dream

i think this style is workable
i am going to stick with this style
it fits with my life goals and ideology

i heard your mom likes radiohead
wow that is weird and cool i guess

in the new yorker there was a cartoon
it was about a bucket with a bucket list
haha

i had a dream my ex-girlfriend saw me and was really happy to see me.
normally i don’t see other ppl’s face clearly in dreams but hers i saw perfectly clearly
i had forgotten how beautiful i thought she was
wow she was beautiful.
we were in california and swimming in a pool
and she was like “you’re here”
and I was like, I know.
i did a cannonball off the diving board
she laughed
i had cool shorts

i woke up next to my real girlfriend and it was cold
and there was blue light because it was 5:45 a.m.
i didn’t miss my ex-girlfriend
my real girlfriend looked beautiful sleeping
i gave her a kiss
and in her dream her ex-boyfriend gave her a kiss
and said he still loved her

Tags: poetry

thetsaritsa:

I can articulate it

I just don’t want to

real shit

i wonder when i’m going to start writing real shit again

i heard once that teenage boys call everything shit because they can’t tolerate the changes coming over them
they use the word “shit” instead of the word “stuff” because they can’t tolerate the changes coming over them

puberty turns stuff into shit, i.e.

i can’t tolerate the autumn
it is my favorite season
thank you slavoj zizek i am overwhelmed with enjoyment

wow the air
the sunlight at the fall equinox
wow
i am totally serious
thank you god for the weather today

Tags: poetry

gonna get back to posting constant content on here. enough reblogs and philosophical bullshit it’s all poetry now

more shit i just tweeted

stop pretending like you understand james joyce
generally i am sick of ppl thinking they are superior because they read lots of books. books are just as shitty as any other kinda media
we were taught by sentimental teachers and school librarians that books are inherently superior to all other media
you could be a great writer and have watched nothing but 80’s sitcoms… and not even good ones like the cosby show. shit like small wonder
it’s not about the number of “difficult” books you’ve read, but whether or not you’re paying attention to your effing life

this time of year all i want to do
is write poems about the equinox light

tweets from earlier:

if you’re hott and a good writer you’ll make it
if you can’t be hott try to be cute
if you can’t be cute uh start looking for a job on craigslist
if you are a hott writer ppl will look at your selfies/author photo and actually think your writing is better bc of the photo
if you are a hott writer ppl will love your work bc they will not actually read it but simply imagine effing you as they pretend to read

tweets from earlier:

if you’re hott and a good writer you’ll make it
if you can’t be hott try to be cute
if you can’t be cute uh start looking for a job on craigslist
if you are a hott writer ppl will look at your selfies/author photo and actually think your writing is better bc of the photo
if you are a hott writer ppl will love your work bc they will not actually read it but simply imagine effing you as they pretend to read

if you are lucky

if you are lucky someday
you will love someone so much
you won’t need to make love
the two of you will be
just chaste bodies,
and hearts always slowly
beating away,

if you are lucky someday
you will love someone so much
you won’t need speech for most things,
glances will suffice
heartbroken glances of love
will suffice
for most things

if you are lucky someday
you will love someone so much
you no longer notice—
it will be as invisible as air
as given as sunrise
as certain as death
and taxes

Tags: poetry

Thoughtful poem by Luis Silva who’s better known in the internet poetry community for publishing other ppl’s work. In the last line I interpret a general statement about the error of anyone who conceives themselves in the negative fashion of “not being like them”, whoever “they” are for you.

He separated himself from the auspicious
in space and thought, walking
without their smirk or the sense
that they shared his strong desire
to feel nothing.

You depend on “them” even as you rebel, and you perform a weird dance with your enemy. He too is afraid to feel, because he too is human, and neither of you, he for his conformity, you for your revolution, will succeed to avoid feeling. You find yourselves together on the same lonely street living the same dead life, they seeing nothing and you refusing to see, and you keep walking, and for how long?

i think i may be a bit revolting

romywiththehomies:

i am touching my clit through my brother’s boxer shorts
i have just eaten peanut butter toast
i am sniffing my fingers now
they smell more like peanut butter than they do clit
i think i may have transferred some peanut butter from my fingers onto my clit
now i am picking my nose

if this isn’t poetry i don’t wanna be called a poet

My Intellect

My intellect was a thing pickled,
and jarred, and oh,
I guess the next thing would be
shelved,
oh,
and how it sat on the shelf,
and oh,
how it sits, still,
how we spent that one weekend last fall
pickling my intellect
and how we looked good in our sweaters doing it
our sweaters with elks on them
white elks majestic and prancing,
and we thought about selling it at the farmer’s market
and we thought about a lot of things—

Tags: poetry

Just wanted to boost this kid Michael Lottner who followed me really early into my tumbling career and has been a consistent supporter of my stuff via frequent “likes”. I might put something up and like no one seems to care but then M.L. likes it and I’m like, dope, I must have written an actual poem.

But I don’t just like Michael because he likes my stuff. He’s also a fine and remarkably prolific poet himself, who seems somehow to have gotten twice as good just over this past summer. And he’s only 18, which means by the time he’s my age, 28, if he keeps this up, he’ll most likely be scary good. He is a true romantic in the old sense (“death is not a problem, it’s a promise,” he writes on his website’s masthead) which is kind of rare in the Internet poetry scene where sometimes it feels like it’s cooler to talk in a flat tone about how depressed you are or how bored you are fucking strangers than to actually make something pleasant to read, something—God forbid—melodious, or—double God forbid—actually in some kind of genuine dialogue with the poetic tradition, however problematic it is—and I’d be willing to concede it’s very problematic, but for fuck sake don’t throw out the baby with the bathwater.

His stuff is actually pretty. If his poems were paintings, the colors would be rich. He is actuallythinking about life, about what it means to be a feeling human, and not just within his own limited experience. He doesn’t just write to mark his peculiar psychological territory in the world, like a dog peeing on every tree in a 30 yard radius. He’s not afraid to use images and lines that might seem cliche or sentimental, and I don’t know what his rationale is behind this, but it comes off as infinitely more honest than the people who seem to be straining so hard for non-cliche language that they end up talking in a way no one does and no one can understand. And people are responding to this—most of the poems he posts get over 100 notes. If Kenneth Goldsmith is right and a work’s effectiveness is a matter of how wide its audience is, then Michael Lottner is doing way better than a lot of far “cooler” Internet poets, even a lot of people who are technically better writers.

What he may lack in terms of very unique “voice” at this early stage in his career he makes up for in heart—that ineffable quality which, in any kind of art, is either there or not. It is both the most important quality in a writer and the easiest to develop—all you have to do is have the courage to show it—but for some writers, who shrink at their own vulnerability (even as they may appear to be writing nothing but poems about how vulnerable they are), this is unbearably difficult.

After years of the post-modern favoring of intellectual/political provocation over heart in art, it seems that heart is making a comeback. This is very good for art and also for humanity generally. Art should not settle for just being “interesting” or “thought-provoking”. Science is interesting, essays are thought provoking. Art needs to be beautiful, it needs to remind us that we feel, and not in a way that makes us shrink from horror at feeling—even from our horrible feelings. Okay rant over.

note to tumblr teens: you won’t be able to make a successful lifestyle/identity out of being mentally unstable—trust me

Literary writing is inherently elitist and impractical. It doesn’t directly cure disease, combat injustice, or make enough money, usually, to support philanthropic aims. Because writing is suspected to be narcissistic and wasteful, it must be ‘disciplined’ by the programme… The workshop’s most famous mantras – ‘Murder your darlings,’ ‘Omit needless words,’ ‘Show, don’t tell’ – also betray a view of writing as self-indulgence, an excess to be painfully curbed in AA-type group sessions. Shame also explains the fetish of ‘craft’: an ostensibly legitimising technique, designed to recast writing as a workmanlike, perhaps even working-class skill, as opposed to something every no-good dilettante already knows how to do. Shame explains the cult of persecutedness, a strategy designed to legitimise literary production as social advocacy, and make White People feel better (Stuff White People Like #21: ‘Writers’ Workshops’).

From an essay by Elif Batuman, read the rest here

"Isn’t the “Lion King” the most disgusting attempt by Westerners to evade guilt for the slave trade and colonial exploitation? For what does it show us? The ultimate colonialist fantasy: an Africa without a single African."

— Huntley G. Featherback, critical theorist