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@stjustice
hello
back in the event of twitter's collapse. who of my mutuals is still out there lol
Clown Noir (A Love Story in Three Acts)
Act 1. The Hotel Lobby
Cartoon tears roll into your tequila. “PLOP!” The Barman: “Why the long face?” A pause. No punchline. Just a slumped fool - crown knocked sideways on a badly shaven egg. I skootch over a coupla seats. “Honka” the bar stool says. You raise a painted brow.
Act 2. Hotel room #1304
You’re undressing me. Pantaloons flung carelessly over the open door, and you’re blowing raspberries onto my upturned pelvis, greasepaint smeared all over my inner thigh. I squeal in delight. A pantomime pause as you fumble for contraception, searching case within case within case. I lean over and open the minibar. A can of peanuts explodes.
Act 3. The Morning After
Side by side on a satin headboard. My hair unpinned and matted with custard foam. You tap my arm, intimate the loss of one bulbous red nose. I fold my legs and hiccup it into your gloved hand. Presto! A glimmer of smile. I stand to shower, trailing a fallen curtain around my breasts. Your eyes accept. All happiness fades
But I’m back on my knees and whispering:
Let me mother you, I will sit backstage and powder dusty creases into your rumpled face. Night after night, I will play your accordion, pipe comedy sound effects over your loop of grief, balance my delicate ballet flats over your oversized pancake feet and dance
One day you’ll even speak to me. One day we’ll look back on this moment and laugh.
ABI PALMER
Émotion (Nobuhiko Obayashi, 1966)
“I want to tear up the earth until I find you,”
— Miguel Hernández, from Selected Poems; “Elegy,” wr. c. January 1936
Queensland Pearls
The Great Barrier Reef of Australia. (1893)
I've discounted marriage / and begun to dream of someone who'd just lie down / in the snow with me and die.
Amy Key, from ‘Here is an illusion of choice, we’ve made it very pretty for you’, in Isn’t Forever (2018)
i love girls we are so fun and have morals
Cy Twombly, Untitled, 1970
“In the morning there is meaning, in the evening there is feeling.”
— Gertrude Stein
SCARLET No. 2, published Fall 1990, edited by Alice Notley & Douglas Oliver | Alice Notley’s Magazines: A Digital Publishing Project by Nick Sturm
after you’re the sad girl / you don’t get to be anything else
Nicole Shanté White, from “I Write Live Until It Is Lie,” published in glitterature for the mobs
Euripides, from “Orestes”, An Oresteia (trans. Anne Carson)
I feel like there’s a whole genre of poems about womanhood that are just like “my hair was a snake and I was living in a house that was on fire” but like. they’re literally right
absurdism is realism for the marginal
Even before I was touched, I belonged to you; you had only to look at me.
Louise Glück, excerpt of “The Burning Heart”, in Vita Nova
cy twombly - house of priam from fifty days at illiam (1978)
“(…) for each of us there is some small sound like an unseen bird or a red bike grinding along the gravel path that could wake us, and take us home.”
— Dorianne Laux, from “Morning Song,” Facts About The Moon (W. W. Norton, 2005)
farewellophelia:
Judi Dench as Ophelia in the Old Vic Theatre’s 1967 production of Hamlet.