i’m emo, so the soundtrack will be appropriate. someone wise said that creative writing is always inherently self-indulgent. i guess i’m being so today… with john waite, one of those power ballad type singers from the ’80s. all the cheesiness and self-serious and the hair, goddamn the hair. he’s one of those dudes who sorta made it during the ’80s and then faded off, only to apparently have made it big in europe. like david hasselhoff. it made me hella happy to see that he had a myspace, and goddamn he still looks like it’s the ’80s. that shit’s hella epic. full of teh wins.
yeah, i’ve had a long day. those types of times that drain you, of energy, of joy. maybe it was just ‘cuz it was a shitty day outside today. then again, i go through periods when everything’s hunky dory and then periods where everything’s bloody awful. i can see that as a near universal. we are all at the whim of the wild fates, bend and weave to the wiles of their wings.
if you can’t tell by my poetry, i’ve been hella fascinated with alliteration recently. there’s something about the way the sounds just roll off the tongue that gives me a simple aural pleasure… what billy collins believes should be the first thing you look for in a piece of writing.
on some level, i agree. if it doesn’t read well, if the first few lines don’t grab you, you’re probably not going to want to go through the entirety of the poem. you might do it anyways and thereby find yourself pleasantly surprised… or you might do what i do, skip ‘em over till i have nothing else better to read.
c’est le vie. i’m going to try to make it to jits tomorrow, work off the excess emotion. sweating has a cleansing quality all its own. and working off my aggression is always nice. but bloody hell, so much work to look forward to. at least there should be more sun soon.
and it’s kinda ironic how fascinated i am with 80’s hair considering i think i’m going to get my mohawk back tomorrow. we’re ’sposed to be agentful beings, i know… but sometimes, i feel like i have so little control over my life and the things going on around me. thas when i get haircuts, because hell, i might not be able to control everything, but at the very least, i can cut my goddamn hair.
yay mohawk!
now from that high, back down to a low. for whatever reason, i’ve been writing hella emo poems. at the very least though, i hope they still present multi-dimensional characters, still have some decent imagery, some fun sound and most importantly, some connection to the greater.
tell me what you think.
——————
april 6th
chi dem, co ngay gap ma
the touch of ghosts
like the ache
of a last kiss or the touch
like mortality, the memory of illness
she told him she could love him no longer
his moods, more a burden
than she could handle, her shoulders
too narrow to hold a tempest
the sunflare of her temper
too hot for his inconsistencies
he drinks
she painted his portrait
with water colors, he wrote her love poems
on napkins and by email
they declared their love
under an unlucky moon, eyes
like will o’ the wisps
he fights
she caresses the purple cataracts
like twilight starbusts
across pupils and knuckles
visiting hours ticking away
through the iv, he courts danger
like he had eyes for no one else
she left him once before, but always answers
his call
he cheats
sleeps with women who fall
for his sleepy eyes, futile ego-stroke
and she forgives him
once, twice, too many times
her attempts to punish him
backfiring like misloaded bullets
or the vain cutting across forearms
he smokes
she says she quit, but can’t
knows he hasn’t even ever bothered to lie
only tells her
he loves her when his voice slurs
his head lolls, forgetting
he’s broken. her muse
splayed across the bartop
he tell hers, he needs her
and she weeps for a moment
mourning a fantasy, all she tastes
in the dregs in his stout glass
the fortune she reads
a signal to wander on, lips set
fists clenched tight enough
for fingernails to pierce
her phone left
in the bus station bathroom
his languid arm reaching for shoulders
and finding emptiness enough to startle
——————————————-
life is a process of humbling.
How many emos does it take to change a light bulb?
None, they’d rather sit in the dark and cry about it
Take solace in the fact that your blog posts are helping me get through a frighteningly similar emotional state. Get to training and wreck some newbs.
i like this. more than you know.
considering i have no idea who this is, it probably is more than i know.
i think u do know.
this is one of those moments where i believe we will have to agree to disagree. because i have no idea. i have some guesses. a korean girl from cali or maybe a musician girl from boston, but thas only nebulous assumptions based on the j.