Shouts From the Margins

EXAMS NEED TO BE DONE NOW.

“Take me again,” she said, thinking of him 
”To the pond with the swans and the swimming”
 Far from his room the familiar perfume How it left her aware she was naked

 The lesson she learned when her memory serves
Is to marvel with love at the sunset
 And walking away at the dark end of day
 She will measure and break like a habit

 Oh, how the rain sounds as loud as a lover’s words 
And now and again she’s afraid when the sun returns

 “Take me again,” she said, thinking of him 
”I don’t care for this careful behavior”
 A brush through her hair, children kissing upstairs
 Keeps her up with her want for her savior

 The sun on the sand, on her knees and her hands 
As she begs for her fish from the water But turned them away, she’s a whip and a slave 
Given time she may find something better…

Perfect rainy day, stuck inside my room working on exams song. Whiskey and gingerale kind of night. I’ll be up cutting canvases, fileting paper, and sinking into thoughts, ruminations, and memory songs… I miss you. I would love it if you were here with me. If you make it to New York and want to crash, I just need a few days heads up notice so I can tell my housemates there what’s going down. Please visit.
I am working on a narrative non fiction piece about Loretta J. Ross. Look her up! She’s a total badass and is based in Atlanta and has dedicated her life to fighting patriarchy, racism, and misogyny in all its forms. She’s awesome. How am I going to do her justice in my writing? The thing I do have going for me is that I’ve spent 11 years in the South. There’s some nuances of hers that ring clearly from there… Her deeper understanding of history and racism and its pervasiveness… Yet how it can be discussed as personal there, not as the personal validated by the political that I see happen a lot here…
It’s hard to have a part of my identity from there and want to defend it and yet scold it. You know? I’ve run into a lot of shit here that makes me fucking angry when I encounter it. Just grrr… It is dangerous dangerous dangerous to believe and espouse the idea that racism is a “Southern problem.” Oh honey chil’! Shut your mouth and open your eyes—you might could just see something… Like all the racist and sexist shit that happens right here in your charming, New England, collegiate town of Northampton. The veins of racism, sexism, homophobia, etc. run deep in this country’s founding and you have buildings here that are older than anything down South… That and frankly, creating a hierarchy for oppression (that was more racist than this) is dangerous too. Hatred is as hatred does. And it does not have to come with a Southern accent to be real…

Miss you. Heart is sending love and warmth to you, lovely lovely lovely Amazon woman. You’re one of my fiercest friends and I love that and appreciate that about you so much. Love love love you.

Coffee Rings

Sorry to be so out of touch.

Been having to live presently more than I ever have before.

I will not be in Massachusetts this summer. I will be in New York, New Orleans, Athens, Boston, Providence, wherever my feet desire. But based in New York for an internship.

I keep having vivid vivid vivid dreams. Dreams that infect my every day reality. It’s as if spirits are trying to talk to me.

My heart is stronger than I thought. At the same time, when I think of Ian and Seattle it crumbles into dust. It hurts. I know it made sense to end things. But I wonder if it was ultimately callous. Or selfish. Or the right thing. No going back now but I wonder. And my heart crumbles…

But it is strong. I can let it break and crumble because I know I can put it back together again and it will be stronger puzzle, a larger labyrinth. It is strong enough to take it and throw it right back.

My work has consumed me again. I wonder how many men I will tick off with my preference for the written word, the vortex spinning out conclusive thoughts that will only be debated again and again, the grappling with thought after thought, a minotaur I know I’ll never conquer. I wonder how many men will leave me because they cannot understand how much I love the company of my books, the breath of thought, the kiss of knowledge more than their impressive feats of chivalry or more than their chests puffed with pride because they’ve caught the sparkling eyes of so many beautiful and talented women or more than their guts and glory stories which are really for other men anyway… It’s exam time. Passing the last two years of my life time. Preparing for moving time. Drinking time sometimes.

I’m not cruel. I’m straight up honest with them  It’s as though their lust for who they want me to be blinds them to what I am saying and doing right in front of their eyes.I won’t tolerate scholars that make conversation into a competition or adventurers that think they are above studies. I’m impossible. But I don’t always mind that…

So where are you now?? How are you?? What are you up to? Miss you a million earl grey chai lattes and a thousand rainy days spent with musty books and memories.

The Dandy Lion Den

My two friends and I are moving into a house together.
(The situation: friend’s parents buying a house in the city. We pay utilities.)
We all have our own rooms. While I’m away they’ll be building a ramp into the house, and will also be installing handrails into the main room, and decorating. 

I am…so happy.

Ruminations

“By the time you swear you are his, shivering and sighing, And he vows his passion is infinite and undying- Lady, make a note of this: One of you is lying”—Dorothy Parker

I read this quote a few moments ago and it all too well summarizes many of my romantic/sexual/crazy experiences. But I laugh and remember and laugh and remember and just jump back on the bronco and ride off into the sunset…

stress and travels

Here is how my travels go for just May—-

May 8-Charlotte.
May 10-Atlanta, Chicago.
May 23-West Virginia.

I thought I was going to have to walk ten hours from Beckley and to where I’ll be medicing/chillin BUT I found a ride. I’m in this…brain drain of ‘fuck…just…fuck’
I haven’t even bought my tickets for Mass yet.

Expect me to chill with you in your apartment for a hot minute. Aka, I need chilling time in between going medic-ing.
 

so far I will be a medic everywhere I go except to when I visit you.
Be prepared for a very smelly and fucking tired me. 

if you wake up
there will be a jaguar sitting on your
        chest
his heart will be in your
        mouth

There is no jaguar. 

Ache

I slipped through time when the subway
convulsed and shuddered
puttering to its
simple
three second

stop—

Next stop
disillusionment,
disaster dreams to follow.

I scan windows’ reflections
for your glittering face,
wolf eyes on the prowl
sweet lips dripping
honeysuckle blooms,
landing on the
tongues
of the hobos
with their violins and buckets,
wanting some change.

But your sweetness slips down their throats
Radiance echoing through every intestine
and they begin to float
with joy
that your wondrous smile
graced their faces
that you made them important
for     one
infinite moment
in
time

Careening through our
messysimplestriking     city
street lights remind me of your palms
sliding up my spine.
the highway lines disappear
just like your teeth when you smile deep.

Haunting smile,
makes me smile,
wolf smile
hungry and waiting
inattentive to what lies
right
in
front
of
you.

blackouts.

well I guess it’s the opposite
SO BRIGHT that I can’t see. my mind moves too fast,
and maybe I’m moving but I’m still staying still, can that happen?
I keep thinking I have spoken
but then people are looking at me
so expectantly.
I keep forgetting food. It just doesn’t seem important. Not when my mind is screamingJUMPINGprayingHAPPYSAD. the one thing that doesn’t change, is how fast its moving.

they say it’s a Mixed State, of mania and depression
it’s not mixed really. it’s very distinct. I see and feel more than usual
which makes it harder to function
harder to look okay
and maybe they’re right. maybe I should be locked in a cage. but if they lock me in. i’ll never come out. 

when i get a little mad it sounds like this

Never ever, maybe perhaps, not on
philosophy is for cherie night bon
verb noun adjectiving conditionals
marking up a lawyer’s legislations
go take that train to decode the reason

gerunding moonshine, a rainy treason
order is in a drunk man’s mouth home gone
walk those chickens to the line for collisions
Never ever, maybe perhaps

Last night’s low neurochemistry went down
a satisfied cat speaking quiet pidgin
Certainly, yes, you may adore aerials
the wind is cold, nonsense shines like angels
my rhymes never really quite loved reason
Never ever, maybe perhaps

who wouldn’t love mania when it makes such silly poems?
(I had to write a structured poem, but it’s so hard for structure to exist in mania, so I made manic thoughts into a box. I think that’s a vil…something) 

‘Crazy. crazy. crazy.’
‘I mean Audre Lorde is stronger because Muriel can’t hold down a relationship.’
‘Exactly! she just cheats.’
again again, please go on!

‘I think you’re being incredibly ableist. Muriel was afraid of being institutionalized, had ECT, and was going through psychosis. Calling her weak for not being able to work within a relationship does not mean she was weak. This is delegitimizating the very real threats and fear Muriel was experiencing.’