a which of a wind.

(the single secret will still be man)

[whichofawind-blog]

tbt to New Years /I.e. the last time I wore something that wasn't a men's sweater

[newspaperblackout]

Happy New Year, y’all.

xoxo

Austin

[whichofawind-blog]

New Year's Goals: Ordinal Plans & Possibles

1. Lay your floorboards with room to expand. 2. Learn at least seven new shades of green. 3. Buy wind chimes. 4. Less sugar in the morning. Take your coffee with poetry. 5. Acknowledge the spiders in the corners of the ceiling. Call a truce. 6. Pay more attention to the trees. Stand up straighter. 7. Worship the cracks in the sidewalk. Visit the liberty bell. 8. Go tougher on the weeds that fester. Believe in dandelions. 9. Plant seeds in unlikely places. Call them wishing wells of possibles. 10. Trace the wood grain on a park bench. Ask the stranger beside you to share their history. 11. Blink less. More grit, less guilt. 12. Use mirrors only for winking over your shoulder at your impossibly gorgeous detritus: the things you’ve dropped along the way and the driftwood that floated you here. 13. Feel the ground beneath you. Remember that to which you belong. Cherish every delicate, clobbering moment.  14. Say “Thank you. I am hungry. I am humbled.”

[excelanoproject]

Hanging on the wall was a photograph he took of a lion. I asked him how he got so close, and he replied that the lion told him he could get really close, as long as he took a good picture. My mother asks me if I’ve written about Bruce yet. I tell her “No.” I’m not lacking in language, Just...

[whichofawind-blog]

muh solo from the fall show. video coming soon.

[whichofawind-blog]

Family Tree

1. Barbara doesn’t recognize the aria She whiskers her way through the living room, smiling

I keep an engine in my back pocket crouch in the passenger’s seat praying spinning tires will find traction somewhere Barbara reminds me why I prefer museums to country fairs

A room full of relatives, and relatively speaking I do not know them they have Bruce’s eyes- GIVE THEM BACK.

  2. Moose is playing Andrea Bocelli in the car “this is your favorite aria,” he says conducting maybe looking for some footing Barbara tells me again how she played Mary Queen of Scots in college

And is visibly annoyed that my grandmother Adele still exceeds her in years

which brings me to grammy growing holes in her nightgown her growling thirst is a dangerous supplicant      she is cranky and empty once I told grammy that she and bruce fit like puzzle pieces perhaps I’ll visit Arlington one day real soon

3. I remember shells firing Aunt Julie’s hip a muddled procession my grandfather’s ashes        a vase in the dining room 

swirling dust mites, or memories stifling I’m fantasizing about living alone with my moth-ishness

call solitude the sun reflecting off the moon an aching mirror that grandmother watched from the back porch      grandfather’s legs thickest at the knee his voice an empty hatbox dangling on the other end of the phone line asking for my father 

I call my mother every time my guilt grows feet

4. the house I lived in replaced by room for my children I am an empty sugar bowl my hands are not suggesting any metaphors

I sit in the back seat and tell Barbara it must have been lovely, playing the queen.

[excelanoproject]

Interested in Auditioning for EP?

Click here for more information!

[whichofawind-blog]

yeah, errybody do this.

[alysiasache-blog]

My best and favorite performance. 

[whichofawind-blog]

dammit.

[excelanoproject]

EP with Anis!

A big thank you to Anis for an amazing performance at Penn last night! EP had a wonderful time opening for you and bringing you back to Philly. Shout-out to everyone who came out to see the performance. You all are the best audience that anyone could ever ask for!

[whichofawind-blog]

Dear Anis- Thank you for the poetry. Thank you for the reminder.  Love, Hannah p.s. opening for you was a dream come true.

[youwiththeanchoredeyes-blog-blog]

Beauty has little to do with decoration. Much more to do with undressing ourselves.

[whichofawind-blog]

Pinocchio

I bought too much chocolate I hoped you’d eat it with me

I’m chewing round the raisins and churning my pulp pit stomach into some sort of bookend, if you’d lean on me I’d like that but it’s past your bed time, you’re past holding you’re flames divided I’m flammable                                  Nigil says my eyes are ice and I’m beautiful when I’m just thinking and    he reminds me of a ghost mourning the forfeited present    but I don’t tell him that I’ve been eyeing your spine for ages thinking about shelf-life thumbing your pages thinking about taking you out to dinner holding my tongue

there is airport in my veins I’m full of missed connections I am a colander this poem is trying to catch you

a guilt-ravaged button a spider-web of good intentions I could cat’s cradle your strings into whimsy but I can’t ravel you into anything lighter

some days I’m more pinocchio than flesh more puppet than figurehead but today can be a swimming pool if we let it I won’t be stones in your pockets I’ll be floating you this poem as a paper boat If nothing else - I hope it makes you smile.

[whichofawind-blog]

2:22

there is airport in my veins I’m full of missed connections I am a colander this poem is trying to catch you

[whichofawind-blog]

In Which I Abandon All Hope of Writing Poetic Haikus, and Instead Just Try to Fit Some Cool Stuff That's Happened into 17 Syllables

7. Cadbury's, where have you been all my life? I want you in my tummy.

8. "So much acting has a custard of emotion poured over it." Word. 9. Wait. His first play was Titus Andronicus?.....Way to make an entrance.

10. Paola says, "Distill reality by playing an objective." Right.

11. "I try to let the language play me like a piece of music." Fuck yeah.

12. RSC man 1: "Speaking verse? Like playing jazz." man 2: "Fuck the verse."

13. At Bill Shakey's grave - struck by the reality of his humanness.

[artistinherownmind-blog]

[whichofawind-blog]

guh.

[whichofawind-blog]

found courtesy of nevver

[whichofawind-blog]

guys. shakespeare. is amazing.

[tylerknott]

Lean in to kiss me and I’ll meet you halfway there, reach and you’ll be held.

Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson (via tylerknott)

[whichofawind-blog]

How to Write About Oxford

If you’re gonna write about Oxford, you’d sure as hell better begin with the buildings. Smooth brick, off-white tans and grays, the color of western stallions, baseball diamond dirt and untrampled beaches, each topped with a spire: the world’s most punitive dunce-caps, pointed skyward. The buildings remind me that America is still a toddler wobbling on chubby thighs as far as history’s concerned. The buildings are silent at night. The stars look different here. Like the stars, these walls have seen things, seen shit I can barely fathom, that must be why they've been blanching for the past six hundred years.

If you’re gonna keep writing about Oxford, you’d better continue on about the church bells. They’ve been clanging up a cacophony all morning, sounding a little too man-made to be believably righteous, but beautiful in the attempt, like most things human. I would stay here longer if I were less of a romantic. But for the first time in a long time  I’m not in love with anyone.  Which doesn't mix well with church bells. After breakfast, I walk back to Magdalen. I grin at bus stop guards, sipping a soy latte through a straw, looking foolish enough to be believably sincere. I re-enter the gate, stumble into a wedding procession. The bride is wearing off-white and beaming. It's the sort of moment you want to stow away for starless nights. Suddenly, I’m blinking through tears. Maybe because I’m still a little hungover, maybe because I miss her. maybe because these barnacled spires and climbing vines leave me feeling a little unworthy. But mostly because of the church bells.

They’ve stopped now. If you’re gonna write about Oxford, you should probably end there.