avi

21, bi(-sexual/-polar) jewish poet, twin cities --> eugene. #my writing is my original work but I haven't updated this blog often so lots of it is years old, pls be gentle. links to my published collections at metikut.tumblr.com/book

[sapphothetic-moved]

richard siken, clementine von radics

[traumacure]

Perhaps a child failed by their parents has their own failure ordained.

original writing by @traumacure | do not repost

[museyuum-deactivated20221001]

— sumaya e

[mariacallous]

““The current memoir craze has fostered the belief that confession is therapeutic, that therapy is redemptive and that redemption equals art, and it has encouraged the delusion that candor, daring and shamelessness are substitutes for craft, that the exposed life is the same thing as an examined one.””

— Michiko Kakutani (via gchoate17)

[brewzd]

[lifeinpoetry]

we make love in bed. we make love. we do. every part of me wants to make a sarcastic joke about those words before, but what we do is make love. and that making love, sick crazy body to sick crazy body, that under- stands each other so well, that making love is part of the healing of the world.

we make love by napping. we make love by you bringing me a tray with skullcap tea, bananas, hummus and crackers and then cupping me, allow- ing me to slow down, to sleep.

— Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, from “the amethyst room,” Tonguebreaker

[odball]

[odball]

Here I am, wide eyed and star gazing, waiting for my next hit of euphoria. Waiting for my aura to turn from sluggish to breakneck. Here I am, breaking the stems of flowers under foot, pacing my house with reckless speed. I crave sychronicity with reality. Want to spin at the same pace as the planet. Here I am, sitting still and waiting to start taking the world apart in strides.

[mari-or]

Let's skip dinner?

[0547am]

I had a stroke and forgot almost everything. My handwriting was big and crooked and I couldn’t walk. I slept a lot. I made lists, a working glossary. Meat. Blood. Floor. Thunder. I tried to understand what these things were and how I was related to them. Thermostat. Agriculture. Cherries Jubilee. Metamodernism. I understand North, but I struggle with left. Describing the world is easier than finding a place in it. Doorknob. Flashlight. Landmark. Yardstick.

RICHARD SIKEN on his newest poem

[bostonpoetryslam]

in defense of lightning there is always a darkness asking to be split open.

Hanif Abdurraqib, “It’s Not Like Nikola Tesla Knew All Of Those People Were Going To Die,” from A Fortune for Your Disaster (via bostonpoetryslam)

[paper-fairy]

“And I’ll dance with you in Vienna, I’ll be wearing a river’s disguise. The hyacinth wild on my shoulder my mouth on the dew of your thighs. And I’ll bury my soul in a scrapbook, with the photographs there and the moss. And I’ll yield to the flood of your beauty, my cheap violin and my cross.”

— Leonard Cohen 

[anditslove]

“I feel like a rock being skipped through the ocean—pain, relief, pain again, relief again, eventually destined to sink.”

— Adam Silvera, History is All You Left Me

[metikut]

here's a draft of a piece about love and opiates, or, about feeling less alone when you've met someone with a shared experience. the overlap between acceptance and change. two people working on their relationship to a substance, encountering it with progressively less isolation & desperation (although still relating to and holding space for each other's experiences with that side of it in the past and present).

I wanted to portray the early months after meeting someone significant as we both recover, in ways that are as distinct and situation-specific as the rest of our selves. this is not written about abstinence versus relapse (neither of us are abstinent, although we both certainly have a concept of relapse re: certain situations we don't want to return to). it's written about finding more peace within a complicated part of both of our lives.

the tension in tone between "we found space for a part of ourselves we had carried alone and pulled it away from stigma" and "we are still ambivalent and scared sometimes and constantly re-evaluate what we can handle" is deliberate and I plan to keep it that way but play with the timing + format.

this features K, a close friend and one of my partners, who has given me a greater grasp on harm reduction, companionship and honesty.

[loveufor10000yrs]

phoebe bridgers/ celia lowenthal/ holly warburton/ hyowon park/ xuan loc xuan/ richard siken / jd salinger

(I know this doesn’t really make sense but it kinda does)

[nekokatreads]

3rd re-read

[finita--la--commedia]

“There were the people who lived near a deep lake, and believed that on its bottom there was a city populated by angels. To see it, they had to wait until winter when the water was crystal clear, and then creep spread-eagled onto the ice. If the ice was too thick, they could not see well enough. Too thin, and they might drown. We heard the ice creaking beneath them as they peered for their vision.”

— Roger Ebert (1942 - 2013), in a letter to Werner Herzog (1942), November 17, 2007