Possibly an OD number of books to carry at one time.

Possibly an OD number of books to carry at one time.

egtedrowe:

This summer I’ve had a little babysitting time early each morning, so I can hit the cafe near our place and write for an hour or so. I’m drafting a new novel, so I’m in that place of dreaming, playing, messing around. It’s my favorite stage.

I’ve been thinking about how it feels when I’ve…

Really relate to this.

Head on the desk day. Depression standing behind me air humping my neck, drawing dicks on my face.

(Source: Spotify)

Tags: music spotify

if i facially resemble any other human being, it’s Sherilyn Fenn in Twin Peaks

That’s not me being arrogant.  I find her a bit weird looking tbh.

http://media.tumblr.com/a65dc2020eafe149b14a47ebb639ee4e/tumblr_inline_mojyxyg82r1rz8cnu.gif

five.nine

i have nothing
to write
about
anymore

because i no
longer
love

oh, i do yes
of course, i do
love quickens
it always does

but it’s a thing
that happens as
i look

at your face
half-
covered by the ugly
green blanket

something that makes
me reach for you, but
chastely

I am not a good investment

you remind me of this casually,
dropping it like a feather
you expect me to watch float
between us—a miracle,

something benevolent you’re
bestowing on me—wisdom—
or maybe it’s the money you
think I’ll be grateful for, well

bitch, you can keep it—
and you can keep your cocaine,
your pants like baggy pajamas,
your hunched shoulders and your

love you goodbyes—I know
you too have your outside interests
(8 balls in the bookshelf)
but no one tries to

punish you for them, no one slips
an AA booklet into your purse,
smells too closely at your lips
but I reek of my own words and what

I’d like to do with them
so you palm your waist and shake
your head—nothing openended—and
suggest another city, a cheaper life

cheer

My dad called to inform me that he’s sending me an article about the rise of murder in the north Bronx.

“But, I added some jokes in there to lighten things up.”

roxanegay:

I will not write his name. I will not speak his name. I will try not to think his name.

I saw the young man’s video, and the first thing I felt, god forgive me, was pity for this broken man child and his grotesque narcissism and his naked hatred of women, of himself.

We live in a world where…

brother

I very much admire my brother. He makes me wish I could do the music thing (as in had, primarily, talent).

When I was home for Easter, he asked if I wanted to go to band practice with him so I did. It was in this huge kind of awesome apartment above Amy’s Place in a vaguely (optimistically?) soundproofed room (continent-shaped bits of rug on the walls next to pictures of Scarlett Johansson).  My brother’s bandmate handed me a giant jar of earplugs, a chair and a Genesee Cream Ale (idk if it’s just a Buffalo thing, but I’ve heard a lot of people there call it Genny Cream Ale).  Then they started playing. Loud. Fast. Muscles moving tightly in their boyarms and my brother’s glasses steaming up as he kept the fast hardcore beat.  And I just thought what am I DOING with my life?  What am I doing sitting alone with my computer writing melancholy stories when I could be bobbing my head in a messy room with two or three other people making so much SOUND, bleeding out of blisters on my hands?  The energy made me feel fucking manic—like I couldn’t help but not only move but grin crazily.  I just felt like THIS is it, man—raw energy like a hundred hands on your body, like, idk, the suddenly exposed pulse of (lame/histrionic sounding but yes) life.

Collaboration is hard interpersonally (I’ve heard my brother talk about this enough to get a sense of the toll that can take) and, in that sense, writing is “easier,” but it’s just not immediate like music.  Stories build and take fucking forever and are generally best enjoyed alone, even after they’re finished. And y’know a lot of music bores me, but that hard and fast variety (hardcore/punk/whatever the fuck) gives me a kind of high, this fuck everything! but, also, fuck! everything! feeling.  I’m describing this so poorly.  Basically, I felt a kind of (maybe incredulous? surprised? shittiness-letting) joy, which I was not expecting, and it made me admire my brother even more for being part of it.

lastnightsreading:

Téa Obreht at the Center for Fiction, 5/1/14

lastnightsreading:

Téa Obreht at the Center for Fiction, 5/1/14

Sophie has been rolling around in her new tunnel for five minutes.

Sophie has been rolling around in her new tunnel for five minutes.

Goodreads’ giveaways have been good to me lately.

Goodreads’ giveaways have been good to me lately.