Green Bic

[househunting]

$250,000/2 br/1050 sq ft

Galveston, TX 

built in 1914

[greenbic]

Things I’ll Miss / Things I’m Missing

Okay, let’s get one thing out of the way right now; friends and family are a given. Top of both lists. This is meant to be a stupid listicle full of food and dumb jokes. Nothing emotional her…

a list of things i’ll miss about milan and things i’m missing real bad about home. its mostly dumb stuff.

[greenbic]

questo corpo che ho

lately i’ve had the inclination to stare at myself naked in the mirror

lumps and bumps and curves and lines (none of me is ramrod)

my body knows what it wants

i have to give my body what it wants

it wants cultivation (it’s fertile and bursting and ready to go)

but it needs a fucking challenge (begging)

sink hole mud pit quicksand death trap

sucking my legs, hips, torso out is euphoria

but i forget because sludge is warm and soft and easy

but god it feels better to feel alive 

[greenbic]

quante volte posso iniziare qualcosa senza finirla?

devo provare. ho letto quest’articolo e mi sono ispirata. “devi scrivere, dai” ho detto a me stesso. magari sarà meglio se comprassi un diario nuovo, vuoto, pulito. non avevo mai successo nel passato con questo metodo, pero. l’internet è più facile, più comodo, più istantaneo. 

non voglio usare un dizionario. voglio usare solo le parole che ho. a questo punto, sembrano poche. 

vorrei essere studentessa per sempre, ma non voglio lavorare. ho troppo paura. è molto più facile fare finta che capisco tutto. o quello che non capisco non mi serve. non mi ricordo la parola per una persona senza coraggio. cazzo, che scema che sono.  

devo scrivere ogni giorno una parola nuova. ho iniziato una lista nel mio diario piccolino nero. questa lista deve crescere. 

ho voglia di migliorare me stesso, ma non ho voglia di iniziare quello che sicuramente sarà una strada lunghissima. ho troppo pauraaaaa. 

mia mamma ospite ha detto l’altro ieri che sono pigra. non è vero. ho paura. 

[greenbic]

The Summer of "Could've Been Worse"

If you close your eyes, turn your nose to the wind, and try very hard to ignore the bead of sweat rolling down the tip of your nose, you might be able to detect that nearly indiscernible yet undeni...

[greenbic]

Zen and the art of espresso brewing

this is gonna be part of my as-yet-untitled essay collection about Italy. i think its one of the more put together pieces. comments and criticism would be most welcome. 

------

Cafes are intimidating places. Especially the European kind. The trendy music oozing from a record player - never been pumped over radio waves. The artful jumble of delicate, spindly chairs and rich leather couches exhibited on a loft only accessible by spiral staircase. The hip, untouchable youth perched on those chairs or melting into those couches, steaming cups nestled comfortably in their hands. Not a frappucino or coolata in sight. Don’t get me started on the baristas, nimble hands tamping grounds and pouring foam with grace and certainty.

  I don’t know what to do with myself. I buy coffee from my on-campus Starbucks using my university meal plan. No, wait, that’s a lie. I buy chai tea lattes with my university meal plan. I don’t think there’s a drop of coffee in there. Or maybe there is! I have no idea! It tastes like a Yankee Candle smells and that’s all I care about. And here I am, in Italy, where latte means milk and caffe doesn’t actually mean coffee but espresso. I’m way up the creek, and decidedly paddle-less.

  My first attempt is a caffe latte. My astute powers of deduction have concluded that it should be espresso and milk together in some proportion, and I figure it’s a safe enough bet. Dawn and I order at the café in the library and I clutch my tiny saucer for dear life as we walk out to the terrace to sit. Letting this elegant class mug slip and shatter on the ground in front of a library full of Italian university students would most likely end me. I make it to a spindly table and sit in a mod molded plastic chair without incident. I unceremoniously dump some sugar, scattering a bit on the table, and stir. Sip. Too milky. Ok, ok, I’ve made a discovery here today, and that’s all that matters. I’m not that big a fan of caffe latte. And I managed not to break or spill or choke. An overall success.   

[greenbic]

I think about you constantly

I think about getting high with you on your bed on a Tuesday

I think about locking the door and opening the windows

And you’ll ask me about god and I’ll ask you about newton

And you’ll tell me he’s an asshole and I’ll tell you he’s an asshole too.

  I think about pulling your hair

I think about your mouth on my collarbone

I think about digging my fingers into your flesh and ripping off pieces

I think about your hands huge hands giant hands gnawed tips

How we don’t have to fake it anymore

  I think I imagined you

I think my brain made you up

You weren’t real there’s no way you could’ve been real.

I tell myself you were a ghost and that you dissolved

That you were sand and blew away grain by grain

You’re the beach at big sur and the foam churning

  But god I wish you were real

I would tattoo you with my fingertips

I’d draw blood just to prove it to myself

My blood your blood I don’t care whose fucking blood it is

I want blood

Not these fucking words thrown into the waves like garbage

Not these castles I build for myself with walls made of sand

  Has it been weeks or months since we’ve last spoken

Are you even fucking alive

Were you even alive when I knew you

I want to talk it out to scream it out to fuck it out of my system

But more than anything I want you in my system

You’re on a different planet and you always were maybe that’s the fucking problem

Your gravity sucked me in and im orbiting

Spinning like a fucking idiot around your imploding sun

But you aren’t a sun you’re a black fucking hole

  And black fucking holes don’t have fingertips that scratch or mouths that suck or eyes that make me want to stab you

Because you looked me in the face you always looked me right in the face and I could never handle that

And now I regret it I would have stared into the sun or into your black fucking hole I don’t care anymore

If I was smart I would have gone blind right then 

[greenbic]

when you smile

my lips are drawn to your rounded cheek 

like frostbitten fingers toward warmth of the fireplace

when you laugh

open mouthed

teeth peeking

eyes softening 

my mouth finds yours 

like a wanderer searching for safety 

[jake501]

Writing off

Writing without an audience is like jerking off Writing without you reading is like jerking off  and not cumming

[greenbic]

there’s this tree at the end

of my street

and it curves

out of the ground

like a giant cock

  someone took an ax

to its limbs

and left it branchless

stripped

  it arches

imposing

and reminds me

that we’re all fucked

[greenbic]

i want you to make me feel small

[greenbic]

it was a Monday night

just after midnight

when I killed a fruit fly

with the broad end

of my toothpaste tube

as my toothbrush hung

from my mouth

that I thought of you

and it was still a Monday night

slightly later

than just after midnight

when I sat on my bed

with dental floss hanging

from my mouth

that I wrote this poem

about thinking of you

[greenbic]

[greenbic]

maybe one day you'll arrive at my door without your second skin

and not even realize you forgot it 

until you return home after midnight

and see it lying in a heap by your back door

[greenbic]

[greenbic]

[buttonpoetry]

Dylan Garity - “Rigged Game” (NPS 2013)

"Improving a school by picking its pockets is like tuning a guitar by ripping off the strings." Performing for Minneapolis’s SlamMN! at the 2013 National Poetry Slam.

[greenbic]

oh boy oh boy oh boy this give me so many feelings holy shit these people are so goddamn talented