is writing, with studying coming in second. People keep telling me I have time, but I think when we tell ourselves we have time that's when we lose track of it all.
Fall is upon us.
Perpetual Sundays.
Been pushing myself to write. I spent all of Monday at Temple sitting in the grass, people-watching, eavesdropping, reading and writing. I have a general theme for my portfolio; it's something of change/progress/metamorphosis/growth/rebirth/etc. Kind of hopeful and moving forward with the respectful nod to the necessary things such as death, and with the nature aesthetic and the subjective journalistic quality that I think is becoming signature of my work. My portfolio will be something of a journal much in the way my other blog is ambiguously my diary. I have the first two pages decided, though I'm sure they will change greatly between now and December. I'm pushing myself to get the new stuff out; can't rely on the old stuff.
My time has been unbalanced. I read more than I study or write, and I think the most important thing is writing, with studying coming in second. People keep telling me I have time, but I think when we tell ourselves we have time that's when we lose track of it all.
Fall is upon us.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
My Destiny
I re-stumbled on some pieces I had written when I was in second/third grade. Looking back, I can see my fate was sealed long before I decided to "be a writer." Please note my obsession with Power Rangers. Grammatical and spelling errors intact. Enjoy.
Untitled
I couldn’t believe what I saw today on Penrose St. I saw a scarecrow and a witch, and a black cat, two pumpkins, and a moon talking, and a boy screaming out of a tree. I called the cops and they arrested the scarecrow, and the witch, and the two pumpkins, the black cat, the talking moon, and the boy who was screaming out of the tree.
--
Spring is fun because you get to play baseball. Spring is cool because it’s not could like winter. Spring is nice because it has flowers, trees with leaves on them. Spring has birds in trees.
--
Once upon a time there was a princess. Her name was Kim. Her best friend was Trini. Kim and Trini needed a prince. Kim and Trini had horses. Kim’s horse’s name was Thunder. Trini’s horse’s name was Storm. One day when they where rideing Storm and Thunder a maid came up to them and gave them a letter. The letter said, THERE IS GOING TO BE A PARTY AT 1002 MAPLE ST. TONIGHT IT’S NINE P.M TO THREE A.M. p.s the party is for to prince’s to pick a princess. Trini are you going to that party. Yes. What if your parents say no. I am still going. Then I will go to. So they went to they party and went out on dates and got marryed and lived happily ever after. THE END.
--
HALLOWEEN
One Halloween four kids. There names were Niki, Kim, Jason, Tommy. There went out trick or treating and they came to a haunted house. They didn’t know it was a haunted house. They went there and saw three people. Tommy asked “who are you?” Then a girl with black hair and Japanese eyes said “I’m Trini.” Then another kid said “I’m Zach and this is Billy.”
--
MY FEELINGS ABOUT SCHOOL (3-17-94)
On the first day of school Ashley and me went to take Donielle to Mrs. Nagurney’s class. Then when we were going back to our class’s a fourth grader came up to us and asked what class’s we were in. Ashley said, “Miss Walter’s class.” Then I said, “Mrs. Tise’s class.” She said Mrs. Tise is mean. That’s when I started to feel nervese. She was already in Mrs. Tise’s class.
--
MY TROLL (1-6-94)
My troll’s name is Bennie. I got him from my Mom and Dad. Bennie has blue couteroy pants and a green, blue, dark pink, black, yellow, light pink shirt. He has dark pink hair. Bennie has four toes and fingers. Bennie has tan skin and dark blue eyes. He is cute.
--
I WON A TICKET TO… (9-15-93)
I won a ticket to Hawaii. where there are hardly any people. I won a ticket to Hollywood where famuse people live. I won a ticket to the bahamas where it is so hot. I won a ticket to canada where it is so could. There are more places to go but…I just won a ticket to Detention witch is better than sespention and then I got grounded. The end.
--
MOUNTHS [MONTHS] (10-4-93)
Mounths have holidays. Janurary has New years holiday in it. February has Valintins day. March has Saint Patricks day. April has Easter. May dose not have any. June we get out of school. July has 4th of July. August has labor day. September we go back to school. October has Holloween. November has Thanksgiveing. December has Christmas.
--
SORROW
I felt sorrow when my great grandma died. She died from a stroke. I got to go to her funeral.
--
CHRISTMAS
I like Christmas. Christmas is my faverite day of the year because my family is together on Christmas day. and we get lots of presents. Last year I got a glass troll from my mom’s friend because he wanted all expensive stuff. and that’s the good part about Christmas.
Untitled
I couldn’t believe what I saw today on Penrose St. I saw a scarecrow and a witch, and a black cat, two pumpkins, and a moon talking, and a boy screaming out of a tree. I called the cops and they arrested the scarecrow, and the witch, and the two pumpkins, the black cat, the talking moon, and the boy who was screaming out of the tree.
--
Spring is fun because you get to play baseball. Spring is cool because it’s not could like winter. Spring is nice because it has flowers, trees with leaves on them. Spring has birds in trees.
--
Once upon a time there was a princess. Her name was Kim. Her best friend was Trini. Kim and Trini needed a prince. Kim and Trini had horses. Kim’s horse’s name was Thunder. Trini’s horse’s name was Storm. One day when they where rideing Storm and Thunder a maid came up to them and gave them a letter. The letter said, THERE IS GOING TO BE A PARTY AT 1002 MAPLE ST. TONIGHT IT’S NINE P.M TO THREE A.M. p.s the party is for to prince’s to pick a princess. Trini are you going to that party. Yes. What if your parents say no. I am still going. Then I will go to. So they went to they party and went out on dates and got marryed and lived happily ever after. THE END.
--
HALLOWEEN
One Halloween four kids. There names were Niki, Kim, Jason, Tommy. There went out trick or treating and they came to a haunted house. They didn’t know it was a haunted house. They went there and saw three people. Tommy asked “who are you?” Then a girl with black hair and Japanese eyes said “I’m Trini.” Then another kid said “I’m Zach and this is Billy.”
--
MY FEELINGS ABOUT SCHOOL (3-17-94)
On the first day of school Ashley and me went to take Donielle to Mrs. Nagurney’s class. Then when we were going back to our class’s a fourth grader came up to us and asked what class’s we were in. Ashley said, “Miss Walter’s class.” Then I said, “Mrs. Tise’s class.” She said Mrs. Tise is mean. That’s when I started to feel nervese. She was already in Mrs. Tise’s class.
--
MY TROLL (1-6-94)
My troll’s name is Bennie. I got him from my Mom and Dad. Bennie has blue couteroy pants and a green, blue, dark pink, black, yellow, light pink shirt. He has dark pink hair. Bennie has four toes and fingers. Bennie has tan skin and dark blue eyes. He is cute.
--
I WON A TICKET TO… (9-15-93)
I won a ticket to Hawaii. where there are hardly any people. I won a ticket to Hollywood where famuse people live. I won a ticket to the bahamas where it is so hot. I won a ticket to canada where it is so could. There are more places to go but…I just won a ticket to Detention witch is better than sespention and then I got grounded. The end.
--
MOUNTHS [MONTHS] (10-4-93)
Mounths have holidays. Janurary has New years holiday in it. February has Valintins day. March has Saint Patricks day. April has Easter. May dose not have any. June we get out of school. July has 4th of July. August has labor day. September we go back to school. October has Holloween. November has Thanksgiveing. December has Christmas.
--
SORROW
I felt sorrow when my great grandma died. She died from a stroke. I got to go to her funeral.
--
CHRISTMAS
I like Christmas. Christmas is my faverite day of the year because my family is together on Christmas day. and we get lots of presents. Last year I got a glass troll from my mom’s friend because he wanted all expensive stuff. and that’s the good part about Christmas.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Finally, to start remembering what day it is
I had a rather exhaustive breakdown of sorts last week. I cried for about an hour because of my writers block, and fearing that I won't be prolific (or that I won't be read, or that being read or prolific isn't relevant), and comparing myself to other people who are already in grad school (like Columbia) and who are getting published in modest independent publications, and thinking I'm 24.5 years old which is pretty close to my life being over and I'm nobody.
I woke up the next day and didn't feel like I had anything left to get out. So I had a lovely 4 day weekend complete with 2 fires, some family, (no burgers...sad), the city, my best boy, and some kids I don't see nearly enough. Went to Franklin Fountain and got green tea ice cream; it was a lot greener than I remember. I want to go back to try a chocolate/peanut butter combination before I'm off my chocolate/peanut butter kick. A homeless man asked for change, but we kept walking; he then asked me to take his picture, so I stopped. I took two pictures; he thought they were very good. He talked to us for a little, asked our names. He pointed to a man sitting on the sidewalk directly across from him and said, "That's my brother Pat, and I'm Pat." The man across the street waved. I gave him a dollar for letting me take his photo and he appreciated it. He asked where we were from, but we never answered and I don't know why. Later that night I couldn't sleep because I kept thinking how fucked up it was that I didn't stop to give the man change, but I stopped when he said, "take my picture." And how fucked up it is that I ignore homeless people whenever I'm in the city not because I think they're sub-human, but because I'm scared (and I don't know if I'm taught to be afraid of homeless people, or if I'm taught to simply be afraid because I'm a girl). And I felt an overwhelming guilt at not being homeless and subsequently thought that is fucked up, and that no matter what you do to "be a part of the solution" you'll never really solve any problems.
I guess it wouldn't have moved me so much if I didn't kneel down on the ground to take this man's picture at eye-level and see him as a person and not something over-used and discarded. And if it didn't seem like he just wanted us to sit and talk with him all day whether or not we gave him spare change. He asked Plus-Ham if he knew how to play 'Stairway to Heaven' since Plus-Ham had a guitar strapped to his back and 'Stairway to Heaven' was Pat's favorite song. Plus-Ham didn't know it, but I think he should have improvised. He promised Pat he'd learn it and come back to play it for him, and I'd like to see that actually happen.
I started taking my camera with me almost everywhere I go, and I think that's been helping my writers block. I started writing prose-poems last night and continued today. I think I've made my decision about entering the poetry program instead of fiction, and I feel comfortable with it. It's the form I seem to know best. Been off-and-on reading the last issue of Court Green (#5, Dossier: Sylvia Plath). Brainstorming, trying to decide how to string my portfolio together (theme?).
Also, I need to find the balance between studying, reading (which is also studying), and writing. How to juggle.
Feels like it's time to put the summer away.
I woke up the next day and didn't feel like I had anything left to get out. So I had a lovely 4 day weekend complete with 2 fires, some family, (no burgers...sad), the city, my best boy, and some kids I don't see nearly enough. Went to Franklin Fountain and got green tea ice cream; it was a lot greener than I remember. I want to go back to try a chocolate/peanut butter combination before I'm off my chocolate/peanut butter kick. A homeless man asked for change, but we kept walking; he then asked me to take his picture, so I stopped. I took two pictures; he thought they were very good. He talked to us for a little, asked our names. He pointed to a man sitting on the sidewalk directly across from him and said, "That's my brother Pat, and I'm Pat." The man across the street waved. I gave him a dollar for letting me take his photo and he appreciated it. He asked where we were from, but we never answered and I don't know why. Later that night I couldn't sleep because I kept thinking how fucked up it was that I didn't stop to give the man change, but I stopped when he said, "take my picture." And how fucked up it is that I ignore homeless people whenever I'm in the city not because I think they're sub-human, but because I'm scared (and I don't know if I'm taught to be afraid of homeless people, or if I'm taught to simply be afraid because I'm a girl). And I felt an overwhelming guilt at not being homeless and subsequently thought that is fucked up, and that no matter what you do to "be a part of the solution" you'll never really solve any problems.
I guess it wouldn't have moved me so much if I didn't kneel down on the ground to take this man's picture at eye-level and see him as a person and not something over-used and discarded. And if it didn't seem like he just wanted us to sit and talk with him all day whether or not we gave him spare change. He asked Plus-Ham if he knew how to play 'Stairway to Heaven' since Plus-Ham had a guitar strapped to his back and 'Stairway to Heaven' was Pat's favorite song. Plus-Ham didn't know it, but I think he should have improvised. He promised Pat he'd learn it and come back to play it for him, and I'd like to see that actually happen.
I started taking my camera with me almost everywhere I go, and I think that's been helping my writers block. I started writing prose-poems last night and continued today. I think I've made my decision about entering the poetry program instead of fiction, and I feel comfortable with it. It's the form I seem to know best. Been off-and-on reading the last issue of Court Green (#5, Dossier: Sylvia Plath). Brainstorming, trying to decide how to string my portfolio together (theme?).
Also, I need to find the balance between studying, reading (which is also studying), and writing. How to juggle.
Feels like it's time to put the summer away.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
A post by Casey!
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