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Janaina Medeiros

#extradirty
hello vonnie

Origami Around
KIROKAZE
Keni
art blog(derogatory)
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@falsehoodd-blog
We used to sit on this swing, Mama.
Even when the spiders would crawl and I’d get scared.
The cushions were slightly rough.
And we had way too many chairs for the amount of company we had come through.
Our backyard, Mama, was overgrown and under nurtured.
I want to spend more time here, I know I’ll start to miss it soon.
Women
have so much strength
and love
and passion.
Father, Daughter Self-Portrait
Lane (edit)
Lane stomped across the bathroom floor muttering to herself. She hadn’t stopped knocking things over from the second she left the bathtub to the second she dropped the toothpaste on the cold tile; peppermint mush smudged from one white tile to the other. The sink was much lower for her than for me considering my height was just over our pile of neglected shampoo bottles.
She grabbed our dirty rag from the basket, cleaned up the toothpaste mess and threw it back in the overflowing hamper. Lane had bad hygiene but the sex was too good to pass up. I was still soaking in the bath I set up for us today; the day we decided to take a bath, a clean one for once. She hadn’t even wrapped herself in a towel since she stepped out. I watched her body drip throughout our apartment, her wet footprints leaving marks on our wooden floors that were covered in dust.
I reached for my laptop, which played music from that concert we met at; the concert where I neglected to spend time with my brother. Where he was misplaced and immediately stolen by a man in a purple van. My parents called the police. I called for her, “Lane!” She stepped back in the tub making the water overflow the smallest amount. The tub was big enough for me and too small for Lane but she never complained, not even when her toes stuck out in the winter and the hot water is all we had. The police found him two weeks after the night of the concert. My parents stopped helping me financially and my brother stopped answering my calls.
Right next to the sink there is a collection of shampoo bottles we went through but never got to throwing out. Once the fourth bottle made it to the collection we figured there was no reason to start throwing them out. Twenty-two bottles lay there now with no purpose.
My brother looked like a bathtub. He has short legs, sometimes they’re not even there. He always ran his mouth like some sort of tub faucet. Lane had the opposite effect, her faucet barely dripped any water. He never had room for me in his life so why did I need to make room in mine; I was barely shaped like a piece of furniture, which my mother always wished for considering she closely resembled my living room couch. I just never belonged so I was glad when the purple van took him, I’m surprised they were able to get away without a crane to lift him into the back.
Lane reached for our barely used bottle to wash her hair for the first time that week, making sure there was still enough grease to satisfy her. I watched her carelessly wash it out leaving the smallest amount of shampoo lingering. I gave up on telling her what to do, the bath is not the place for that. Our bedroom was nice and she looked nice in it.
At the end of our soaking, my couch called and told me the bathtub drowned last night in the open waters 45 minutes from my house. Lane left the tub again but this time nothing broke, nothing fell and nothing needed to be cleaned up. I drained the water and grabbed the towel on my left and wrapped it around me first, then her. I walked toward our bedroom realizing how bland the walls were, and how so very white the bathroom tiles looked. Maybe if I heard my brother out that night, I’d be looking at my blue walls.
When I heard Lianne La Havas sing Jill Scott's song "He Loves Me," I remembered that Jill Scott opened her concert with a poem about love (before she sang "T...
My mother is a dancer.
She wears short dresses
or long dresses with long slits that go up to her
neck is confidently stretched out
to show her love in dance and her love in her body that moves
faster than mine can
move across my bed
with me and show me how you move your body
that so beautifully lies in my bed
I love how I fit so perfectly in your
hands
Her Wednesday Overalls
Preview of my next short story:
She never forgot her brown hairbrush, the one she couldn’t lose; it’s size and shape made it nearly impossible. She was a clean girl. She pulled her floss almost as long as her longest piece of hair and measured it out; she loved it.
The girl went to class in her overalls; only Wednesdays.
Stop forgetting how happy you are when you’re on your own and do things that you love.
-journal entry July 19, 2016
what a good day it is
when your father calls and says he’s on his way back home
what a good day it is
when you turn the tv on and it is still broken
and you finished your book
and it taught you something
that not all days are bright
but not all nights are blue
and that she may be missing you too
and that she may be missing-
chorus (x2)
You are as lonely as your chair and I am so sorry for that.
Pipilotti Rist: Pixel Forest
New Museum
I visited the New Museum for a second time to see the Pixel Forest exhibit. I loved it so much the first time around that I decided to bring my girlfriend with me. She loved it just as much as I did.
One of the rooms that was filled with beds and had two large ceiling projections was so unifying and comforting. To be able to lie down with someone who I really care about in a room full of strangers was such a lovely experience.
I fell in love with the exhibit all over again.
Words:
Grow up with me. Let's run in fields and fear the dark together. Fall of swings, and burn special things, and both play outside in bad weather. Let's eat badly. Let's watch adults drink wine and laugh at their idiocy. Let's sit in the back of the car, making eye contact with strangers driving past, making them uncomfortable. Not caring. Not swearing. Don't fuck. Let's both reclaim our superpowers; the ones we all have and lose with our milk teeth. The ability not to fear social awkwardness. To panic when locked in the cellar; still sure there's something down there. And while picking from pillows each feather, let's both stay away from the edge of the bed, forcing us closer together. Let's sit in public, with ice cream all over both our faces; sticking our tongues out at passers by. Let's cry. Let's swim. Let's everything. Let's not find it funny lest someone falls over. Classical music is boring. Poetry baffles us both; there's nothing that's said is what's meant. Plays are long, tiresome, sullen, and filled; with hours that could be spent rolling down hills, and grazing our knees on cement. Let's hear stories and both lose our innocence. Learn about parents and forgiveness, death and morality, kindness and art, thus losing both of our innocent hearts, but at least we won't do it apart. Grow up with me.
Frank. (edited piece)
Frank liked to sit, but he especially liked to stand. Frank enjoyed the smell of dying flowers; a smell that I never liked, like most people. I brought him flowers 4 months ago, the petals fell and Frank brewed them in his tea. Frank liked running errands for people. He always asked, “can I get you something?” and meant it.
“I’m going out to the store, can I bring you anything?” he would ask me.
I liked to give him something to do.
Frank liked to stand, but he especially liked to walk. He walked 3 miles to the store and back 3 miles holding his groceries on top of mine.
Frank liked to put groceries away almost as much as he liked to buy them. Frank liked to walk back and forth on our kitchen tiles that were hexagonal. He liked to walk back and forth on most tiles.
Frank didn’t like the chairs in our house; he thought they were too soft. He would sit in one and then the other telling me which was worse. I didn’t have enough money to satisfy his chair preferences so I always said, “you’ll have to make do.”
“It’s because you have ADHD,” I said.
Frank said, “I don’t have ADHD.
Frank wore a large papier-mâché head that looked almost exactly like his face, but wasn’t quite his face. I found the head in his room one day and rolled it into the living room for a good display piece.
Frank came home one day after a long walk and saw his head in the living room and rolled it back to his room. He didn’t leave his room the rest of the night. No matter how many knocks were on the door. Frank sat. Frank sat all night. He didn’t lay down. Simply sat. He came out the next morning wearing his big head on his smaller one, refusing to remove it.
I offered Frank his meals, I offered him a better seat, I offered him the hexagonal tiles. Frank didn’t like to sit as much as he liked to stand but he didn’t nearly love to stand as much as he loved to walk.
“Why don’t you take your head off, Frank?” I said.
“I’m worried to start walking in circles again.”
Frank put a hammer to his own head to get the bigger one to fit.
Poor Frank.
I was in bed when I heard the gate. I listened carefully. I didn't hear anything else. But I heard that. I tried to wake Cliff. He was passed out. So I got up and went to the window. A big moon was laid over the mountains that went around the city. It was a white moon and covered with scars. Any damn fool could imagine a face there.
What We Talk About When We Talk About Love, “The Smallest Things” --Raymond Carver