I need to start this caboose back up!

You ever get that feel where all you want to do is just…run away for a bit, catch up on listening to music, making things, sleeping, and just sort of…talking to yourself? I’ve been too busy lately. I feel like I’m not really up to speed with myself, if that makes sense. But anyways, updates:

Working at Starbucks is like drinking the proverbial cup of cult-ish corporate blood, but is fun if you tune out the “Starbucks is God” mantra. I don’t get bothered by the Armageddon of students slavering at the thought of sugar-jacked espresso and milk, because it doesn’t matter. They’ll get their drinks, eventually, and I’ll go home, eventually, and then I’ll get to sleep, or procrastinate from homework, or whatever. It’s all chill, man. Anyways. That’s that.

Writing class: I honestly thought I’d be putting everything I wrote up here, because it’s loads better than what I usually post, but after getting critiques from classmates and teachers all I want to do is rework it over and over again until it’s perfect before I let it see the light of the internet. So hence the poetry dry spell. It’s good, though–the class, I mean. Makes me feel like I’ve found my people, yo.

A quick shout-out to the Peak Performance Project artists: you should check them all out HERE. I voted for Good for Grapes, but it was a tough go between them, Hannah Epperson, Van Damsel, Luca Fogale…man, there’s just some really stellar music coming out of this thing this year, and you should go immerse yourself in it (totally too late to vote now, I’m sorry, but on Tuesday they’re announcing the top 5 bands! This is exciting stuff).

One more thing: I’ve been semi-dared to do a series on flirting and seduction for NaBloPoMo (National Blog Post Month, where one posts every day—oh god) by the super-suave Scott over at In Spite of That, with the assurance that he’s going to do a series on trying one new hobby each day in November (and blogging about it). I’ve already failed one day, but I will post TWICE today to make up for it.

Last thing: I love you all, you beautiful blogger people you.

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addict

without it I become a puppet
without a puppeteer.
I am a fixture among thousands
walking mindless towards—
but in recent days
the strings seem too brittle to hold
my head up, my neck straight
(never mind my arms, my legs)
I am a little past diminished than
is usual
even four cups in.

walking in both directions

[note: if you’re picky about the formatting of poetry staying the way I wrote it, please click on the post to view it with the original spacing]

I wish our falling out was like Hiroshima
that mushroom clouds stretched in fine grey carpets
for miles in each direction,
and that when we spoke to each other
we could hear worlds burn.
But this, this cool dissemblance
logical, discussed, like a thick needle pumping blood
from my arm into a bag: I
will not, I can not lie still. 
Small, sharp pains, fleeting–
our heartbeats keep us rocking back and forth,
holding aches in both hands.
This story is written as it writes itself onward,
and we burn with fever-eyed desire
to tear out the pages;
to flip forward
or back
anything but this blind fumbling for answers–
but our hands keep slack at our sides.
I am walking in both directions, both towards
and away from you
and neither of us have the heart to stop
and ask for directions
because neither of us want to know.

blog rhytidectomy

So I decided we needed a facelift around these parts, and each theme I try has some shortcoming that I just can’t deal with. This one seems to be the least of all evils, but two things are bothering me:

1) the summarizing of the posts. Very nice, except the previews of all dem haikus and poetry stuff is now a conglomeration of seemingly unrelated adjectives (which it is in the first place, but it was intentional that way). 

2) I can’t get the pictures to show up in the previews, so no art for you until you click on the post. 

I’ll work on it a bit later. Everything’s still here, you just need to dig a little further to find it. (Still sewing. Everything is iced coffee.)

hands and hands

hands cover hands, cover skin
smooth my heartbeat
more rises and falls than each key
for each lock and piano
in every woman’s living room.

whisper innumerable words
wait for me
whistling wanting nighttime wanderlust
I am a raven black.

Cover me with hands and hands
and fingers sliding slipping sideways
down the silent curves behind my lungs
lowered lashes linger,
fingertips like feathers.

know my skin like a lover
let sleep drape each flame with shadows.

bittersweet

It’s all bittersweet
The taste of hellish burning madness
With a hint of honey.
A honeyed smile masking the devil’s grin.
Walk with me a while, he said with
Crooked eyebrows, slanted smile.
I kicked my legs high, and I followed.
We walked a while.

© Emily Bragg 2013