The Clouds Will Open

Every writer needs a blog about writing, right? ... Right?

[victoriousvocabulary]

FACUNDITY

[noun]

Archaic: eloquence; readiness of speech; fluent or persuasive speaking or writing.

Etymology: from Latin facunditas, from facundus, “eloquence”.

[Bryan Larsen - Poet]

[just-writer-problems-deactivate]

Requested by Anonymous.

(My ghost is a tiny Grim Reaper that waves its arms around screaming “DOOOOOM! DOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!” whenever I have a deadline.)

[lastnightsreading]

James Hannaham at Electric Literature’s 100 Issues Party, 4/28/14

[nsollawrites]

selfish ambition

I lied when I told you I like myself it is merely one of the few ambitions that I possess

[nsollawrites]

control

I'm terrified of losing control always taut, like a rope pulled between two oxen my breath measured and rhythmic like the thump of a drum on repeat on repeat at night I awaken to the snap of my mind grasping wandering thoughts distraught and disoriented by my momentary loss I cringe at escaped smiles of mischief apologize for soul-shaking laughter as often as soul-shattering tears horrified by my lapse muscles tense with it mind entangled as if I have committed some grievous sin

I wish to unveil my reality relax in my own presence at my own emotion extract from behind these rigid, immobile muscles the me that never surfaces maybe then I could understand how to embrace our flaws

*The above is the latest installment in my Memoirs of an Amoeba Project.

[nsollawrites]

[nsollawrites]

precious

perhaps I've been doing it wrong this entire time I've never found myself precious

[victoriousvocabulary]

DISSONANCE

[noun]

1. inharmonious or harsh sound; discord; cacophony.

2. Music: a) a simultaneous combination of tones conventionally accepted as being in a state of unrest and needing completion. b) an unresolved, discordant chord or interval.

3. disagreement or incongruity; discord; strife.

Etymology: from Late Latin dissonantia, from Latin dissonant-, stem of dissonāns, present participle of dissonāre, “to sound harsh”.

[Johnny Dombrowski]

[nsollawrites]

it was never about me

I wonder how life would have changed if--when I'd uttered those words, "I wish I had never been born," to the counselor when she asked if I could change one thing about my life, what would it be?--instead of repeating my pained and vulnerable words to my mother so that when I came home that evening she ambushed me demanding I think about how she felt hearing that I'd say such a thing, as if I'd spoken to harm her, to make her look a horrible mother--not to ask for help as I sunk deeper in a pit I had no idea how to escape from--what would have happened if they'd chosen to counsel me, to read the awakening shadow of my depression and guide me through my disintegrating emotion so that I would not have to wilt under the humiliation of apologizing to my parents for finally telling someone how I felt in the hopes that they would know how to make me feel different, so that I would not end up mired--as I did--in my endless cycle of silence for fear that I would hurt someone and be made subject to the burden of their pain on top of mine.

*The above is the lastest installment in my Memoirs of an Amoeba Project.

[nsollawrites]

misplaced identity

Many years I've spent erasing the shame of my being but it was born in my young in a time beyond memory glimpsed in brief recollection of snaring at the others as they uttered words in a speech I refused to learn those who laughed as I excelled and ignored me in passing except to mock me and tell me how I "talk real proper" all the while denying me the I identity I didn't want to claim anyway I hoped instead that the straight-haired and pale-skinned would take me in realizing that I was one of the "good ones" but I fell short every time Finally I could no longer bear my inability to integrate with my kind or theirs Now the shame still burns when I look in the mirror and try to make myself human in my own eyes only to lower them in the presence of others still feeling as if I belong to nothing

The above is the latest installment in my Memoirs of an Amoeba Project.

[nsollawrites]

[nsollawrites]

on writing

These worlds were born of my inability to cope with my nothingness

[nsollawrites]

[nsollawrites]

the lovers' touch

I've never understood why lovers believe touch is so crucial to their declarations of devotion as if the moment their hands fall away others will no longer believe and even their own passions will dissipate

perhaps it's the absence of my own lust or perhaps it is my longing for space discomforted by the possessive-seeming hands on lower backs, knees and thighs laying claim to these women and men as if they cannot declare with their own lips that their heart has already been given

The above is the latest installment in my Memoirs of an Amoeba Project.

[nsollawrites]

To My Soulmate

We will never meet I hope you've come to terms with this as I have if not, know I have been broken long before the world tried to break me and I am disinclined to pick up the pieces for the sake of another we will be happier apart where you are not privy to my misery and I am not more miserable having exposed you to my ills this is all I have to offer you please accept it as my love.

*The above is the latest installment of my Memoirs of an Amoeba Project.

[nsollawrites]

Memoirs of An Amoeba Update

I've been living off of the excuse "shitty first draft" for a long time now. I think that's why I couldn't bring myself to write for the past two days. These poems have, oddly, begun to mean more to me. So while in the past I've translated "shitty first draft" into "you don't really have to try," I'm going to make it something more meaningful, "give it your all, but don't expect it to be a masterpiece." I'm not sure if this is going to change the overall quality of the but I think my mentality at this point is most important. So here goes...

[nsollawrites]