February 2012
4 posts
January 2012
10 posts
What is the Color that Started the World
I. Last Year
The cysts are benign. And that is good. A man fingers loose change in his pocket to buy a cup of coffee. Nearby, a boy is told he’s “too obvious” by a stranger who’s licking the tip of his canine tooth.
II. This Year
On Christie and Rivington you talk to Walter, who asks where you live, what you do. Even though you can’t understand what he’s...
December 2011
3 posts
laurenrants:
I started a new blog dedicated to my wonderful friend Trang: www.textsfromtrang.tumblr.com.
If you don’t know Trang, I’m really sorry. You’re missing out. If you’d like to contribute, let me know. We need to share the wealth that is Trang.
Trang is my roommate. I will absolutely be contributing to this gem.
November 2011
4 posts
Detail of the Woods by Richard Siken
I looked at all the trees and didn’t know what to do. A box made out of leaves. What else was in the woods? A heart, closing. Nevertheless. Everyone needs a place. It shouldn’t be inside of someone else. I kept my mind on the moon. Cold moon, long nights moon. From the landscape: a sense of scale. From the dead: a sense of scale. I turned my back on the story. A sense of superiority....
October 2011
6 posts
Moving Toward Something
I.
And how is everything else?
How is everything else going?
She punctuates our conversation with the same question over and over again. I can’t tell if she just wants me to keep talking or if she’s getting at something deeper without having to say it.
I tell her everything is going well, don’t worry. I’m afraid she won’t understand if I say: Sometimes I like to walk alone. I like to sit somewhere...
“To do better you’re going to have to reach … What if the greatest...”
– Dear Sugar, “The Human Scale”
“It demands that we look ourselves squarely and hard in the eye and ask: What do...”
– Dear Sugar: “In the Direction of Real Life”
Why is it a complicated reality? If you would only...
Poem or Prayer
I.
I sleep under an open window and use two blankets now. Last night someone below me was playing the piano. I heard the sounds of planes flying overhead. Always, there’s a softness. Always, something that could crash.
II.
Crush. It’s been a while. I don’t know if that’s what this is, but it feels like it—the heaviness of want, of what could be. The actual word is...
September 2011
6 posts
“There are so many tiny revolutions in a life, a million ways we have to circle...”
– Dear Sugar: Tiny Revolutions
This song’s chorus kind of goes against...
Big and trumpeting and with a chant like a spell:...
August 2011
18 posts
I’ve always been such an anxious girl
Rings Like a Bell
I.
Adonis Lounge
On Wednesday nights this bar turns into the Adonis Lounge. I have about twenty dancers coming. Lapdances, champagne rooms, shows until 1 am! a shirtless man tells us. Then, a swarm—men in nothing but their underwear and high-top sneakers. Patting each other on the back, lounging on the couches, waiting to be called up every seven minutes to dance solo on stage.
Hi,...
Even More Modern Romance via Post Office Personals
To: #5 From: #140
Do you want me to beat up #14? Bitch stole your look! I’ll take out #1 too.
_____
To: #5 From: #10
You’re super cute and way too good at Beer Pong!
_____
To: #5 From: #10
If you keep winning and playing Pong how can we talk?
_____
To: #5 From: #140
Great beer pong tonight and you looked so good doing it.
Y by Leslie Adrienne Miller
Perhaps it’s a thread that needs to be pulled, a single stitch caught in the crux.
Whole word in French and Spanish, vertical axis of Cartesian three
loaning its fragile branch to a boy in theory. On y va. Let’s go There.
What happens to unrepaired sequences in subsequent generations? Semivowel,
blown umbrella, arrow reversed in wind, frizzy blot of genetic code directing...
It Doesn't Take Long to Memorize the Choreography
I.
Blackout: Watch for unexpected love. Blackout: No, your unexpected chaos.
II.
Don’t you like it when your watch sinks lower on your arm? Don’t you like adding another notch to your belt? Don’t you like this honey on toast? Don’t you like the East River run? See the boy playing the trumpet to no one in particular. Such a sad song drenched in tar. Don’t you want...