WHAM. WHAM BAM.
Finally got myself some fertile ground for procrastination, now in full "fail college" mode. But look! Priddy hospital blue! You can't say no to pretty hospital blue.
Fluctuating between caps, no caps. Cigarettes?
So I attended my first poetry reading on Friday in this tiny loft of a bookstore called "Spartacus Books". Hip. Hip to the fullest. Bursting with hip. Hiplock. The walls were brick and the bookshelves were mismatched and you couldn't throw a punch without hitting an anarchist in the face. I was the first to show up, ergo, I was the first to read. And before you start chuckling, there were no bongos, no dramatic pauses, no snapping fingers. I mumbled my way through the first one, keeping my head down and throwing eye contact to the winds. But I read slowly too, so hopefully my discomfort will be taken as deep, deep sincerity.
But what does this mean in the long run? Perhaps it means this: Jack the girl could take herself seriously as a poet. If she was good enough to get into this zine and good enough to read her damn shit first, then why the hell not.
Adventures in poetry. Lame lame lame.
You'd think that this event would kick start an inspiration free fall in jack the girls' li'l head, but 'tis not so. the end-of-term essay-happy writing binge has poisoned me this year - i feel i will never write again. i'm just barely limping my way through this last essay for my lit class. new poetry pieces? talk to me in february which - coincidentally - will be the first time i do a drug heavier than marijuana. the flow will be dense.
<3 this creature.
<3 lipsticks, lips, reds and flesh pinks
<3 sattelites, buffaloes, murakami
<3 white hair. red hair. lip ring. thinner? sexy. crazy.
marvelous.
(PS FROM JACK THE GIRL - reading this over, I realize how fucked up my train of thought is truly becoming. blame my creative writing class. the poets have taught me that coherence is overrated.)
Finally got myself some fertile ground for procrastination, now in full "fail college" mode. But look! Priddy hospital blue! You can't say no to pretty hospital blue.
Fluctuating between caps, no caps. Cigarettes?
So I attended my first poetry reading on Friday in this tiny loft of a bookstore called "Spartacus Books". Hip. Hip to the fullest. Bursting with hip. Hiplock. The walls were brick and the bookshelves were mismatched and you couldn't throw a punch without hitting an anarchist in the face. I was the first to show up, ergo, I was the first to read. And before you start chuckling, there were no bongos, no dramatic pauses, no snapping fingers. I mumbled my way through the first one, keeping my head down and throwing eye contact to the winds. But I read slowly too, so hopefully my discomfort will be taken as deep, deep sincerity.
But what does this mean in the long run? Perhaps it means this: Jack the girl could take herself seriously as a poet. If she was good enough to get into this zine and good enough to read her damn shit first, then why the hell not.
Adventures in poetry. Lame lame lame.
You'd think that this event would kick start an inspiration free fall in jack the girls' li'l head, but 'tis not so. the end-of-term essay-happy writing binge has poisoned me this year - i feel i will never write again. i'm just barely limping my way through this last essay for my lit class. new poetry pieces? talk to me in february which - coincidentally - will be the first time i do a drug heavier than marijuana. the flow will be dense.
<3 this creature.
<3 lipsticks, lips, reds and flesh pinks
<3 sattelites, buffaloes, murakami
<3 white hair. red hair. lip ring. thinner? sexy. crazy.
marvelous.
(PS FROM JACK THE GIRL - reading this over, I realize how fucked up my train of thought is truly becoming. blame my creative writing class. the poets have taught me that coherence is overrated.)
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
halohaynes:
what the fuck do you mean by the fail college shit? your uncle whippy is not soundin impressed, but keep up with poetic stuff you've def got a knack for that thing and it doesn't jus flow constantly 
halohaynes:
good good an oh argh sounds painfull on the los vegas thing, yeah well the uncle whippy thing is jus the older sterner me, well you have some fun now