hi, it's lucy diamond biederman
The museum of the moving image is dark.
The medium is dark, dark as a decimal.
— Brian Blanchfield, from “Thirteen Point Three Three”
Our coins should bear the brunt
of our daily lives, show a minivan
or a horseshoe or a nightstand
or something construction-related that probably a toddler boy
would know the name of, but I don’t.
Something tall, that towers, that scares me when
it’s above me, that makes me fearful for the men
who are on it in little metal boxes.
Those men are making
things in the likeness, in the always-afterness
of George Washington’s triangular nose but making it bigger
& made of steel.
from “Fat Daisies,” by Carrie Murphy (via carriemurph)
They asked me if I was on fire and I said No no no no
no no no I did not want to make trouble I was lying I was
on fire on my legs and on my hands I was ashamed I tried
to hide my legs by kneeling I set the grass on fire The colors
were a brilliant green and orange combination I liked it and smoke
I was not in pain or on pain I was on fire and lying…
— Heather Christle, from “Self-Portrait with Fire” (via kdecember)
I think the most satisfying thing as a writer is to be able to say “This is the book I always wanted to write.”
Who always said, “Stand in your truth?”
Is that Oprah?
I think it’s Oprah.
I’m so frustrated and tired of reading things, seeing things, not talking about things, ignoring things, that purport to speak for me as a feminist, as a human woman. I don’t feel comfortable or at all alright saying what i really feel in a public way abt almost anything, abt either of these writers/thinkers/etc. but maybe it’s just okay to say, they don’t speak for me.
something that happened in fifth grade that i think abt everyday
- Me: I'm mad!
- My best friend: yr not mad; you're embarrassed.
i don’t like the…everything
Absence Makes the Heart. That’s It: Absence Makes the Heart.
Waving hello versus waving goodbye
is an interpretative act. We could make it
directional: from left to right is hello,
right to left, goodbye. The buoy
clanged all night so my sleep
would know where to go. I could pray.
Tambourine myself to death.
Electroshock the worms. Wrap the maple
in tinfoil and decry the lightning
that splits it as misguided and deceived.
Nothing I do will bring you back.
Also, is it weird that i miss the sound of mosquito (control) trucks?
cannot speak for jeff parish but ohhhhbaby do they still do it in lafayette parish!!! that’s the great/awful thing abt LA, isn’t it? they still do EVERYTHING.