discoquarrylawnlights

explorations and arhcives of poetry.

[discoquarrylawnlights]

Something abt agender/ at work gender; something abt trying to remember time I allow to be stolen from me; something abt baseball hats and tee-shirts all summer...

[discoquarrylawnlights]

“ there must be some satisfaction in doing a job so poorly that yu are never asked to do it again”

Finding time/making time to work while everything and me closes in and retreats, and closes in and …

[discoquarrylawnlights]

'Experimental= failure'

[discoquarrylawnlights]

2005: emo

2015: emo renaissance

[kdecember-deactivated20161201]

A writer is never done getting screamed out of the room. It’s what we do. We don’t hit the keys harder under pressure. We internalize the nightmare and explode down the line with our very own. Nothing matters from class to outcome, as long as some version of blood is landing. Just don’t study a life unless it ends yours.

Sean Kilpatrick (via kdecember)

[socialhermitude]

[rustbeltjessie]

At sixteen, I was illegal and brilliant, my fingernails chewed to half-moons. I took off my clothes in a late March field. I had secret car wrecks, secret hysteria. I opened my mouth to swallow stars. In backseats I learned the alchemy of guilt, lust, and distance. I was unformed and total. I swore like a sailor. But slowly the cops stopped coming around. The heat lifted its palms. The radio lost some teeth. Now I see the landscape behind me as through a Claude glass— tinted deeper, framed just so, bits of gilt edging the best parts. I see my unlined face, a thousand film stars behind the eyes. I was every murderess, every whip- thin alcoholic, every heroine with the silver tongue. Always young Paul Newman’s best girl. Always a lightning sky behind each kiss. Some days I watch myself in the third person, speak to her in the second. I say: I will meet you in sleep. I will know you by your stillness and your shaking. By your second-hand gown. By your bruises left by mouths since forgotten. This is not an elegy because I cannot bear for it to be. It is only a tree branch against the window. It is only a cherry tomato slowly reddening in the garden. I will put it in my mouth. It will be sweet, and you will swallow.

Catherine Pierce, “This Is Not An Elegy” (x)

[cosasquedicenenlostebeos-deacti]

The education of Hopey Glass. Hernandez

[discoquarrylawnlights]

"Sylvia Plath Pin-Up"

"how your bad dreams posses and endow me."

fun-a-day project is going to be a month of Sylvias. read a poem of her's and draw a picture of her daily.

it'll probably morph into a daily drawing of other women i enjoy too.

[discoquarrylawnlights]

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"...don’t be afraid try not to be.

there are many things and seeking is better than sitting, for now. there are things that are better than looming, and they go walking with the flowers and the jump kick of the gods. feel the soupy wink of the beer in your gut and keep your head as you wait for her in the future..."

*all day long, all day long, all day long weird feelings i cleaned my room so its as inviting as a soft livingroom arearug, all day long all day long all day long crazed, attacked by memories pawing the ether with my eyes closed pawing at the broken window pane in the dark with my eyes closed, working working working on a zine of collected poems or a smaller newer one. or both.

[discoquarrylawnlights]

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...lungs throbbing like tinselled wrapping paper catches the light,

engraved with the image of your face & the wonder of your ache.

[discoquarrylawnlights]

even if i write bad poetry, if i'm a bad poet, i'll still be like spike when he was william: overly-earnest, naive and sensitive, possibly ultimately rejected, & though misguided into cheese, kind-hearted.

aka, the day i gave a sweetheart a silly handwritten story called "if we were squirrels"...

[laureantitattoo]

[discoquarrylawnlights]

glitter cunt yea yea yea!!

[discoquarrylawnlights]

of a sunday. catching up on adventure time in a finn-suit w cuddlemuffin looking statuesque. 

[ruinedchildhood]

this needed to be a gif.

[discoquarrylawnlights]

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In A.’s divorce dream,

nobody erects plinths to hold images of you.

nobody sits at home knitting sweaters in your honour.

this conversation is not had, this revelation now assimilated in the customary confine that is A.’s body.

[discoquarrylawnlights]

too shy.

B. talks body as chameleon, I am startled like the mice fixing to get lost behind these drums we rest our wine on, that swipe, like swords unsheathing, quick muscle spasms, the need to chase and keep sipping, scheduling, my twitching eye needs bananas.

I was called chameleon once, when I couldn’t see my right hand from my left, and never thought past the advantage the disguise affords the disguised.

now how have I only got one, dead face, punch it testily in the morning, so desperate wake it up, beginning now make a home too cautious all sunny like a mirror.