All posts for the month April, 2013


Published April 24, 2013 by pipsqueak

i understand the sorrow of the solemn, round-faced teenage girl
who wears long denim skirts on Fridays with her sisters
and reads the dusty words of the Brönte sisters
she frowns upon her drunken, asinine peers – the fools!
but secretly she craves the flare, the fire of that brash athlete
who tramples and roars with his brash athlete cronies
he goes home and slumps on the side of his bed
blank, deflated of all movement
where the framework of approval is lost
in this boneless aloneness, he will certainly covet
the independence from the crack pipe of popularity
possessed by the pink-haired student
who talks back, snorts, flips the bird
and carves knotty roots upon his desk with a ballpoint
when his classmates call him a queer
but he is not free either. he sees me and wishes for
my goofiness, my guileless and earnest greetings
i’m like a fat pound cake, preserved and pre-packaged
so you can fully enjoy each moist tender morsel

now i envy no-one more than the petrified redwood
whose bark tears up the insides of the insects who bite it


on re-meeting that child i babysat a year ago

Published April 23, 2013 by pipsqueak

the round eyes of this mini-monk,

fringed with the pale-blonde lashes of the very young,

regard me calmly

he was bouncing, boisterous, when i saw him last

and now he carries his ten years

on his small knobby shoulders

like the robe of a scholar prince

and seems taken aback at my manic pleasure

at seeing him ask polite questions, a tiny gentle man

he couldn’t see the change, he is change incarnate

i ask him if he still plays with legos

and i think he’s annoyed at the bittersweet poignancy i attach to this question

“yeah, but don’t seem so sad about it, so do you”

restless girlfriends

Published April 22, 2013 by pipsqueak

we recognized in each other the liquid darkness

that beaded like mercury behind the black of our eyes

appalled by the glaring muchness of the world

we shrank back to a den, whispered dark ideas into each other’s ears

there is no rest in this world, not even in your thin arms

my black lace sleeve netted over fishbelly wrist

trading nausea through kisses

teeth chattering in anorexic mouthes

wide eyed, never falling asleep

Blog theme? What blog theme?

Published April 21, 2013 by pipsqueak

writing is the hardest thing ever


to my 44 followers: thank you so much for honoring with me your attention. I am extremely grateful to you.

lately, however, I have been posting less and less. and I’m not sure what to talk about. Being, as I am, a college freshman with neurotic tendencies, a penchant for veganism and sweets, little to no good advice to give, and… I don’t know. Facing the question of “what could I possibly have to offer?” is a tricky thing, and I’m not sure what to say to myself in reply.

I guess I started this blog so that I would be forced to write things. And write I did… badly, but often. And in the time-honored tradition of sitting at the proverbial typewriter and bleeding, I count that as a victory. But lately I’ve been thinking too much, doing too much, and being really unfocused in general. That’s the thing about college: you’re so busy doing a zillion tiny tasks that the sort of meditative attitude required to let thoughts bubble up from the grab bag of your unconscious can be drowned by anxiety.

So I’d kind of been just writing about… whatever. But as much as writing exercise is great for you, I think that if you don’t have anything to say, there’s no point in trying to say something. As with any art form/thing you can do, you should probably only devote yourself to writing if you have that you are burning to tell the world.

And I do. Because I’m a human who lives on this planet, my life is interesting and rich. But I’m still figuring out what sentiments I want to communicate and how best to transmit them. And for this reason, I would like to say that this blog has been and will probably continue to be a wordy sandbox that doesn’t have much in the way of continuity and common themes. I started out with a rant about the pseudointellectuals at Philosophy club, wrote some poetry about depression, reviewed some books, wrote some less sad poetry, and then kind of froze. I’m still at a loss for what my voice should be. I’ve decided to try to keep writing, though, without too much worry about focusing on one subject, and see what happens. This post is evidence of that.

So thank you, followers, for bearing with me and reading, and I hope I will amuse you as I continue to feel around for what I should be doing. I hope to post more frequently. And if you find my unfocusedness annoying rather than edifying, I will take no offense if you unfollow.


enemies and friends

Published April 18, 2013 by pipsqueak

my enemy is the sucking giant hole of apathy
i will sometimes crumble into
when i am too lacerated by shrapnel of the world
to fathom pulling myself from my cocoon of  sheets

when i read Google news
sadness slithers into me like heavy syrup
and bogs me down until i cannot move
the world is broken, why should i survive?

the answer is lies with my closest friends, who are:
the soft palms of the boy at the punk show
the femme fatale kiss of coffee
my best friend moaning about cinnamon popcorn
the chatter of those lovable assholes i hang out with

we pile damp twigs of discontentment
make sparks with hormones and rusty old lights
we shout as they wither and burst into flame

can poems change anything?

Published April 15, 2013 by pipsqueak

poem, i thought you were here for “closure”
what is that? it’s nothing i’ve known to happen
and liquid memories trickle through the seams
of the cardboard boxes in the attic of my mind

they cannot hold the gentle one i let wander too far in
even though i saw the thrash of agony in her
i didn’t know that she would grow so wrathful
and she barreled right through my ribs

and the fingerprints fade, but i can’t forget
the lattice of overwrought bruises
that we slapped on each other, plastering pains on pains
instead of making the slow choice to be gentle

worse than the slow-burn of pain, the flash of joy:
now i have ceded the authority of my reality
to those who have never learned my secrets,
not trusting the erratic flap of my own
butterfly-wing mind

Focusing on Something is Difficult

Published April 9, 2013 by pipsqueak

I sample hobbies like halloween candy, picking them up and discarding them as soon as I don’t find them interesting anymore. Trying things out is cool, because you learn about lots of different things. But I’ve always the envied the concentration and dedication of those who give themselves completely to their craft. I think the quintessential example is the ballerina who has been training since she was three. Hours of practice and exertion adding up to something beautiful.

I am not that ballerina. I am the living example of Quantity over Quality. Hnng. Need a very basic Tae Kwon Do move executed? (At this point, I only remember the ones with cool names, like “Tiger Mouth” and “Ox Jaw”) Want me to play a simple guitar song in the key of C? How about a sloppy watercolor painting? Or a scatterbrained poem written? Or a charmingly rough-hewn pencil sketch of an eyeball? Or a knitted sweater? Or the theme song of Sherlock played on accordion?


you think this is for comic effect but i’ve dabbled in like 4 of these instruments (via flickerstage)

So here I am, the product of many fulsome years of doing this and that. Nothing in particular very intensely, though, except maybe knitting and writing. And although in some ways, my sample-pack approach to Doing Stuff has been fun and illuminating, I do feel a bit unrefined. I envy the laser precision of some people’s dedication to their craft. I mean, they are out there, BEING AMAZING AT ONE THING THEY PRACTICED A LOT.

if you haven't stabbed yourself with a mirror you aren't trying hard enough (via fanpop)

what i’m saying is if you haven’t stabbed yourself with a mirror you aren’t trying hard enough (via fanpop)

I used to be completely confused as to how people could stick to something so faithfully. In the past, I’ve found myself squirming with boredom, sickness of the sameness, when I stick with something for too long. I’ve had this fear of going into something and having it be really boring. And that has happened to me a few times. I gave up flute after three years (it was hard to channel my adolescent angst in its dulcet tones). I thought it was all sonatas and sunshine, which didn’t suit me. But maybe if I’d stuck to it, I could have actually found a way to do something cool (to a middle schooler) with it. I mean, that beat-boxing flute guy did.

freaking beatboxing flute

literally so metal (via jonestunes)

I think that you need to make something your own in order for it to be truly impressive. Although technical expertise can be staggeringly impressive, I think that what truly marks an artist is the ability to add something new.  Maybe the mark of a genius at something, then, be it ballet or needlepoint, is the ability to synthesize their expertise with imagination, to add the richness of their experience and make art. We’ve seen writers of every generation reinvent their craft again and again. From Homer to Steve Roggenbuck, there have been endless iterations of what poetry can be and mean.

So here, dear reader, is my mission (and yours, possible): To find a hobby, a thing to do, and stick to it. Become good at it. And then do something with it that no one has ever done before. If Debbie New can knit a boat, then anything is possible.

none of your punk-ass grandma shit here (via valariebudayr)

none of your punk-ass grandma shit here (via valariebudayr)