young and full of running

THIS IS A REAL LIFE CONVERSATIONPICTUREFRIENDSHIP.

Tue, 21 May 2013 00:39:01 -0400

THIS IS A REAL LIFE CONVERSATIONPICTUREFRIENDSHIP.

Peter Anthony Red - “Water” how i’m surviving...

Mon, 20 May 2013 17:53:00 -0400

Peter Anthony Red - “Water”

how i’m surviving the monday 8-5

"Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered failure, than..."

Thu, 16 May 2013 00:36:12 -0400

“Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered failure, than to rank with those timid spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live int he grey twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.”

- TDR

this never has been yours

Thu, 16 May 2013 00:34:00 -0400

So yes it’s a Tuesday but I’ve found myself at a solid amount of kill shot mini glasses.

Oh what’s a kill shot?

It tastes like a skittle mutant just came in my mouth which I mean to describe as a little snippet of a Bacardi grape bottle.

Nevertheless I’ve found myself population 1 of the town Too Drunk Tuesday.

And I’m in a bar where all the bartenders love giving me high fives and saying, “this ones on me.”

And tonight there is a Rangers game.

I know the Rangers because one night you were sloppy and you told me what a foolish team they were because they had only won the cup in ‘84 and we had taken it in 2001.

So we’re sitting here watching the Rangers somehow lose to the Flyers, a team they claim to be wildly better than.

And I naturally find myself caught up in your cologne.

I’m sure you’re not here. This is a city you don’t live in, in a bar you don’t ask for a 7th shot of whiskey in. This is a town I call mine. A bar I can crawl on top on to fix the smudge on the TV.

This is where I built the “After You”. This is the place I was able to unvelcro our names. I could finally walk in somewhere and they wouldn’t ask why you weren’t hanging off my belt loops.

I went to order a milkshake yesterday because I like milkshakes and the waitress innocently asked if I wanted a straw. I scoffed and commented that straws are for children unconsciously channeling the you that pulled the plastic tools out of your beverage like someone plunked a lego in your Coke.

On my run a gentleman remarked on the slogan on my t shirt which had something to do with guts, determination, and grizzlies. I turned up the volume and plugged away at the 5 miles planned that evening. After arriving home I peeled off the sweat covered t shirt imprinted with your name at every seam.

New York has been bad at responding to spring’s invitation. She says she’s busy. Says she has another party to attend. Says she has already bought tickets to a show. And if you we’re to run into her tonight she would still have the hockey game turned on, reminiscing over the night she was sure she broke her nose, full of blueberry Smirnoff and 17 years old, and you kissed her so gently and reminded her tonight you would make sure the pain would stay home.

That night the only place to sleep was underneath your left arm, convinced the pain couldn’t find her there.

The Rangers are loosing. I thought about calling to ask for directions in the Barcardi Grape haze wondering how I would ever find my way back to you after all these years.

Instead I walked the long way home, shut my phone off, promised myself I wouldn’t check the scores till morning.

Time Is Making Fools Of Us: Slam Poets and Spoken word folks you can follow!

Tue, 14 May 2013 15:43:00 -0400

Time Is Making Fools Of Us: Slam Poets and Spoken word folks you can follow! :

fuckyeahslampoems:

Hey Fuck Yeah Slam Poem Fans! Looking for more interesting poetry/spoken word/slam/poets to follow? Here is a (large) sampling of some of the folks we follow:

Lauren Zuniga http://laurenzuni.tumblr.com/

Andrea Gibson http://andrewgibby.tumblr.com/

Sierra DeMulder http://sierrademulder.tumblr.com/

Mike McGee http://mikemcgee.tumblr.com

Rachel Wiley http://sweetwhatsername.tumblr.com/

Wonder Dave http://wonderdave.tumblr.com/

Michael Mlekoday http://michaelmlekoday.tumblr.com/

Suzi Q. Smith http://suziqsmith.tumblr.com/

Megan Falley http://meganfalley.tumblr.com/

Miles Walser http://mileswalser.tumblr.com/

Mahogany Browne http://blkgirlwrites.tumblr.com/

Rob Sturma http://ratpackslim.tumblr.com

Katelyn Lucas http://kmlucas.tumblr.com/ (it’s a photo blog of poets in action!)

Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz http://coaptowicz.tumblr.com/

Doc Luben http://docluben.tumblr.com/

Rachel McKibbens http://rachelmckibbens.tumblr.com/

Joshua Merchant http://joshuamerchant.tumblr.com/

Shayne Avec I Grec http://shaynanigans.tumblr.com/

Victor Infante http://victorinfante.tumblr.com/

Eric Odum http://wordsmithsjournal.tumblr.com/

Toaster http://timtoasterhenderson.tumblr.com/

Michael Lee http://michaelleepoetry.tumblr.com/

Sarah Griff http://wordfury.tumblr.com/

Steph Holmbo http://smallsholmbo.tumblr.com/

Amelia Dylan Garcia http://arsenalhearted.tumblr.com/

Guante http://guante.tumblr.com/

Niccolea M Nance http://only1miouo.tumblr.com/

Faylita Hicks http://faylitahicks.tumblr.com/

Amy Dentata http://amydentata.tumblr.com/

SeeMore Perspective http://seemoreperspective.tumblr.com/

Rodrigo Sanchez-Chavarria http://rscspokenword.tumblr.com/

Houston Hughes http://houstonrh7.tumblr.com/

Sam Sax http://samsax.tumblr.com/

Denise Jolly http://denisejollyspoken.tumblr.com/

Nic Alea http://nicalea.tumblr.com/

Omar Holman http://omarholmon.tumblr.com/

Shappy Seasholtz http://uncleshappy.tumblr.com/

Carrie Rudzinski http://carrierudzinski.tumblr.com/

Will Evans http://williamevanswrites.tumblr.com/

Kait Rokowski http://kaitrokowski.tumblr.com/

Jesse Bradley http://iheartfailure.tumblr.com/

Dave Nichols http://mychinatown.tumblr.com/

Khary Jackson (aka 6 is 9) http://prettydeadhair.tumblr.com/

Nicole Homer http://nicolehomer.tumblr.com/

Inky http://colesarar.tumblr.com/

Zoelle Egner http://zoelle.tumblr.com/

Lewis Mundt http://beardpoetry.tumblr.com/

Hieu Minh Nguyen http://hieuminhbeing.tumblr.com/

Jessica Helen Lopez http://thewordisawoman.tumblr.com/

Chad Anderson http://chadpoet.tumblr.com/

Ashley Haze http://thelolahaze.tumblr.com/

Ellyn Touchette http://ellyntouchette.tumblr.com/

T. Miller http://tmillertakesatumbl.tumblr.com/

Jeremy Radin http://bigradinmonster.tumblr.com/

Cecily Schuler http://doctorsweetums.tumblr.com/

Shira E. http://shiraeeee.tumblr.com

Here are a couple of Spoken Word/ Poetry Organizations Tumblr accounts:

National Poetry Slam 2013 http://nps2013.tumblr.com/

Beast Crawl (Oakland CA Literary fest!) http://beastcrawl.tumblr.com/

SlamMN http://slammn.org/

Cal Slam (University of Berkeley CA, College Slam)http://calslam.tumblr.com/

Button Poetry http://buttonpoetry.tumblr.com/

Loser Slam (New Jersey) http://loserslam.tumblr.com/

Write Bloody books http://writebloody.tumblr.com/

ch-ch-check it out. the fam and me.

life: James Dean on location for the movie Giant, 1956 — see...

Mon, 13 May 2013 12:17:44 -0400

life:

James Dean on location for the movie Giant, 1956 — see more photos by Allan Grant here.

(Allan Grant—Time & Life Pictures/Getty Images)

cowboy

Photo

Mon, 13 May 2013 12:17:04 -0400

37 Signs You Might Be Buster Bluth

Mon, 13 May 2013 11:14:53 -0400

37 Signs You Might Be Buster Bluth:

Buster Bluth from Arrested Development is just a large man-child. And really, aren’t we all just giant children?

I’m a scholar. I enjoy scholarly pursuits.

Observations at Laguardia's Gate B8

Thu, 09 May 2013 21:46:35 -0400

It is difficult when you call 2 places home. You always feel like you are leaving something special while returning to somewhere important. There is always anticipation. There is always sadness. I don’t know if I’ll ever figure out the balance.
It’s easy to fly on rainy days. The drops become a painting on the splattered windows. Pollock would be impressed with this artist’s work.
Nausea invites himself every time I travel. I have flown over 100 times in my 23 years of life. I get nauseous every time. I’ve never puked.
I want to buy wi-fi in this airport only to hang out with Buster Bluth for the next 45 minutes.
There is a dream I have every time I’m on my way to the airport that when I arrive some gentlemen will sit next to me in the terminal and our flight will get delayed and he will make some comical remark about the animal flying on the tail of the plane and how the reason we are delayed is because he won’t wake up and we will end up talking for hours while sitting on the floor and then we switch seats with some generous flyers so we can continue our conversation about the magic of art and how to can conquer the world and while the talking dwindles my head accidentally falls asleep on his shoulder because it has gotten so late. In the morning I wake up. The plane lands. He needs a shave and it feels like this is the start of the rest of my life. So far I am either riding the wrong airline or my flight is really good at not getting delayed.
The top button of my shirt keeps coming unbuttoned making the already scandalous see through fabric even more suggestive. I’m not re-buttoning it for the 8th time.
This morning I was given 2 cards. One is a water color masterpiece of the Colorado flag. The other a hand drawn BLUTH company car accompanied by Buster’s hook. This tells me I have really creative and talented friends and that I’m into really weird things. Both of these cards are traveling in my back pack. They are making me feel very safe.
My reusable water bottle is also being carried by my back pack. After making it through security as not a threat the woman at Auntie Aunt’s filled it up for me for free. It feels good to not have to pay for water. It feels good to have someone do something for you and expect nothing in return.
There is a little kiosk that sells $1.49 bags of Raisinets. I opted for those because my budget couldn’t afford the $7 trail mix. At the counter the woman asked if I had the exact change for $0.62 so she wouldn’t have to take my last dollar. Searching through the coin pocket of my wallet I only came up with $0.47 and out of nowhere a gentleman held out his hand, asked if I needed some change and gave me more than I needed. I thanked him, he closed his palm, and continued on his way. I am constantly reminded of the kindness of humans all around me. Yes of course there was a woman on the 1 train who elbowed me in the eye and my cab driver ripped me off even after the nice tip I game him and I’m sure I’ve been hit with 3 different umbrellas in the past 24 hours. But this gentleman is the one I’ll remember. His wrist was covered in a crisp, navy suit coat and he opened his palm to me. It is not easy to forget these moments. It is easy to let them be overshadowed. Today is a thursday. Today it is raining sideways on all the windows. Today I have handmade artwork in my backpack. Today someone gifted me kindness in the form of the change in their suit pocket. Today I feel like the luckiest girl alive.

The send off. #myfriendsarethebestfriends#arresteddevelopment

Thu, 09 May 2013 12:30:30 -0400

The send off. #myfriendsarethebestfriends#arresteddevelopment

buttonpoetry: HIEU NGUYEN - “It Was The Winter…” “Nostalgia...

Sun, 05 May 2013 13:18:57 -0400

buttonpoetry:

HIEU NGUYEN - “It Was The Winter…”

“Nostalgia forgets to visit this street. It is too busy with tree houses and rope swings; it doesn’t have time for all this grey.”

Button Poetry’s own HIEU NGUYEN is a finalist in the 2013 Write Bloody Publishing Contest. Reblog (and like this video on youtube) to help Hieu win a publishing deal!

The newest member of the fam.

Fri, 26 Apr 2013 17:08:10 -0400

The newest member of the fam.

get off my back wednesday

Wed, 24 Apr 2013 19:11:55 -0400

6am. an audition. a run. 5 flights of stairs, 4 times. another run. the heat. the wind. sonya tayeh. the keep going. you can do one more lap. buying your best friend a peanut butter cookie. noah and the whale’s first day of spring. the first day it feels like spring will come, ignoring the blood in your shoes.

i've found storms in you too

Tue, 23 Apr 2013 10:41:00 -0400

I’m on the 1 train.

We’re swimming south.

There is an iPod snuggled in my pocket whispering piano variations of the latest friend I’ve made in Washington Square Park.

Pablo Neruda leans over my left shoulder.

It’s true: daughter of the sky, you slit the world and its green leaves, with one bolt of your lightening.

First of all, Pablo, as nice as it is for you to talk to me, I have my headphones in. Second of all, no matter how many times I underline these phrases in my copy of your sonnets, they were never intended for me so you’re not fooling me. Third of all, did it work? Did Matilde blush when you presented her with over 100 snowflakes of love reminders all on napkins or receipts or menus or crumbled notebook paper? Did she believe you?

Pablo then responds in spanish because my eyes have started reading left to right again.

“Homie. I’ve only got french down on lock.”

So he begins again.

He describes my laugh as a fairytale. That my sounds found her way inside stone walls, behind a moat, protected by a dragon, but she is always finding an escape route to seek out adventures, to find new palms to land in.

I remind my dear friend that I am no Matilde. That smooth of hands and dance of a smile has never existed here. No one ever sat down at their desks, their coffee growing cold, with their scribbling for hours on end about the way my dress twirls around my calves or how my hips are swaying even when the others can’t hear the music. This kind of love has yet to respond to my name. This kind of love and I are still wandering trying to fin each other with only moonlight on the path, sometimes creating more shadow than illuminating what’s ahead.

I tell my friend, thank you but this is someone’s else’s story.

He hold my hand here on page 107.

Even when I try to scurry my way back to page 39, memorized to recite after his name about the secret and dark things to be loved, about loving because there isn’t another option for how you feel about him. Even when I tell Pablo that I used my own handwriting on his words, wrapped it up, snuck my heart inside the gift tag, softly tell him, “You saw me try to give this love before. He didn’t want it. I’ve stopped writing your kind of poems. There is no one to give them to.”

Because you are as small as you are, let it rip: let the meteor of your laughter fly.

You deserve love as terrifying as the thunder. The other ones couldn’t handle the lightening in your chest. Hold onto it. The storm is coming.

Pablo closes his eyes.

I close the book, sonnet L still dripping down my wrists. Whoever said hope couldn’t be found in the awful florescent lighting of the train doesn’t know how to find poetry in the screech of the brakes, in the ding of the closing doors, in the gentleman falling asleep to your left.

Photo

Mon, 22 Apr 2013 10:18:41 -0400

writebloody: “Your terror moves me. Your failures have whittled...

Mon, 22 Apr 2013 10:18:15 -0400

writebloody:

“Your terror moves me. Your failures have whittled you fine.”

Derrick C. Brown

"So when you spot violence, or bigotry, or intolerance or fear or just garden-variety misogyny,..."

Tue, 16 Apr 2013 09:02:35 -0400

“So when you spot violence, or bigotry, or intolerance or fear or just garden-variety misogyny, hatred or ignorance, just look it in the eye and think, “The good outnumber you, and we always will.””

- Patton Oswalt, responding to the bombing in Boston earlier today. (via williamjames174)

Afternoon jam. Turn up the music Sunday. It’s time to high...

Sun, 07 Apr 2013 13:05:56 -0400

Afternoon jam. Turn up the music Sunday. It’s time to high five the sunshine.

the hollow

Fri, 29 Mar 2013 02:38:02 -0400

I had this dream right? Don’t laugh. I mean you can laugh because its a little wild but don’t laugh too much because its kind of all I ever wanted. Ok so I have this dream where we are sitting on my roof. My roof has this great skyline. You’ve never seen it but you could soon if you wanted to and it’s great. So we are siting on my roof and you’re holding my guitar. It’s out of tune. You pretend to know what you’re doing and try to tune it. You don’t do so well so you start to whisper to me the lyrics. Then you start to sing just a little louder. And I catch on to the third. Somehow I know the lyrics. This is not a song real Steph has ever heard but dream Steph knows the third above and all the words and some of the riffs. (Although sometimes she makes up her own riffs.) So I start singing with you and you start singing louder. And then we are both singing too loud and this laugh escapes you, like you we’re trying to hold it as the grand finale but it comes too soon. It’s my favorite part of the song. And you stop. And I keep going. You look over at me. “I’m glad you ended it. It was so beautiful I didn’t want it to end so I couldn’t make myself do it.” Then you sing again and I sing with you again. And this is good. And it’s new but it’s good. Neither of us trust this but we know its good. The sun doesn’t set for an extra 4 minutes because it believes when the light goes away we will stop. We assure her we will croon to the moon too. While the orange paint drips over the Chrysler building you bury your head in my neck, serenading my collarbone. Slowly each star comes out to applaud and ask for the encore. But just before the chant begins I wake up.

The problem is I’m so good at being a harmony without a bass line. I have been singing for so long I forgot how it feels to be supported by a melody. My walls are so used to the empty they never thought to ask why the song sounded so hollow. I never get the heart to tell them. Speaking things aloud is the surest way to make them true. It’s not that the chords aren’t minor. It’s that it has always sounded this way. So I sleep in the middle of the bed, make coffee for one, climb up to the roof alone. The skyline has yet to see this silhouette any different.

Photo

Fri, 29 Mar 2013 02:36:33 -0400