alexisjeter

[notaslob-blog]

made my first ziiinnnneeee finna make more pm me ur addy if you want one!

[alexisjeter]

so you handed me one of your zines outside B&N in Charles Village today. Unfortunately haven’t been following you for long enough to send a pm. I’m working on this story that’s in it’s not finished first draft form. i guess you could say that’s what I’m making right now.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1lYHJozr_Vf7EvFy3rPhqhmDFzce-pjxhodX_VH2aOxA/edit?usp=sharing

your zine was interesting. i liked the radioactive worms. 

[notaslob-blog]

wow thank you for sharing omg im glad someone actualy did! i had no id abt the rule about pm s though i like the story i feel i learned a lot about life in maine, does it turn out to be more about paw paw or the missing girl?

[alexisjeter]

Not sure, I never managed to finish this story. Sorry I missed this way back when. This was like a year ago now. I didn’t know what direction to take it in and then got overwhelmed with the idea that the story might be longer than just a few pages. Did you ever make any more zines? That was pretty admirable handing them out to strangers around the city. 

[notaslob-blog]

made my first ziiinnnneeee finna make more pm me ur addy if you want one!

[alexisjeter]

so you handed me one of your zines outside B&N in Charles Village today. Unfortunately haven’t been following you for long enough to send a pm. I’m working on this story that’s in it’s not finished first draft form. i guess you could say that’s what I’m making right now.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1lYHJozr_Vf7EvFy3rPhqhmDFzce-pjxhodX_VH2aOxA/edit?usp=sharing

your zine was interesting. i liked the radioactive worms. 

[alexisjeter]

She was no longer the listless creature who had lived at his side in a state of sullen self-absorption, but a mysterious alien presence, an evil energy secreted from the long years of silent brooding. It was the sense of helplessness that sharpened his antipathy. There had never been anything in her that one could appeal to; but as long as he could ignore and command he had remained indifferent. Now she had mastered him and he abhorred her.

Ethan Frome, Edith Wharton 

[alexisjeter]

Then she too fell silent. Perhaps it was the inevitable effect of life on the farm, or perhaps, as she sometimes said, it was because Ethan 'never listened.' The charge was not wholly unfounded. When she spoke it was only to complain, and to complain of things not in his power to remedy; and to check a tendency to impatient retort he had first formed the habit of not answering her, and finally of thinking of other things while she talked.

Ethan Frome, Edith Wharton (Chp. IV)

[alexisjeter]

The winter morning was clear as crystal. The sunrise burned red in pure sky, the shadows on the rim of the wood-lot were darkly blue, and beyond the white and scintillating fields patches of far-off forest hung like smoke.

Ethan Frome, Edith Wharton (Chp. 3)

[alexisjeter]

To him, who was never gay but in her presence, her gaiety seemed plain proof of indifference. The face she lifted to her dancers was the same which, when she saw him, always looked like a window that has caught the sunset. He even noticed two or three gestures, which in his fatuity, he had thought she kept for him: a way of throwing her head back when she was amused, as if to taste her laugh before she let it out, and a trick of sinking her lids slowly when anything charmed or moved her.

Ethan Frome, Edith Wharton (Chp. 1)

[alexisjeter]

She had an eye to see and an ear to hear: he could show her things and tell her things, and taste the bliss of feeling that all he imparted left long reverberations and echoes he could wake at will.

Ethan Frome, Edith Wharton (Chp. 1) 

[alexisjeter]

Nicholas Roerich

[alexisjeter]

Nikolai Leskov’s grave, Volkov Cemetery 

[alexisjeter]

Fumio Hayasaka, Piano Concerto, 1st Movement: Lento 

[alexisjeter]

Ain't nothin but this uncut croughness I bring  Don't care bout no fide I do my own thing Giving chase in this rat race, fears be face And me be on the case, proud plus brave Ready to be taking them drastic measures Give me my treasure then splurt  Could not give a brand new blouse and skirt I told you both through, fight through the bleat Clench my teeth dweet enzymes for me By any which method positivities be we shepherd We pounce like left limb leopard If you ever see me in the street pulling brand new good moves You're wrong to confuse me with regular riff-raff I got me cause and calling Never have I held any love for stalling Rush and make hast You down for rebellion left-handed glove we embrace the millennium Ticka ticka tock my golden pen Scribble 'pon the paper from yassa to when We drop style 'pon the heathens dem Those who can't dig it well  I feel the problem  Ain't no record that can hold me  I'm oversized  Ears ever be open to the words of the wise  But there's untold cats on my corner perpetrating Read and few books and now their talking  They're looking to convert yours truly but I'm unruly  Plus for the crew like cooly folk  Mixing up the Guiness with the raw egg yold  'Cause it's all about strength while we walk through the valley of the snipe  heathens Get thee from my sight you cats is ever eager  To preach up in my face when you just about scrape to know all that is How the hell you try to tell me coca-cola got fizz? I read your pamphlet four times  it don't make sense  You front like Uri scholar shit smells pretense  Yous best get off your horse drink your milk get the frig out  It goes  Ticka ticka tock my golden pen Scribble 'pon the paper from yassa to when We drop style 'pon the heathens dem  Those who can't dig it well I feel the problem  What the frig makes you friggers want to frig with this? Now you fools got me living with this mental fist That I wear with knucklebusters taking out these frogs in their clusters Three by three five by five How would you describe this left handed loony  Toony villtoony dancegate pressure Heading through the backdoor straight to the bar Then I'm gonna get me some firewater  Then I'm gonna scope out a young fine daughter Ah yes it's my wayward nature  Hip to a caper soon to have a house with x amount of acres It goes  Ticka ticka tock my golden pen Scribble 'pon the paper from yassa to when We drop style 'pon the heathens dem Those who can't dig it well I feel the problem  Ticka ticka tock my golden pen Scribble 'pon the paper from yassa to when We drop style 'pon the heathens dem Those who can't dig it well I feel the problem  Ticka ticka tock my golden pen Scribble 'pon the paper from yassa to when We drop style 'pon the heathens dem Those who can't dig it well I feel the problem.

"Clockwork" Roots Manuva 

[alexisjeter]

Silvie Loto, “Solstice”(2013)

[alexisjeter]

Pan-Pot, “White Fiction”(2013)

[alexisjeter]

Yet allow me to speak, though I am but dust and ashes, allow me to speak in your merciful presence, for it is to your mercy that I address myself, not to some man who would mock me.

The Confessions, Book I - St. Augustine of Hippo 

[alexisjeter]

The Shark

The doomed head rose above the water, white as a spill of milk. It had taken a hook. It swirled  and all they could see then was the grinding  and breaking of water, its thrashing, the teeth  in the grin and grotto of its impossible mouth.  The line they refused to cut ran down like a birth cord into the packed and strategic muscles.  The sun shone. 

It was not a large boat. The beast plunged  with all it had caught onto, deep  under the green waves—a white  retching thing, it turned  toward the open sea. And it was hours before 

they came home, hauling their bloody prize,  well-gaffed. A hundred gulls followed,  picking at the red streams,  as it sang its death dong of vomit and bubbles,  as the blood ran from its mouth that had no speech to rail against this matter—

speech, that gives us all there may be of the future— speech, that makes all the difference, we like to say.  And I say, in the wilderness of our wit  we will all cry out last words—heave and spit them  into the shattering universe someday, to someone. 

Whoever He is, count on it: He won't answer.  The inventor is like the hunter—each  in the crease and spasm of the thing about to be done is lost in his work. All else is peripheral;  remote; unfelt. The connections have been broken. 

— Mary Oliver 

[alexisjeter]

Warrior Queen - Bad Boyz (2008) (In-Ex Records, released as a single as far as I can find)

[alexisjeter]

A Compilation of the Adventures of One Young Zebra

So one of my good friends just started a blog about her experience with chronic illness. She has a pretty rare genetic disorder called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome that causes other chronic illnesses including IBS and and POTS. Sharing it with everyone to get the word out for her. She really wants to help other people living with chronic illness and raise awareness for correct diagnosis (she was misdiagnosed several times). Please check it out!