well, it started well
I lingered over ovens and stoves
he brought me chocolates and rose
I'm nearing thirty now, love's lost its surprise
It's all the same, hold my hand, look in my eyes
and eventually the friendship fades to lies
he changed his mind
he doesn't want to be mine
although I've been nothing but kind
he has gone, left me behind
I fall back to patterns, it's hazy
I tried to warn him I was crazy
that I am alarmingly lazy
I guess he thought he could tame me
said oh so naively, that doesn't phase me
I've mourned the loss of butterflies and bees
I joined the other song birds up in the trees
I fall as graciously as a catholic to my knees
I've read your rule books, your methods to be
I've even been so brave as to be blatantly be me
To hell with this pedestal, this cult of he
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
late night green
It's nights like this
that despite twenty years
and a lush history of lovers
and an otherwise joyous life
I feel once again
like the fat girl in
the cafeteria that no one
wants to slow dance with.
It's musical chairs
and no one wants to be
the last one left standing
the last one picked in
gym class the last one
left sitting on the bleachers
I'm used to grumbles in my belly
but now it's the rumble lower
the root chakra, the depth
and breadth and center of my
soul and my body there is this
warm, vacant holding place
that lies barren and empty
and above I can't help but
feel unnatural with hands at my
side when I am a born mother
without a child to hold
without a family of my own
I can't buy these things
I can't write business plans or
formulate schemes and time-lines
There is nothing I can do, no press
release, no well-thought out attack
there is nothing I can do
no book I can read nor write
no pill I can take nor spit out
no degree to achieve or certificate to earn
that will bring me the things
I want more than anything else
on this Earth
And I wonder
on night's like this
what makes me so unworthy
or so undeserving
to not have the very thing
that I desire above all others
the same thing I see millions
take for granted everyday
loves laid fallow
children shaken, neglected
why is it that I
have not been allowed
these gifts?
This key to the garden?
I don't believe in God
but I take this personally.
that despite twenty years
and a lush history of lovers
and an otherwise joyous life
I feel once again
like the fat girl in
the cafeteria that no one
wants to slow dance with.
It's musical chairs
and no one wants to be
the last one left standing
the last one picked in
gym class the last one
left sitting on the bleachers
I'm used to grumbles in my belly
but now it's the rumble lower
the root chakra, the depth
and breadth and center of my
soul and my body there is this
warm, vacant holding place
that lies barren and empty
and above I can't help but
feel unnatural with hands at my
side when I am a born mother
without a child to hold
without a family of my own
I can't buy these things
I can't write business plans or
formulate schemes and time-lines
There is nothing I can do, no press
release, no well-thought out attack
there is nothing I can do
no book I can read nor write
no pill I can take nor spit out
no degree to achieve or certificate to earn
that will bring me the things
I want more than anything else
on this Earth
And I wonder
on night's like this
what makes me so unworthy
or so undeserving
to not have the very thing
that I desire above all others
the same thing I see millions
take for granted everyday
loves laid fallow
children shaken, neglected
why is it that I
have not been allowed
these gifts?
This key to the garden?
I don't believe in God
but I take this personally.
By way of washington square *draft*
The Sylvia Plath Easy Bake Oven
The Dylan Thomas Flask and Bar Set
The Virgina Wolff Plastic Arm Swimmies
Narcissis stuck at the river bend
Face down, on his knees
Persephone takes the page, ties her shoe laces
Descends for her four month suntan
Sans the sand
I twirl my hair while sitting at the bar
I try to explain this has nothing to do with any man
In particular
Maybe just an intrinsic need for
the natural implantation and nurturing of the seed.
Spinster aunts in rocking chairs
Too narrow for their ancient expanses
School marms fat on retirement
Pussies unused and dusty, locked away in boxes
With faded love letters and urns of dead cats
The Zelda Fitzgerald Fire Extinguisher
The Ernest Hemingway Rifle Cleaning Kit
The John Berryman Base-Jumping Chute
Oh to be Holly Golightly
instead of Norma Desmond
Oh to fall asleep in the Village
instead of rotting on Sunset Boulevard
Now back to the typewriters
by way of Washington Square.
The Dylan Thomas Flask and Bar Set
The Virgina Wolff Plastic Arm Swimmies
Narcissis stuck at the river bend
Face down, on his knees
Persephone takes the page, ties her shoe laces
Descends for her four month suntan
Sans the sand
I twirl my hair while sitting at the bar
I try to explain this has nothing to do with any man
In particular
Maybe just an intrinsic need for
the natural implantation and nurturing of the seed.
Spinster aunts in rocking chairs
Too narrow for their ancient expanses
School marms fat on retirement
Pussies unused and dusty, locked away in boxes
With faded love letters and urns of dead cats
The Zelda Fitzgerald Fire Extinguisher
The Ernest Hemingway Rifle Cleaning Kit
The John Berryman Base-Jumping Chute
Oh to be Holly Golightly
instead of Norma Desmond
Oh to fall asleep in the Village
instead of rotting on Sunset Boulevard
Now back to the typewriters
by way of Washington Square.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
...(draft)....
I have nothing to do but sweat
and avoid putting away my laundry
It is eighty-eight degrees in N.Y.C.
and this city doesn't want much else to do with me
I am an inner-chambers kind of girl
You've all heard it before, spilled and spanked
It is something I have grown accustomed to
And without the presence of elegant stair
I have abandoned my furs and jewels
Sunset Boulevard stained my brain
Back in two thousand oh two
And when told I was a borderline
A flash to Fatal Attraction
and in perfect Janice fashion
I blushed, realizing I had boiled bunnies, too
So what am I to do
The beast, the magic, the essense of this heart
is that it beats, it maneuvers in erratic-ocity
But the problem is
That I think I'm wonderful
and oh so peachy and lovely to taste
Yes you made yourself plain
Yes you made yourself a savior of rain
And again
And again
I chase you this way
I chase you that
and yet, and yet
I've yet to meet someone
who loves me as much as my cat
I roll up in the corner and I sleep
I am through with me, too, big city
your bright lights blind in their
oh so unkind
oh so sublime
shatterd broken crumbled absbestos sighs
and avoid putting away my laundry
It is eighty-eight degrees in N.Y.C.
and this city doesn't want much else to do with me
I am an inner-chambers kind of girl
You've all heard it before, spilled and spanked
It is something I have grown accustomed to
And without the presence of elegant stair
I have abandoned my furs and jewels
Sunset Boulevard stained my brain
Back in two thousand oh two
And when told I was a borderline
A flash to Fatal Attraction
and in perfect Janice fashion
I blushed, realizing I had boiled bunnies, too
So what am I to do
The beast, the magic, the essense of this heart
is that it beats, it maneuvers in erratic-ocity
But the problem is
That I think I'm wonderful
and oh so peachy and lovely to taste
Yes you made yourself plain
Yes you made yourself a savior of rain
And again
And again
I chase you this way
I chase you that
and yet, and yet
I've yet to meet someone
who loves me as much as my cat
I roll up in the corner and I sleep
I am through with me, too, big city
your bright lights blind in their
oh so unkind
oh so sublime
shatterd broken crumbled absbestos sighs
Monday, April 27, 2009
The Man I Will Marry (draft)
i am stealing again
I am wheeling again.
I just might as well fly
Sprout wings and yes I might
as well just fly
There's nothing else to do
paint my desires on strangers
a dollar and a dream
ice cream and torn seams
close my eyes and
in the moment of disclosure
in the face of disclaimers
in the moment of enclosure
I threaten the sturdy gates within
russian nestled dolls
that take all night to lay out
to find them empty by morn
cracker jack, no prize
no 6 am stroll to tiffany's
no crossiant crumbs
no perfect black dress
and I, well, I am no
Audrey Hepburn
in this age of
wham, bam, fuck ya later, ma'am
no symbolic cigarette smoke
can rival the crass
brass, worthless ass
that I have become
everything I pack, they spill
sugar deafens as it falls
and I wonder why I can't be content
in my existence, in my modular
chemistry, in my young and baffled
amazingly surprised sunset-sweetened
mouth
oh so pretty mouth, little girl
dimples and all
oh such a sweet pretty mouth, Jay girl
you look all empty inside
down that deep dark throat
let's fill that void right up
or maybe it's just 1986 again
maybe I'm seven years old and maybe
I can jump the furthest in gym class
just once
yes maybe just once I can jump the furthest
in gym class
yes maybe
I know my place in line
it's right behind
you
just where I want to be
close but out of peripherial vision
I can taste your Suave shampoo
I imagine backflips
your chaplips
in the clubhouse near the cemetary
in that town whose name means
cursed
in that town with the devil's elbow
in that town where I was born
I'll hum for you, boy
I'll patiently descend
I can wrap around your feet
like the warmest of dogs
and again
yes again
I can be seven again
and you can be my first grade crush
only this time
in the tandem present
perhaps you can love me
not kick me off the kick ball team
yes maybe in this re-touched memory
you can be taller and older
and I can be thinner and prettier
and then
then maybe then it can be my love life
redux
and you, him, whomever you are
can love me this time, too
there are nights
and there are cities
where the air gets soft
and the corner gets still
I can imagine being down there
Running, running wild
Yellow double line
Run until I can't breathe
Run until I find grass
Run until I find stars
Run until I throw my arms
around the whole goddamn world
and in these moments
in these Brooklyn fantasies
in the brief moments between green lights
in the lapses of quiet
I want a hand to hold
A smile to help me keep pace
Someone to stop me from being mugged
And pick me up when I trip
Trip, faint, falter, find
but never fall
This is the man I will marry
the man of skinned knees
and bicycle helmets
This is the man i will marry
the man of star-spinning
and midnight pizza
at least maybe this time
at least maybe sometime for real
maybe
just maybe
I am wheeling again.
I just might as well fly
Sprout wings and yes I might
as well just fly
There's nothing else to do
paint my desires on strangers
a dollar and a dream
ice cream and torn seams
close my eyes and
in the moment of disclosure
in the face of disclaimers
in the moment of enclosure
I threaten the sturdy gates within
russian nestled dolls
that take all night to lay out
to find them empty by morn
cracker jack, no prize
no 6 am stroll to tiffany's
no crossiant crumbs
no perfect black dress
and I, well, I am no
Audrey Hepburn
in this age of
wham, bam, fuck ya later, ma'am
no symbolic cigarette smoke
can rival the crass
brass, worthless ass
that I have become
everything I pack, they spill
sugar deafens as it falls
and I wonder why I can't be content
in my existence, in my modular
chemistry, in my young and baffled
amazingly surprised sunset-sweetened
mouth
oh so pretty mouth, little girl
dimples and all
oh such a sweet pretty mouth, Jay girl
you look all empty inside
down that deep dark throat
let's fill that void right up
or maybe it's just 1986 again
maybe I'm seven years old and maybe
I can jump the furthest in gym class
just once
yes maybe just once I can jump the furthest
in gym class
yes maybe
I know my place in line
it's right behind
you
just where I want to be
close but out of peripherial vision
I can taste your Suave shampoo
I imagine backflips
your chaplips
in the clubhouse near the cemetary
in that town whose name means
cursed
in that town with the devil's elbow
in that town where I was born
I'll hum for you, boy
I'll patiently descend
I can wrap around your feet
like the warmest of dogs
and again
yes again
I can be seven again
and you can be my first grade crush
only this time
in the tandem present
perhaps you can love me
not kick me off the kick ball team
yes maybe in this re-touched memory
you can be taller and older
and I can be thinner and prettier
and then
then maybe then it can be my love life
redux
and you, him, whomever you are
can love me this time, too
there are nights
and there are cities
where the air gets soft
and the corner gets still
I can imagine being down there
Running, running wild
Yellow double line
Run until I can't breathe
Run until I find grass
Run until I find stars
Run until I throw my arms
around the whole goddamn world
and in these moments
in these Brooklyn fantasies
in the brief moments between green lights
in the lapses of quiet
I want a hand to hold
A smile to help me keep pace
Someone to stop me from being mugged
And pick me up when I trip
Trip, faint, falter, find
but never fall
This is the man I will marry
the man of skinned knees
and bicycle helmets
This is the man i will marry
the man of star-spinning
and midnight pizza
at least maybe this time
at least maybe sometime for real
maybe
just maybe
secretary (draft)
it is all yellow-green lighting
that blinks and sparks
mimicking heels, the tip tap tip tap
a seizure waiting to happen
illuminating 50's pencil skirts
and hips when women had hips
Blips and slips, I balance precariously
in heels that blister and pop
I raise my chin, I channel
Katherine and His Girl Friday
Only this fella
has more recently seen another film
prior to searching for a Secretary.
I follow the cheap
pantsuit to his office
I am wearing the one white blouse
button down I own
I hold my lungs, every breath
threatens indecency
expansive breasts swollen
on they're monthly schedule
the trenton-bound 5:45 pm
pressing against fabric
suburban lusts and crust
on the faux leather seats
please, miss, have a seat.
it is a tracking shot,
the camera follows
almost up my dress
but it's not me it's
some bondage model
a Veronica Lake- wannabe
puke green filing cabinets
twisting, labyrinthine corridor
I suspect nothing.
film noir, no accordion in sight
tarrantino funny, then splatter
something's the matter
he fingers my resume, eyes my lips
I get the feeling this man
the man behind the desk yellow pit stains
dollar store tie and paper clip to
his pucker, contorted lip
I get the feeling this man
wants me not as an assistant
but as a lady, a tramp, then
tossed out, broken lamp
begging for food stamps
lapping up the gutter-spill
he wants me akimbo, a bimbo
but he asks about dic-
tation speeds and typing tests
later on the way back to bensonhurst
the train teeters on the yellow line
I realize that the advertisement
was all a ploy for a perverted man
who owned too many filing cabinets
and not enough honestly-bared breasts
two days later he calls
the job has been filled
but would I ever consider
letting him place a camera
under the rim of my toilet seat
or perhaps leave one on
while getting undressed before bed?
I am twenty-three
Lips painted Betty Page red
Reclining on rented bed
Russian on the street, winter falling
Outside it is a blizzard
the train can't move in the sky
It is Siberia, it is Chernobyl
I burn my degree, I vomit my pedigree
I tongue my blood line
Consider my options
And tell him maybe next year
If all else fails
I'll let this rich man
watch me shit.
that blinks and sparks
mimicking heels, the tip tap tip tap
a seizure waiting to happen
illuminating 50's pencil skirts
and hips when women had hips
Blips and slips, I balance precariously
in heels that blister and pop
I raise my chin, I channel
Katherine and His Girl Friday
Only this fella
has more recently seen another film
prior to searching for a Secretary.
I follow the cheap
pantsuit to his office
I am wearing the one white blouse
button down I own
I hold my lungs, every breath
threatens indecency
expansive breasts swollen
on they're monthly schedule
the trenton-bound 5:45 pm
pressing against fabric
suburban lusts and crust
on the faux leather seats
please, miss, have a seat.
it is a tracking shot,
the camera follows
almost up my dress
but it's not me it's
some bondage model
a Veronica Lake- wannabe
puke green filing cabinets
twisting, labyrinthine corridor
I suspect nothing.
film noir, no accordion in sight
tarrantino funny, then splatter
something's the matter
he fingers my resume, eyes my lips
I get the feeling this man
the man behind the desk yellow pit stains
dollar store tie and paper clip to
his pucker, contorted lip
I get the feeling this man
wants me not as an assistant
but as a lady, a tramp, then
tossed out, broken lamp
begging for food stamps
lapping up the gutter-spill
he wants me akimbo, a bimbo
but he asks about dic-
tation speeds and typing tests
later on the way back to bensonhurst
the train teeters on the yellow line
I realize that the advertisement
was all a ploy for a perverted man
who owned too many filing cabinets
and not enough honestly-bared breasts
two days later he calls
the job has been filled
but would I ever consider
letting him place a camera
under the rim of my toilet seat
or perhaps leave one on
while getting undressed before bed?
I am twenty-three
Lips painted Betty Page red
Reclining on rented bed
Russian on the street, winter falling
Outside it is a blizzard
the train can't move in the sky
It is Siberia, it is Chernobyl
I burn my degree, I vomit my pedigree
I tongue my blood line
Consider my options
And tell him maybe next year
If all else fails
I'll let this rich man
watch me shit.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
residual
You left your shadow in my dream
A silk, a silhouette on my floor
Feet sunk into soft as I stood
As I climbed from my bed
and continued my search
You are residual
In my residence, I chance
circumstance
I dive under water
maybe I see you only
when delving into
altered consciousness
In my nightmares I am aware
In my nightmares I claw at my arms
I hear killers at my door
In my nightmares I throw myself into walls
Hurl myself into the mantle
Precariously leap from fire escapes
I warble and marble and babble
wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up
A silk, a silhouette on my floor
Feet sunk into soft as I stood
As I climbed from my bed
and continued my search
You are residual
In my residence, I chance
circumstance
I dive under water
maybe I see you only
when delving into
altered consciousness
In my nightmares I am aware
In my nightmares I claw at my arms
I hear killers at my door
In my nightmares I throw myself into walls
Hurl myself into the mantle
Precariously leap from fire escapes
I warble and marble and babble
wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up
(draft)
Curvatures and back bends
I add spices and stir, dizzy
I want to be loved for me
Still I give you "her"
Whomever I think it is
I need to be for you
contort and distort
I examine and bend
Japanese game show
human tetris
let me fit in your
sweet, sweet spot
Cherry tree, I'll tattoo me
blossoms abloom on skin
Maybe you like adore my lampshade
Maybe you'll ignore my narcissism
Maybe you'll applaud my performance
Hand me Oscars and make love like statues
I can shrink even as I expand
Constrict, restrict
Masks and perfuming of the sour, rotten
I am meat in your bed
Pounded flat and rubbed with lemon
Pepper in my eyes, salty to the taste
I confirm dessert to be served
On my lips, on my lips, on my sweet sweet lips
I add spices and stir, dizzy
I want to be loved for me
Still I give you "her"
Whomever I think it is
I need to be for you
contort and distort
I examine and bend
Japanese game show
human tetris
let me fit in your
sweet, sweet spot
Cherry tree, I'll tattoo me
blossoms abloom on skin
Maybe you like adore my lampshade
Maybe you'll ignore my narcissism
Maybe you'll applaud my performance
Hand me Oscars and make love like statues
I can shrink even as I expand
Constrict, restrict
Masks and perfuming of the sour, rotten
I am meat in your bed
Pounded flat and rubbed with lemon
Pepper in my eyes, salty to the taste
I confirm dessert to be served
On my lips, on my lips, on my sweet sweet lips
lights on (draft)
I leave lights on
I wander room to room
I sing and occasionally spin.
Embers to my amber and faults set to cringe.
The cat is in heat
It's not her fault
but yet I scream at her
to stop her incessant lust.
I leave lights on
I bore myself and bury myself in weight
I invite others, I throw them my keys
Lovers to my laborless and paper to my subtle burn.
Moonless and flavorless
Brooklyn night finds the dark
It wrings out the stars
It drinks warm milk
And grinds its teeth
Hand to cold, uninsulated glass
I'd like to be a part of this, please
I am coming apart, I am set apart
I am related and retarded and relative
I could fall just as fast as your feathers
I could whisper, I could wallow, I shall follow
Razor to peach fuzz
Eden's garden I once was
Before revenge and rape
Eden's garden I once was
Before twins crashed and
Candles burned all night
in coffee cans and
styrofoam cups, held in children's hands
I leave lights on
I wander the rooms
I scream at cats
I lift and leave and lie
I lie, I lie, I lie
I won't look you in the eye,
Great sun
I won't tongue your sour
I won't lick your sweet
I fear I shall spin and wind and cocoon
thirty year old girl in a case of candy glass
Just, perhaps, to be safer
Just, perchance, to be saner
Sidestepping life I reject your reality
Shower on, windows wide open
Glade "spring showers" air freshener full bloom
I run through the rain
I carve jewelry out of stone
Herniated hermit, la bouche a blaze
I could love you
I could love you
I could love you
I could love you
Without razor blades
Without midnight terror
Without insecure restrictions
Without bitter after taste
Without repressive residue
Yes, I could love you
I could love you
I could love
you.
I shall leave the lights on.
I wander room to room
I sing and occasionally spin.
Embers to my amber and faults set to cringe.
The cat is in heat
It's not her fault
but yet I scream at her
to stop her incessant lust.
I leave lights on
I bore myself and bury myself in weight
I invite others, I throw them my keys
Lovers to my laborless and paper to my subtle burn.
Moonless and flavorless
Brooklyn night finds the dark
It wrings out the stars
It drinks warm milk
And grinds its teeth
Hand to cold, uninsulated glass
I'd like to be a part of this, please
I am coming apart, I am set apart
I am related and retarded and relative
I could fall just as fast as your feathers
I could whisper, I could wallow, I shall follow
Razor to peach fuzz
Eden's garden I once was
Before revenge and rape
Eden's garden I once was
Before twins crashed and
Candles burned all night
in coffee cans and
styrofoam cups, held in children's hands
I leave lights on
I wander the rooms
I scream at cats
I lift and leave and lie
I lie, I lie, I lie
I won't look you in the eye,
Great sun
I won't tongue your sour
I won't lick your sweet
I fear I shall spin and wind and cocoon
thirty year old girl in a case of candy glass
Just, perhaps, to be safer
Just, perchance, to be saner
Sidestepping life I reject your reality
Shower on, windows wide open
Glade "spring showers" air freshener full bloom
I run through the rain
I carve jewelry out of stone
Herniated hermit, la bouche a blaze
I could love you
I could love you
I could love you
I could love you
Without razor blades
Without midnight terror
Without insecure restrictions
Without bitter after taste
Without repressive residue
Yes, I could love you
I could love you
I could love
you.
I shall leave the lights on.
Apply Within
I seek a lover
like an Afghan Whigs song
like Aiden to Sarah's Carrie
Yeah I seek a lover
raspy and clean and
sideways grinning
I probably could fall for you
if you could empty your arms
long enough and strong enough
to catch me
I probably could long for you
if you could open your mind
long enough to teach me to
close my mouth
I seek a lover
please apply within
I seek a lover
who plays my body like a guitar
or a wide-bodied cello
leaning against his thigh
like an Afghan Whigs song
like Aiden to Sarah's Carrie
Yeah I seek a lover
raspy and clean and
sideways grinning
I probably could fall for you
if you could empty your arms
long enough and strong enough
to catch me
I probably could long for you
if you could open your mind
long enough to teach me to
close my mouth
I seek a lover
please apply within
I seek a lover
who plays my body like a guitar
or a wide-bodied cello
leaning against his thigh
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Trying to catch up
My website and blog have been neglected!
Right now just running around going to tons of shows (two more next week and one the week after so far) for National Poetry Month & such. Pimping out the anthology and my book and trying to book performers for upcoming events. Having a frenchman living with me and trying to show him around the city. Hopefully heading back to work next week on a movie. Working on my next chapbook of my own work and the chapbook of another super talented writer.
Mmmmmmm yeah. Will have to do some updating tomorrow! I need a nap today!
Right now just running around going to tons of shows (two more next week and one the week after so far) for National Poetry Month & such. Pimping out the anthology and my book and trying to book performers for upcoming events. Having a frenchman living with me and trying to show him around the city. Hopefully heading back to work next week on a movie. Working on my next chapbook of my own work and the chapbook of another super talented writer.
Mmmmmmm yeah. Will have to do some updating tomorrow! I need a nap today!
Monday, April 13, 2009
PRESS RELEASE - BEST OF STAIN - CENTRAL NY VERSION
ATTENTION: News Director/Art Editor/Book Reviews & Events
FROM: TANGLED UP IN BLUE PRODUCTIONS
RE: THE BEST OF STAIN ANTHOLOGY, VOLUME ONE (FEATURING WRITERS FROM CORTLAND, NY)
April 14, 2009
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
THE BEST OF STAIN, AN ANTHOLOGY EDITED BY & FEATURING WRITERS FROM CORTLAND (JASON MADISON, CARRIE VANDENBURG & DARCIE VANHAMLIN)TO BE RELEASED ON APRIL 20th - PRE-SALE ORDERS AVAILABLE
Brooklyn, New York. On April 20th, 2009 Tangled Up In Blue Productions will release The Best of Stain, an anthology of poetry and lyrics that features former Cortland residents Jason Madison, Carrie VanDenburg, and Darcie VanHamlin. The Best of Stain highlights some of the most memorable performers at the Williamsburg, Brooklyn-based literary and music series, Stained Glass Confessional. SGC and its sister series, An Echo, A Stain, have been featured in The New York Daily News, Time Out, New York, AM-NY, The Greenpoint Greenline, and The Brooklyn Eagle. Both series take place at Stain Bar at 766 Grand Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. They regularly feature some of the best indie musicians and poets on the literary scene today, including Madison, VanHamlin, and VanDenburg.
Other musicians and writers included in the chapbook are: Swampan Basu, Janice Brabaw (formerly of St. Lawrence County, NY), Patricia Carragon, Mike Fiorito, Roxanne Hoffman, Valerie Jupe, Laurel Kallen, Nina Karacosta, series host James Kass, Frank Kelly, Jee Leong Koh, Harry Bentivenga Lichtenstein, Nick Loss-Eaton (of the band Leland Sundries), Puma Perl, James Skidmore and Joe Yoga.
On April 20th, a book release party will be held at Stain Bar at the latest installment of Stained Glass Confessional. Host James Kass and curator Janice Brabaw will welcome to the stage musicians Lizzah Lohse, Mike Fiorito, and James Skidmore as well as poets Laurel Kallen, Jessica Reed, and Nina Karacosta. The show is FREE although donations for the featured readers are appreciated. The show begins at eight with an open mic from 7-8. A door raffle for a free copy of the anthology will take place.
THE BEST OF STAIN is available NOW for pre-order at Brabaw's website - www.JaniceBrabaw.com and at Stain Bar in Brooklyn, New York. $5/piece or $7 including shipping.
More information on the writers, Stained Glass Confessional, An Echo, A Stain, and Brabaw are available at www.JaniceBrabaw.com
AUTHOR BIOS
Carrie VanDenburg has been writing poetry since the 8th grade. She has been an editor of and been published in two college creative writing journals: Revisions and She's Aloud and was involved in creative writing groups in her undergraduate colleges. Currently, she spends most of her energy in graduate school studying social work but hopes to someday combine her love of creative writing with her love of helping people. Carrie lives in Flatbush, Brooklyn with her roommate and two cats.
Darcie VanHamlin is a very talented photographer and writer originally from Cortland, New York. Her photos can be found at http://darciepix.com/
Jason Madison was born in Nyack, raised in Cortland, attended Syracuse University, and now resides in Brooklyn, New York. Jason is a talented comic artist, actor, music composer, graphic designer, and musician. He has played and written for The Scurvy Pirates, Devil Schlock, Bigbooté, and currently is the singer/guitarist of the New York band, Dig My Grave. Learn more about Jason at http://jasonmadison.weebly.com
FROM: TANGLED UP IN BLUE PRODUCTIONS
RE: THE BEST OF STAIN ANTHOLOGY, VOLUME ONE (FEATURING WRITERS FROM CORTLAND, NY)
April 14, 2009
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
THE BEST OF STAIN, AN ANTHOLOGY EDITED BY & FEATURING WRITERS FROM CORTLAND (JASON MADISON, CARRIE VANDENBURG & DARCIE VANHAMLIN)TO BE RELEASED ON APRIL 20th - PRE-SALE ORDERS AVAILABLE
Brooklyn, New York. On April 20th, 2009 Tangled Up In Blue Productions will release The Best of Stain, an anthology of poetry and lyrics that features former Cortland residents Jason Madison, Carrie VanDenburg, and Darcie VanHamlin. The Best of Stain highlights some of the most memorable performers at the Williamsburg, Brooklyn-based literary and music series, Stained Glass Confessional. SGC and its sister series, An Echo, A Stain, have been featured in The New York Daily News, Time Out, New York, AM-NY, The Greenpoint Greenline, and The Brooklyn Eagle. Both series take place at Stain Bar at 766 Grand Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. They regularly feature some of the best indie musicians and poets on the literary scene today, including Madison, VanHamlin, and VanDenburg.
Other musicians and writers included in the chapbook are: Swampan Basu, Janice Brabaw (formerly of St. Lawrence County, NY), Patricia Carragon, Mike Fiorito, Roxanne Hoffman, Valerie Jupe, Laurel Kallen, Nina Karacosta, series host James Kass, Frank Kelly, Jee Leong Koh, Harry Bentivenga Lichtenstein, Nick Loss-Eaton (of the band Leland Sundries), Puma Perl, James Skidmore and Joe Yoga.
On April 20th, a book release party will be held at Stain Bar at the latest installment of Stained Glass Confessional. Host James Kass and curator Janice Brabaw will welcome to the stage musicians Lizzah Lohse, Mike Fiorito, and James Skidmore as well as poets Laurel Kallen, Jessica Reed, and Nina Karacosta. The show is FREE although donations for the featured readers are appreciated. The show begins at eight with an open mic from 7-8. A door raffle for a free copy of the anthology will take place.
THE BEST OF STAIN is available NOW for pre-order at Brabaw's website - www.JaniceBrabaw.com and at Stain Bar in Brooklyn, New York. $5/piece or $7 including shipping.
More information on the writers, Stained Glass Confessional, An Echo, A Stain, and Brabaw are available at www.JaniceBrabaw.com
AUTHOR BIOS
Carrie VanDenburg has been writing poetry since the 8th grade. She has been an editor of and been published in two college creative writing journals: Revisions and She's Aloud and was involved in creative writing groups in her undergraduate colleges. Currently, she spends most of her energy in graduate school studying social work but hopes to someday combine her love of creative writing with her love of helping people. Carrie lives in Flatbush, Brooklyn with her roommate and two cats.
Darcie VanHamlin is a very talented photographer and writer originally from Cortland, New York. Her photos can be found at http://darciepix.com/
Jason Madison was born in Nyack, raised in Cortland, attended Syracuse University, and now resides in Brooklyn, New York. Jason is a talented comic artist, actor, music composer, graphic designer, and musician. He has played and written for The Scurvy Pirates, Devil Schlock, Bigbooté, and currently is the singer/guitarist of the New York band, Dig My Grave. Learn more about Jason at http://jasonmadison.weebly.com
PRESS RELEASE FOR THE BEST OF STAIN!!!
ATTENTION: News Director/Art Editor/Book Reviews & Events
FROM: TANGLED UP IN BLUE PRODUCTIONS
RE: THE BEST OF STAIN ANTHOLOGY, VOLUME ONE (FEATURING LOCAL WRITER JANICE BRABAW)
April 14, 2009
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
THE BEST OF STAIN, AN ANTHOLOGY EDITED BY & FEATURING LOCAL AUTHOR JANICE BRABAW
TO BE RELEASED ON APRIL 20th - PRE-SALE ORDERS AVAILABLE
Brooklyn, New York. Critically acclaimed author of the poetry collection, Universe, Disturbed and local, Janice Brabaw, is proud to announce the release of The Best of Stain, an anthology edited by (and featuring) Brabaw that highlights some of the most memorable performers at the Williamsburg, Brooklyn-based literary and music series, Stained Glass Confessional. Stained Glass Confessional and its sister series, An Echo, A Stain have been featured in The New York Daily News, Time Out, New York, AM-NY, The Greenpoint Greenline, and The Brooklyn Eagle. Both series take place at Stain Bar at 766 Grand Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. They regularly feature some of the best indie musicians and poets on the literary scene today.
Other musicians and writers included in the chapbook are: Swampan Basu, Patricia Carragon, Mike Fiorito, Roxanne Hoffman, Valerie Jupe, Laurel Kallen, Nina Karacosta, (series host) James Kass, Frank Kelly, Jee Leong Koh, Harry Bentivenga Lichtenstein, iIck Loss-Eaton (of the band Leland Sundries), Jason Madison, Puma Perl, James Skidmore, Carrie VanDenburg, Darcie VanHamlin and Joe Yoga.
On April 20th, a book release party will be held at Stain Bar at the latest installment of Stained Glass Confessional. Host James Kass and curator Janice Brabaw will welcome to the stage musicians Lizzah Lohse, Mike Fiorito, and James Skidmore as well as poets Laurel Kallen, Jessica Reed, and Nina Karacosta. The show is FREE although donations for the featured readers are appreciated. The show begins at eight with an open mic from 7-8. A door raffle for a free copy of the anthology will take place.
THE BEST OF STAIN is available NOW for pre-order at Brabaw's website - www.JaniceBrabaw.com and at Stain Bar in Brooklyn, New York.
More information on the writers, Stained Glass Confessional, An Echo, A Stain, and Brabaw are available at www.JaniceBrabaw.com
FROM: TANGLED UP IN BLUE PRODUCTIONS
RE: THE BEST OF STAIN ANTHOLOGY, VOLUME ONE (FEATURING LOCAL WRITER JANICE BRABAW)
April 14, 2009
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
THE BEST OF STAIN, AN ANTHOLOGY EDITED BY & FEATURING LOCAL AUTHOR JANICE BRABAW
TO BE RELEASED ON APRIL 20th - PRE-SALE ORDERS AVAILABLE
Brooklyn, New York. Critically acclaimed author of the poetry collection, Universe, Disturbed and local, Janice Brabaw, is proud to announce the release of The Best of Stain, an anthology edited by (and featuring) Brabaw that highlights some of the most memorable performers at the Williamsburg, Brooklyn-based literary and music series, Stained Glass Confessional. Stained Glass Confessional and its sister series, An Echo, A Stain have been featured in The New York Daily News, Time Out, New York, AM-NY, The Greenpoint Greenline, and The Brooklyn Eagle. Both series take place at Stain Bar at 766 Grand Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. They regularly feature some of the best indie musicians and poets on the literary scene today.
Other musicians and writers included in the chapbook are: Swampan Basu, Patricia Carragon, Mike Fiorito, Roxanne Hoffman, Valerie Jupe, Laurel Kallen, Nina Karacosta, (series host) James Kass, Frank Kelly, Jee Leong Koh, Harry Bentivenga Lichtenstein, iIck Loss-Eaton (of the band Leland Sundries), Jason Madison, Puma Perl, James Skidmore, Carrie VanDenburg, Darcie VanHamlin and Joe Yoga.
On April 20th, a book release party will be held at Stain Bar at the latest installment of Stained Glass Confessional. Host James Kass and curator Janice Brabaw will welcome to the stage musicians Lizzah Lohse, Mike Fiorito, and James Skidmore as well as poets Laurel Kallen, Jessica Reed, and Nina Karacosta. The show is FREE although donations for the featured readers are appreciated. The show begins at eight with an open mic from 7-8. A door raffle for a free copy of the anthology will take place.
THE BEST OF STAIN is available NOW for pre-order at Brabaw's website - www.JaniceBrabaw.com and at Stain Bar in Brooklyn, New York.
More information on the writers, Stained Glass Confessional, An Echo, A Stain, and Brabaw are available at www.JaniceBrabaw.com
The Grape Jelly Conspiracy COVER PHOTO CONTEST!
My name is Janice Brabaw and I am the author of the critically acclaimed poetry collection, Universe, Disturbed.
I am currently working on my next book, a collection called The Grape Jelly Conspiracy. I have the words - what I need are the pictures.
That's where YOU come in, friends & photographers.
Have you ever noticed whenever you go to a diner for breakfast they always - without fail - give you a packet of grape jelly? Never strawberry, never raspberry - ALWAYS grape. Well, that's what I need for my cover. The basic elements I need are - grape jelly packet and white diner plate. Everything else is up to you. Just be mindful of labels, trademarks, etc.
Send all your entries to TANGLEDUPINBLUEPRODUCTIONS@Gmail.com
DEADLINE 5/15/2009
The photographer whose picture is selected for my cover will win 5 copies of the book, credit inside the book, and a free copy of my other book, Universe, Disturbed. You also will win the chance to display your photos at an upcoming Stained Glass Confessional Literary & Music Series show (in Williamsburg, Brooklyn) in June.
Start clicking!!!!
I am currently working on my next book, a collection called The Grape Jelly Conspiracy. I have the words - what I need are the pictures.
That's where YOU come in, friends & photographers.
Have you ever noticed whenever you go to a diner for breakfast they always - without fail - give you a packet of grape jelly? Never strawberry, never raspberry - ALWAYS grape. Well, that's what I need for my cover. The basic elements I need are - grape jelly packet and white diner plate. Everything else is up to you. Just be mindful of labels, trademarks, etc.
Send all your entries to TANGLEDUPINBLUEPRODUCTIONS@Gmail.com
DEADLINE 5/15/2009
The photographer whose picture is selected for my cover will win 5 copies of the book, credit inside the book, and a free copy of my other book, Universe, Disturbed. You also will win the chance to display your photos at an upcoming Stained Glass Confessional Literary & Music Series show (in Williamsburg, Brooklyn) in June.
Start clicking!!!!
Friday, April 10, 2009
garden
something is missing from my life
I used to think it was you,
great invisible possibly pretend love
but I think it might be you
little being I hope to grow
that I am taught to never speak of
as not scare away the other
I used to think it was you,
great invisible possibly pretend love
but I think it might be you
little being I hope to grow
that I am taught to never speak of
as not scare away the other
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
salt
I don't think Brooklyn
would miss me
The same way that I'd miss it
This is true of all of
the love affairs in my life
I am one giant raw nerve
and the whole world is made of salt
would miss me
The same way that I'd miss it
This is true of all of
the love affairs in my life
I am one giant raw nerve
and the whole world is made of salt
teetering
Teetering
I shall lock myself up in my bunker
And tie myself down, restraints and gags
The stars and planets have aligned
I don't know how to say
I am in trouble today
Without people thinking it's the usual
I will lie here and seethe and suffer
Til I bleed and release
I will make myself ice
I shall not need hug nor kiss
Nor any kind words
And anything outside of this room
Will cease to matter
Until I can stand the sunshine again
I shall lock myself up in my bunker
And tie myself down, restraints and gags
The stars and planets have aligned
I don't know how to say
I am in trouble today
Without people thinking it's the usual
I will lie here and seethe and suffer
Til I bleed and release
I will make myself ice
I shall not need hug nor kiss
Nor any kind words
And anything outside of this room
Will cease to matter
Until I can stand the sunshine again
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
starlight, starbright
it's hard to wish on a star
with a city sky as black as tar.
how many prayers, how many dreams
have been whispered upon spying 747's
flying over Queens?
with a city sky as black as tar.
how many prayers, how many dreams
have been whispered upon spying 747's
flying over Queens?
disaster
It's one of those nights
That I'd be a-okay
With someone stepping in
Declaring my life a disaster area
Escorting me off
in Red Cross blankets
to a chilly, drafty FEMA trailer
and saying, "it's okay now.
"We'll take care of you."
Then again
Someone's arms around me
Holding me as I cried
And shook and vented
All this built up steam and pressure
Would be just as good.
But somehow
as absurd
to find
That I'd be a-okay
With someone stepping in
Declaring my life a disaster area
Escorting me off
in Red Cross blankets
to a chilly, drafty FEMA trailer
and saying, "it's okay now.
"We'll take care of you."
Then again
Someone's arms around me
Holding me as I cried
And shook and vented
All this built up steam and pressure
Would be just as good.
But somehow
as absurd
to find
pillage, plunder
skin begins
affairs ended by mouths
fingertips like platoons
marching across my skin
I am mounds and mountains
I am rivers and springs
you worked so hard to conquer
then let lie fallow
now scarred and dimpled
pocked and plagued
blankets and bodies
committed to fire
so that no more will die
my white flag replaced
by yours of victory
then
the black of retreat
not of cowardice or threat
but neglect and disinterest
weeds sprout and twist and twine
ropes replace the horizontal
and we all must climb
over walls of the decayed and discarded
trying not to trip
in the groves left by your wagon wheels
leading back to the North
affairs ended by mouths
fingertips like platoons
marching across my skin
I am mounds and mountains
I am rivers and springs
you worked so hard to conquer
then let lie fallow
now scarred and dimpled
pocked and plagued
blankets and bodies
committed to fire
so that no more will die
my white flag replaced
by yours of victory
then
the black of retreat
not of cowardice or threat
but neglect and disinterest
weeds sprout and twist and twine
ropes replace the horizontal
and we all must climb
over walls of the decayed and discarded
trying not to trip
in the groves left by your wagon wheels
leading back to the North
burning season
feral shine
turpentine
in the silver night
under heaven's light
she pours
she spills
amongst Adironacks hills
a spark a blaze
smolder then flame, the haze
she adores
it's the burning season
and there is a ban
she never saw no reason
to restrict fire from the man
in a time with no time to fallow
with only rules and laws to follow
to the night the farmers' trust the burn
then when charred the field will churn
turpentine
in the silver night
under heaven's light
she pours
she spills
amongst Adironacks hills
a spark a blaze
smolder then flame, the haze
she adores
it's the burning season
and there is a ban
she never saw no reason
to restrict fire from the man
in a time with no time to fallow
with only rules and laws to follow
to the night the farmers' trust the burn
then when charred the field will churn
Monday, April 6, 2009
BUY HERE!
For Universe, Disturbed Second Edition ($10 including postage)
For Pre-order for Best of Stain Volume One ($7 including postage)
For Pre-order for Best of Stain Volume One ($7 including postage)
Mixed Blessings
I absolutely am quite aware of the fact that I am a blessed soul. Even when I'm whiny and depressed and freaking out, I do know this on a very basic level. I have this amazing family and quite possibly the best set of friends EVER :) I live in a fun neighborhood, I have a huge apartment, and I get to live with three little panthers that warm my heart everyday. I have my health. Mostly. I live in the time of hi-speed internet and DVR's which is AWESOME for someone as couch potato-y as me :) However, I just gotta say that I am really fucking sick of getting kicked in the teeth by life right now.
Not to say that I feel entitled somehow to have things easier. I struggle with that, I know none of us do. I try to focus on what I can fix and what I can't and work on aspects of my life that need some help. No, this isn't about simply wasting my time and energy feel sorry for myself. This is a simple blog post to say to the powers that be "what the FUCK?"
This is the longest I've ever been unemployed. Over three months. Working on four. I blew my savings long ago and have maxed out my credit cards. Not from crazy spending but just to eat and live and pay bills. I can't pay my rent. I don't know how to tell my landlord this and I'm pretty scared about that. I like my apartment and I don't want to end up in court or getting evicted or thrown out on the street. I'm petrified because I know that if I lose this foothold - my apartment - it is SO hard to leave and come back. It breaks my heart. It really does. I turned 30 and I just feel this level of patheticness. As simple as I CANNOT PAY MY RENT. I am a court order and the good graces from being out on the street. Oh and the best part? The reason I can't pay my rent? Unemployment fucked me over. It's been two weeks and I haven't received any money from them. I have to go to the bank today to deposit some money I had to borrow from my parents and hope it clears by the time the check I need to give my landlord clears. Rent Russian Roulette. And when it does clear and after I pay some bills -- I have NOTHING left. It's depressing.
I keep thinking about how I was hired on a job and someone I thought was a friend purposely worked to take the job away from me. It's really hard not to be bitter. It really, really is.
But I'm working and I'm trying. PImping out my book and the new anthology. I am WORKING for the money I make. But man, it is so hard. It is so very very very hard.
On my living room table is a pile of bills I can't pay. Including my union dues. I'ma fraid to contact me health insurance because seeing I haven't worked all this time.
Ugh I just wanna go back to bed. Just realized I've worked 2 out of the past 8 months.
Not to say that I feel entitled somehow to have things easier. I struggle with that, I know none of us do. I try to focus on what I can fix and what I can't and work on aspects of my life that need some help. No, this isn't about simply wasting my time and energy feel sorry for myself. This is a simple blog post to say to the powers that be "what the FUCK?"
This is the longest I've ever been unemployed. Over three months. Working on four. I blew my savings long ago and have maxed out my credit cards. Not from crazy spending but just to eat and live and pay bills. I can't pay my rent. I don't know how to tell my landlord this and I'm pretty scared about that. I like my apartment and I don't want to end up in court or getting evicted or thrown out on the street. I'm petrified because I know that if I lose this foothold - my apartment - it is SO hard to leave and come back. It breaks my heart. It really does. I turned 30 and I just feel this level of patheticness. As simple as I CANNOT PAY MY RENT. I am a court order and the good graces from being out on the street. Oh and the best part? The reason I can't pay my rent? Unemployment fucked me over. It's been two weeks and I haven't received any money from them. I have to go to the bank today to deposit some money I had to borrow from my parents and hope it clears by the time the check I need to give my landlord clears. Rent Russian Roulette. And when it does clear and after I pay some bills -- I have NOTHING left. It's depressing.
I keep thinking about how I was hired on a job and someone I thought was a friend purposely worked to take the job away from me. It's really hard not to be bitter. It really, really is.
But I'm working and I'm trying. PImping out my book and the new anthology. I am WORKING for the money I make. But man, it is so hard. It is so very very very hard.
On my living room table is a pile of bills I can't pay. Including my union dues. I'ma fraid to contact me health insurance because seeing I haven't worked all this time.
Ugh I just wanna go back to bed. Just realized I've worked 2 out of the past 8 months.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
The Best of Stain Vol 1 & Universe, Disturbed on Sale~
For Universe, Disturbed Second Edition ($10 including postage)
For Pre-order for Best of Stain Volume One ($7 including postage)
For Pre-order for Best of Stain Volume One ($7 including postage)
Pre-Order The Best of Stain Anthology Volume One!!!
This anthology features lyrics, prose, and poetry of performers of the popular music and literary series, Stained Glass Confessional. Edited by series curator and poet Janice Brabaw. Introduction by James Kass, series host.
Featuring the work of:
Swapan Basu
Janice Brabaw
Patricia Carragon
Mike Fiorito
Roxanne Hoffman
Valerie Jupe
Laurel Kallen
Nina Karacosta
James Kass
Frank Kelly
Jee Leong Koh
Harry Bentivenga Lichtenstein
NIck Loss-Eaton (Leland Sundries)
Jason Madison
Puma Perl
James Skidmore
Carrie VanDenburg
Darcie VanHamlin
Joe Yoga
Available NOW for pre-sale for $6 plus $1.00 shipping.
The official release date of this anthology is April 20th! Get your copy before the general public!
Featuring the work of:
Swapan Basu
Janice Brabaw
Patricia Carragon
Mike Fiorito
Roxanne Hoffman
Valerie Jupe
Laurel Kallen
Nina Karacosta
James Kass
Frank Kelly
Jee Leong Koh
Harry Bentivenga Lichtenstein
NIck Loss-Eaton (Leland Sundries)
Jason Madison
Puma Perl
James Skidmore
Carrie VanDenburg
Darcie VanHamlin
Joe Yoga
Available NOW for pre-sale for $6 plus $1.00 shipping.
The official release date of this anthology is April 20th! Get your copy before the general public!
amateur night at redd's tavern
there's broken glass
near the dartboard
I almost step in it
on my way to the bathroom
I'm annoyed no one
told the bartenders
or even bothered
to warn me.
I shoot the closest
doofus playing pool
a dirty look. Then
a fleeting thought
that I, as a regular,
should dutifully report
the party foul
but I'm just too tired
to do any more
shouting over the bar
and these hipsters
so unwelcome but
tolerated in my bar
with their skinny pants
and unlimited bank accounts
are annoying the
hell out of me.
It's Saturday
amateur night
and every Coors tipping
cool kid thinks
they're the next
Bukowski.
Look at them so
tortured
and ironic
in their pre-distressed jeans
their faux vintage
t-shirts and the way they
cheat while playing
Buckhunter.
I wanna go home
just wanna find Ayumi
and say goodnight
I left some candles
burning I recalled
at the last minute
sitting alone on my stool
watching a pasty and hairy
tree stump of a man
thrash and sing in a
heavy metal band
on the flat screen above the bar
looking pretty damn stupid
with the sound turned off
and Bloc Party on the jukebox
near the dartboard
I almost step in it
on my way to the bathroom
I'm annoyed no one
told the bartenders
or even bothered
to warn me.
I shoot the closest
doofus playing pool
a dirty look. Then
a fleeting thought
that I, as a regular,
should dutifully report
the party foul
but I'm just too tired
to do any more
shouting over the bar
and these hipsters
so unwelcome but
tolerated in my bar
with their skinny pants
and unlimited bank accounts
are annoying the
hell out of me.
It's Saturday
amateur night
and every Coors tipping
cool kid thinks
they're the next
Bukowski.
Look at them so
tortured
and ironic
in their pre-distressed jeans
their faux vintage
t-shirts and the way they
cheat while playing
Buckhunter.
I wanna go home
just wanna find Ayumi
and say goodnight
I left some candles
burning I recalled
at the last minute
sitting alone on my stool
watching a pasty and hairy
tree stump of a man
thrash and sing in a
heavy metal band
on the flat screen above the bar
looking pretty damn stupid
with the sound turned off
and Bloc Party on the jukebox
Saturday, April 4, 2009
cradle
If I surrender to sleep
If I give up on this day
Risk the threat of sleepwalking bruised shins
If I lay myself down to bed and pillow
Just once can heaven cradle me to dreams
And promise that tomorrow will be better?
Insomnia be damned
Pills thrown to the wind
if only just once
if only just once
I could relive Christmas morning
and the joy guaranteed upon waking
If I give up on this day
Risk the threat of sleepwalking bruised shins
If I lay myself down to bed and pillow
Just once can heaven cradle me to dreams
And promise that tomorrow will be better?
Insomnia be damned
Pills thrown to the wind
if only just once
if only just once
I could relive Christmas morning
and the joy guaranteed upon waking
2 am
Adderall powder
Blue, crushed, Sephora compact
Rolled rejection slip
Empty apartment
I consider finding some shoes
Perchancing myself to the bar
And seeing who wants to hear my theories
I have such grand things to say
but it's that lonely 2 am hour
I want to discourse quantum physics
I want to lick the corners of the night
I simply can't go to sleep yet
With so much chemical and so much
Brilliance bitter and biting at my tongue
It's now that I wish someone would answer
and we could sprawl on my sofa
grade school slumber party style
get drunk off Canadian Dry
and I wouldn't have to feel so alone
My veins are full of shuttles
The subway of my body
Everyone is off somewhere
But no one is coming to see me
I'm a nice girl, I slur into voicemail messages
I am polite and pretty and bubbly
Bubbles, irridescent, rising
my college graduation I sat on the lawn
blowing bubbles
bubbles
catching the sun
Watching, drifting, disappearing....
bag of soapy bottles at my feet
leftover from a wedding I never had
Oh Strange Little Girl
It's 2 am
You're high on the drugs
of your brief punk rock flirtation
You realize it's been weeks since
anyone held you, hugged you tight
it's been weeks since you
were the exception and not the rule
Tori sings, Tori sings
oh where are you going?
Where are you going?
Where are you going?
I settle my head on my keyboard
no ears to be seen, no eyes to be heard
I can't help but say
I don't know
I don't know
I just don't know
Blue, crushed, Sephora compact
Rolled rejection slip
Empty apartment
I consider finding some shoes
Perchancing myself to the bar
And seeing who wants to hear my theories
I have such grand things to say
but it's that lonely 2 am hour
I want to discourse quantum physics
I want to lick the corners of the night
I simply can't go to sleep yet
With so much chemical and so much
Brilliance bitter and biting at my tongue
It's now that I wish someone would answer
and we could sprawl on my sofa
grade school slumber party style
get drunk off Canadian Dry
and I wouldn't have to feel so alone
My veins are full of shuttles
The subway of my body
Everyone is off somewhere
But no one is coming to see me
I'm a nice girl, I slur into voicemail messages
I am polite and pretty and bubbly
Bubbles, irridescent, rising
my college graduation I sat on the lawn
blowing bubbles
bubbles
catching the sun
Watching, drifting, disappearing....
bag of soapy bottles at my feet
leftover from a wedding I never had
Oh Strange Little Girl
It's 2 am
You're high on the drugs
of your brief punk rock flirtation
You realize it's been weeks since
anyone held you, hugged you tight
it's been weeks since you
were the exception and not the rule
Tori sings, Tori sings
oh where are you going?
Where are you going?
Where are you going?
I settle my head on my keyboard
no ears to be seen, no eyes to be heard
I can't help but say
I don't know
I don't know
I just don't know
pause
A pause is not a settling
Catching your breathe doesn't mean
You're going to exhale back into my bed
And in the end, after you leave
I always ask myself
why I rub salt in my wounds
and why I keep asking you back
for twenty minutes of distraction
Catching your breathe doesn't mean
You're going to exhale back into my bed
And in the end, after you leave
I always ask myself
why I rub salt in my wounds
and why I keep asking you back
for twenty minutes of distraction
Friday, April 3, 2009
Seething Fiona (draft)
I seem to you to seek a new disaster every day
You deem me due to clean my view and be at peace and lay
I mean to prove I mean to move in my own way, and say,
I've been getting along for long before you came into the play - Fiona Apple
Oh my darling
I am, I have sunk, I am
Oh so sullen
I swallowed my rampage
And tore at my own throat
instead of those more deserved
those who deserted
and those who just couldn't
tongue my murky and
dynamic tastes
my darling
oh my darling
I am Tidal, I am emerging
I am on the verge, I am When the Pawn Hits
pretty pucker, folderol, so damn far left to go
a fondling trigger
oh yes, I am this Extraordinary Machine
I move inside and insiduously
under skin, beneath pretense and suspicion
I am a seething Fiona
I am vinyl on skip
I am stain on lip
oh my darling
oh my darling
You are to be warned
I am not to be underestimated
Let's not pretend, placate
Calm, riding, solid, writhing
Let's face it
To you
I am the scariest thing
in this room
I look so pretty
I look so soft
I look so goddamn beautiful
But only when I'm getting you off
I can eviscerate and castrate and assassinate
I have speech that I can no longer swallow
My voice is darker, deeper
Smooth in its uneven candor
Are you afraid
that I will try to teach you a lesson?
Are you afraid
that I am meek and muffled?
Your knees are shaking
Your eyes cannot leave my face
My silly, stupid passtime of mine
It's just lust. It's just rust.
I walk the white picket
between civil and unclean hands
Bipolar, pendulum swing, chicken wing
Perhaps it is time to slap
Clap. Snap. Trapped.
I am crazy
She's crazy, this one says
People tell you all the time what they are
We so rarely
listen
Listen
Sick in the head
Waltzing, prancing
Only you can decide
if I am to be feared
Only you can strike me
Only you can kiss me
second-handly
on accidental Friday nights
Hummmmmmmmm
Hmmmmmmmmm
Hummmmmmmmm
Hmmmmmmmmmm
Everything's going to be just fiiiiiiiiiiine
You deem me due to clean my view and be at peace and lay
I mean to prove I mean to move in my own way, and say,
I've been getting along for long before you came into the play - Fiona Apple
Oh my darling
I am, I have sunk, I am
Oh so sullen
I swallowed my rampage
And tore at my own throat
instead of those more deserved
those who deserted
and those who just couldn't
tongue my murky and
dynamic tastes
my darling
oh my darling
I am Tidal, I am emerging
I am on the verge, I am When the Pawn Hits
pretty pucker, folderol, so damn far left to go
a fondling trigger
oh yes, I am this Extraordinary Machine
I move inside and insiduously
under skin, beneath pretense and suspicion
I am a seething Fiona
I am vinyl on skip
I am stain on lip
oh my darling
oh my darling
You are to be warned
I am not to be underestimated
Let's not pretend, placate
Calm, riding, solid, writhing
Let's face it
To you
I am the scariest thing
in this room
I look so pretty
I look so soft
I look so goddamn beautiful
But only when I'm getting you off
I can eviscerate and castrate and assassinate
I have speech that I can no longer swallow
My voice is darker, deeper
Smooth in its uneven candor
Are you afraid
that I will try to teach you a lesson?
Are you afraid
that I am meek and muffled?
Your knees are shaking
Your eyes cannot leave my face
My silly, stupid passtime of mine
It's just lust. It's just rust.
I walk the white picket
between civil and unclean hands
Bipolar, pendulum swing, chicken wing
Perhaps it is time to slap
Clap. Snap. Trapped.
I am crazy
She's crazy, this one says
People tell you all the time what they are
We so rarely
listen
Listen
Sick in the head
Waltzing, prancing
Only you can decide
if I am to be feared
Only you can strike me
Only you can kiss me
second-handly
on accidental Friday nights
Hummmmmmmmm
Hmmmmmmmmm
Hummmmmmmmm
Hmmmmmmmmmm
Everything's going to be just fiiiiiiiiiiine
post-mutual
I missed you for the first time tonight
I'd missed you before but with angst
Tonight it was a fleeting thought
a sigh then a well, I suppose this is the way
it's going to be now
All italicized, drool, affected speech
I wished I could tell you that
but I guess that'd be weird
and you might not be that interested
anyway
I'd missed you before but with angst
Tonight it was a fleeting thought
a sigh then a well, I suppose this is the way
it's going to be now
All italicized, drool, affected speech
I wished I could tell you that
but I guess that'd be weird
and you might not be that interested
anyway
smallest point
it's been raining for days
down below on the street
only an occasional umbrella passes
but no faces, no voices
out across the rooftops of Brooklyn
I stare and imagine myself magic
I am Stretch Armstrong, I reach, I step
building to building I hop
delicately, purposely
urban toadstools high up in the sky
Last week was March
and lightning lit up my bedroom
back on the farm
thunder sends chills to my toes
New York City I am the smallest point
I am fleshy and non-metallic
and I have no fear
down below on the street
only an occasional umbrella passes
but no faces, no voices
out across the rooftops of Brooklyn
I stare and imagine myself magic
I am Stretch Armstrong, I reach, I step
building to building I hop
delicately, purposely
urban toadstools high up in the sky
Last week was March
and lightning lit up my bedroom
back on the farm
thunder sends chills to my toes
New York City I am the smallest point
I am fleshy and non-metallic
and I have no fear
the wrong one
I wonder if it was you that left this circle on my sofa
I don't blame you, we were pickled in tequila
Stretched out, legs for days, all a daze
Led Zeppelin had nothing on you
And I was amored with your dark curls
You have a tendency to spill
Red dixies perched on coffee tables
Your arms encircled me from across the room
oh no no no no no you are not the man
that i should be writing poetry about
you are not the man I should be falling into
You could take me or leave me
You can drag me all over this apartment
by the hair of my head
by the hook in my bottom lip
and when it's all over
you are remembered in short bursts
and no, you never stay
so tonight as you tried you hardest
to blow my house down and crumble my home of sticks
I could only trace this circle on my sofa
and wonder what other scars you'd leave
if allowed
I don't blame you, we were pickled in tequila
Stretched out, legs for days, all a daze
Led Zeppelin had nothing on you
And I was amored with your dark curls
You have a tendency to spill
Red dixies perched on coffee tables
Your arms encircled me from across the room
oh no no no no no you are not the man
that i should be writing poetry about
you are not the man I should be falling into
You could take me or leave me
You can drag me all over this apartment
by the hair of my head
by the hook in my bottom lip
and when it's all over
you are remembered in short bursts
and no, you never stay
so tonight as you tried you hardest
to blow my house down and crumble my home of sticks
I could only trace this circle on my sofa
and wonder what other scars you'd leave
if allowed
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