One Writer's Anthem.

Fiftieth post anyone?

You wore red paint on your face

That day you told me

To ‘just shut up and be quiet,

darling.’

I was quiet,

But I never shut up.

You hopped around in teeming,

Dirty

Ignorance.

As I ate Timshel

Like a breakfast of champions.

The caricature in the mirror

Lives on in terrible swells

Of the heart.

Killing carefully placed centerpieces

In bulk.

Three generations thought Anastasia lived.

And she had

Somewhere in the country of

Sulcus meets gyrus.

That’s where fire

Burns, births, and fizzles.

Either red like your face paint

Or blue,

Reflecting the most dangerous

Of stars,

Darling.

Double Dosage.

Both a poem and a people watching description all in one blog post.
I'm too kind, yes I know. ;)

He’s a stout new father who doesn’t quite know how to hold his daughter. Italian with a cheek-skimming beard and a graduated hipster affinity for pageboy hats. Heartbreakingly social and outgoing with a spontaneity that won him his beautiful wife. His daughter’s named something like Delilah or Isabella and he kisses her goodnight every night with a “Goodnight baby girl,” thinking about pastrami.

Drowning in a glass of water,
too cold for a schizophrenic
mirage in Flagstaff,
wishing for a double dose of
July and a dog snout on my cheek.
Nightmares like the
crazy love of a serial killer
and shattered ice melting in the
desert.
Careful, fake books and lamps and treasures.
I’m convinced they’re unconvincing.
Maybe not convinced but hoping.

This or That?

So this first poem is an original piece I had worked on and polished. And then afterwords I had a creative writing mentor look over it and make comments, so the second piece is my revisions based on his review. I'm not sure which one I like better.

Which is your favorite?

Seven basketballers plain and cloudless

Understanding the pull

And the twist

And the cascade of hormones on concrete.

It’s black today.

Falling into something like favorite jeans

That the world stains and satirizes and epitomizes.

Tomorrow is trying.

Taking Alka Seltzer

In air conditioned offices.

Tomorrow is maddeningly, incandescently jealous

Of the aqua promise of today.

Seven basketballers, almost an octet of sweat covered faces, plain and cloudless. Understanding things like pull and twist and instinctually feeling the cascade of hormones on concrete. It’s black today. There’s a collective trip, stumble and fall into favorite jeans, stained in world views like fry grease and blood lynched from human cracks. Satirized, epitomized.

Tomorrow is trying, toil, and discomfort. A swollen hand pops Alka Seltzer in air conditioned offices. Tomorrow is maddeningly, incandescently jealous of the aqua promise of today.

Hate Like.

Heartburn in your stomach.

Organic lattices grinding in circles

Against

Flesh that sparkled

Yesterday.

A temper,

An attitude

You can only halfway give up on.

Bad breath

And some stagnant sort of pall in the room

That won’t be ignored.

A waistband too tight.

A face furiously plain and

Red deserts along her cheekbones.

Tears trickle from complacent yesterdays

When this goddamn biosphere

Was toxically controlled;

When depression was a blind man’s game,

A hamster’s game

And ducks were able to form lines with their bodies.

A nagging sensation of no one

Evolves into cloudy, over-dreamt  

Tsunamis.

Wishes

In Middle America

Die two feet from the front door

And paint peels too quickly.

Under Pressure

In the style of ‘O Me! O Life!’ by Walt Whitman



Dear airlessness, that you are so unattainable:
to those clutched within the doldrums of an unvarying pressure.
Of a ghost-like spirit to which the pen depends,
of never ceasing, half-hearted attempts
and legions of almost blind, almost deaf naysayers.
Of a tightness and a hopelessness.
Doses of time dreaming of catharsis,
of midnight rampages and a draining of life’s marrow.
Answer.
Take it, take it all.
Dispose of weariness, the mind is a gracious organ.

Character Bios

This is late... sorry. But Blogger was down on Thursday and Friday was CRAZY. So here it is now.

Character bios, I love these things. I also like hyphens.

1. Name: Lorelei Winters

2. Age: 24

3. Height: 5’6

4. Eye color: Brunette

5. Physical appearance: Hair the epitome of brunette and eyes a clear, untarnished aqua blue. She has a plain face that takes make-up well. She always looks extremely put together and in control of herself.

6. Strange or unique physical attributes: a birthmark that looks like a lightning bolt on her shoulder.

7. Hobbies/interests: Loves to knit, loves yoga, and making banana smoothies after class.

8. Where does he or she live? What is it like there? Seattle, Washington. She lives in a tiny apartment just off the campus of UW where she’s studying orthodontia.

9. Special skills/abilities: Immaculate at applying make-up, showing sympathy, and Mario Kart.

10. Family: Socially inept father, mother left when she was eleven, right after having her younger brother Derrick.

11. Description of his or her house: Her apartment’s not much more than a sitting room, bedroom/bathroom, and kitchenette. She’s tried to decorate it in her favorite color combination (black, white, and teal) but she can’t do too much with her measly income working at the desk of a local physical therapist’s office.

12. Description of his or her bedroom: Her bedspread is white with decorations of black flowers and teal birds. The walls are white, the carpet is slightly coloring from age but was at one point, white. Pictures of Derrick, her father, and some friends are framed on the walls. She has a small desk and a small window that looks out onto the street. It’s so meticulously organized it hints at OCD.

13. Favorite bands/songs/type of music: She loves R&B and jazz. Singers like Aretha, Whitney Houston, and Billie Holiday

14. Favorite movies: She likes artistic films and frequents film festivals often.

15. Favorite TV shows: She never watched TV much growing up and at present doesn’t even own one.

16. Favorite books: Classics like Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, and East of Eden

17. Favorite foods: She adores Mexican food as well as shrimp cocktail.

18. Favorite sports/sports teams: She doesn’t follow any teams except for her brother’s lacrosse team.

19. Any interesting philosophies on life? Still figuring that out.

20. Physical health: Very good. She makes it a priority to stay in good shape even though her workload is enormous.

21. Pet peeves: Tardiness, roadkill, bitemarks on pencils, crying babies.

1. Name: Rosa Clare Reynolds

2. Age: 18

3. Height: 5’9

4. Eye color: Honey blonde

5. Physical appearance: Extremely pretty in the interesting, can’t-put-your-finger-on-it, model-esque sort of way. Tall, thin, but looks like she could hold her own in a fight.

6. Strange or unique physical attributes: Almond-shaped, brown eyes and full, red mouth.

7. Hobbies/interests: Debate, student council, basketball, art.

8. Where does he or she live? What is it like there? Flagstaff, Arizona. It’s hot and dry, but she loves it.

9. Special skills/abilities: She’s extremely talented at art, has an ear for the piano, an amazing conversationalist

10. Family: Two loving parents, one older sister named Hazel in college and an enormous extended family.

11. Description of his or her house: A-style two story. Medium sized with all the walls painted in bright, fresh colors.

12. Description of his or her bedroom: Wide with a sloping ceiling. Painted white with a spring green outline and a large window opposite the door that looks out onto the backyard. Neat, but not too tidy.

13. Favorite bands/songs/type of music: She loves both alternative rock and Spanish music.

14. Favorite movies: Romantic comedies like 27 Dresses or There’s Something About Mary.

15. Favorite TV shows: She likes all the popular ones: Glee, American Idol, America’s Next Top Model.

16. Favorite books: The Harry Potter books.

17. Favorite foods: Sushi.

18. Favorite sports/sports teams: The Suns

19. Any interesting philosophies on life? Have fun, but not too much. Be crazy, but be careful.

20. Physical health: Commendable.

21. Pet peeves: Country music and paper cuts.

1. Name: Rebecca ‘Becky’ Beverly Wilks

2. Age: 17

3. Height: 5’5

4. Eye color: Dirty blond

5. Physical appearance: Exceptionally thin, navy eyes, bumped nose, mediocre face.

6. Strange or unique physical attributes: Tiny ears

7. Hobbies/interests: Likes to make bracelets out of string and read paranormal fiction.

8. Where does he or she live? What is it like there? She lives in Flagstaff.

9. Special skills/abilities: Can list off the first one hundred digits of pi and do a backbend.

10. Family: Exceptionally rich father and high class mother. Two older brothers, Aaron and Patrick and one younger sister, Julia.

11. Description of his or her house: An enormous, modern-style house in Flagstaff’s gated community.

12. Description of his or her bedroom: Large and spacious with mahogany and dark metal furniture. Red bedding and curtains. White, shag carpet and a walk-in closet.

13. Favorite bands/songs/type of music: She doesn’t listen to much music, but pop is her go-to.

14. Favorite movies: Dear John, Elf, Charlie St. Cloud

15. Favorite TV shows: Gilmore Girls and nothing else.

16. Favorite books: Anything paranormal YA.

17. Favorite foods: Spaghetti or salmon.

18. Favorite sports/sports teams: Couldn’t care less.

19. Any interesting philosophies on life? No.

20. Physical health: Could be better.

21. Pet peeves: Girls that think they know it all, wishing on stars, people who dog-ear library books.

1. Name: Eli Fuller

2. Age: 18

3. Height: 6’1

4. Eye color: Black

5. Physical appearance: Racially ambiguous. Freckled. Tall. Curly, black hair and a strong jaw.

6. Strange or unique physical attributes: His freckles.

7. Hobbies/interests: Football, building, and hiking.

8. Where does he or she live? Flagstaff.

9. Special skills/abilities: He’s really good at dancing but would never admit it.

10. Family: He has older parents and an adopted younger sister named Sarah.

11. Description of his or her house: Just an average, red-brick one story out in suburbia.

12. Description of his or her bedroom: Small and cramped with all his furniture. Painted blue jean blue. Beatles posters and album covers hung all over the walls.

13. Favorite bands/songs/type of music: The Beatles. He idolizes them.

14. Favorite movies: Across the Universe.

15. Favorite TV shows: He enjoys sports programs and Monday Night Football.

16. Favorite books: Not a big reader, but he secretly really liked Huck Finn when he was forced to read it for school.

17. Favorite foods: Pretzels, bagels, and steak.

18. Favorite sports/sports teams: Basketball and Football. The Suns and the Vikings.

19. Any interesting philosophies on life? Do what you want, or maybe not.

20. Physical health: Very fit, but not the most nutritionally nourished.

21. Pet peeves: Cats. Anything to do with them.

My Day.

0.       I laughed in the highway today,
Chuckled really.
Not like November,
But close.

1.       Subway bags and
Dead sons.
Oh, Bobby Bobby.

2.       Film connoisseurs
Talking through a classic.
Perhaps if Mr. Williams
Were young, blond, and female

3.       A tear-jerking ‘dog story’
And for all your troubles, a maxim.
All in the forest of numbers.

4.       Didn’t make it to the finish line
Didn’t make it.
Didn’t make it.
B.
Oh God,
B.

5.       Only the Mayans were worth seeing
Don’t believe me?
Wear white
For a week.

6.       STEVE
jonnnnnnnn
Herd mentality for the twenty-first century.
Dang, forgot my club at home.

7.       “Come on Jade, power through.”
Abbreviations, calculations, desperation.
Ready to kick the woodland creature shouting timetables.
How did I get here?

The Man in the Jewlery Box. (2)

This is my second installment of my April short story, and yet it's still not done. I'll be posting the third and final section on Sunday, which I know is in May, but really, it's a process (please feel free to give me all kinds of crap about that).

Quick question, do you want to see this piece in its edited, final drafted, glory? It's going to need a lot of work, but I'm confident that I can pull it off.
*It just frustrates me in pieces like this where things can go in so many different directions, and it's hard to pick the right one.

Sorry for rambling. I'll just let you read it.

It’s all on fire, the gold. The gold and the rubies and the diamonds are ensconced in a brilliance that might convince even God that Heaven is inferior.

                Dawn just flowered over the high-rises. The kind of dawn that can make you believe in anything, even through smog. My little box feels like it belongs on the point of a Christmas tree, rendering me slightly blind and ringing from the ferocity of sensory onslaught. People stand in crowds to see me all day, but on this morning, with this dawn giving birth to this brilliance, there are only a few stragglers who will see it. But maybe, maybe it’s better that way.

                In this box, for this week, I am a Tiffany’s employee. Tiffany’s defines itself by luxury. So I am to live in extravagance. Exotic and scrumptious foods are sent up to me three times a day on a silver and Tiffany blue platter. Since I am a tool in their promotional campaign, they want the public to take notice of this, and since people are easily influenced, they do. Crowds bigger than normal gather during mealtimes, more preoccupied with some strange man’s dinner than their own. So far I’ve been served expensive meats, cheeses, vegetables, soups, and salads, all on the first day.

                Luxury is biting me everywhere as I eye the lift’s doors, willing them to open, particularly a spiked pendant digging into my right thigh. I wait patiently for breakfast this morning, feeling slightly empty now that the angles have shifted and morning is just morning, no longer dawn. Luxury bit into me last night when, oddly enough, there was no bed to sleep on. Luxury keeps me on my toes, just thinking about the paycheck at the end of the week. Yet, luxury smells delicious as eggs, bacon, grapefruit, toast, and jam appear behind the lift’s doors. There’s a crowd gathering as I spear into the pink fruit.

Ineptitude.

It’s me against

The unbending pillars

Of an E spine,

A black lock,

An upper arm.

Crackling and jerky, stop and start palaver,

potential energy, kinetic energy, potential energy.

Tattooing some omnipresent smile in my eyes

When natural intensity is a slow death.

Filling up the time braiding fingers and modeling for all the invisible cameras in the air,

Calculating every limb down to the bone.

I’m procrastinating self-hatred, smashing it into the deadline

Eluding inevitable, farcical turning points

Because blueberries can never grow in an orchard.

Adult intervention is sacred, and two is the loneliest number.

Petitioning to participate just so the shock of spectatorship won’t make me reach out my

Roughed up hands

To draw black lines in the sand.

Cotton in the ears, bed on the brain.

Gen. Y

I'm severely crunched for time today, so here's a quick poem for your enjoyment.

We are the inevitable roses that shoot from cement cracks,
Not all white. 
A new race of linguists, 
Our highly analytical minds translating every nuance 
From a language of pure egotism. 
We’re vain, colorblind philanthropists;
Uninformed and opinionated
Craving fame as well as infamy
Obsessed and appeased within the marriage of ambition and assumption.
Naiveté is our elixir,
Those without it break quickly and cleanly. 
We are young 
And we are roaring, 
Making art and making do
With your pacifying diversion, your shiny new toy. 
The final frontier is no longer the heavens. 
We will kill you with your own weapon.
We are Generation Y.