My Chest

....because a blog is cheaper than therapy.

Well, I was thinking for awhile (ok, several months) that I was hot shit. It's kinda embarrassing now to admit. But I mean I worked REALLY hard to get what I had. I have? I just really was absolutely 100% sure that my star was on the rise. Then I kinda hit the wall because of a lot of mistakes I was making. And then I lost the venue for my shows. I don't know -- I had so much support from people for my writing and performing and then at my last show I got this panicked feeling, this awful, awful thought:

What if they're all just being nice?

So since then I haven't been able to write and I've been kinda hiding my head. I'm sure I probably don't have that much to feel stupid about. But I just got this wash of self-consciousness. I was at the point where I felt perfectly comfortable standing on stage and saying ANYTHING. I thought I was in a groove. And now - the butterflies, the stage fright is back. I think it's my agoraphobia kicking back in. With at tad of narcissism thrown in my for good measure.

I was supposed to do a gig last night - not like a big feature or anything - but a set at an open and I just couldn't do it. Agoraphobia kicked in. And also I knew that none of my friends were going. I know I need to be more professional but there's just no motivation for me to go to a venue where I don't know anyone (as wonderful and supportive as they may be!). My social anxiety kicks in and I find myself tongue-tied and scared. I had one friend who always was available to go with me to shows when no one else would and now they're less than interested/available and it sucks. And I'm pissed off. I feel abandoned. I thought we were friends and this person just pretty much disappears. We never talk anymore and when we do I'm just so pissed off. But anyway, I digress.

I've been irritable and pissed off a LOT the past month or so. Times are really tough for me, for sure. I have these moments of sheer desperation and then I remember my pride and then I feel like an asshole. I'm completely disenchanted with every aspect of my life. I'm becoming a bigger shut-in then I used to be. I'm depressed. I'm lonely and frustrated about my life and all I keep doing is pulling away from life. I'm in the heaviest I've ever been. I'm in the worst shape of my life. And the one thing I felt confident about - my writing, my performing - I just feel like shit about.

So yeah. I'm sick of living in NYC but don't know where else to go. Nor do I have the money to go. I'm sick of being single but I know I'm in no position to be in a relationship. And every man I meet is -- well. I'm just gonna say it. I mean FREAKS. I mean the biggest assholes. Like... it's staggering. It really is. I talk to my other friends and they don't have nearly the amount of bullshit in their lives like I do. Because I keep meeting such awful people I am even more convinced that I'm never going to do better. So I'm getting to the point where I'm pretty sure I'm never goign to fall in love again. I'm wondering at what point I should just settle. And it makes me bitter and pissed off more.

I don't have money for anything. I've been out of to work for 5 months (except a week or so on a movie that dried up) and I'm pissed off at my union for being useless. I'm pissed off because I am late paying them two quarters of my dues. I am going to lose my health insurance the end of this year. I've worked in this indsutry for 8 years and I'm just sick of banging my head against the wall. But I don't know what else to do. I can't afford to go back to school nor do I want to.

So I essentially am completely, 100% lost. I'm broke, I'm depressed, I'm single, and I have no idea what or where I want to be. I spend 99% of my time in my apartment watching shows from my DVR and sitting at this computer. This is no exaggeration. Everyday blends into the next. wake up around 10. Sometimes 11. Then I'm online until like 1 or 2 am. Literally. I have no life. And the time I did spend focusing on my poetry and events -- well, I've lost my confidence.

I have no money so I don't go out. I have social anxiety so I hate to go into the city or really anywhere that's not in a 4 block radius. It's just getting REALLY REALLY old.

My mom is coming today. I want to take her to do fun things but we have no money and I feel bad because I OWE her money that I can't repay.

I feel so pathetic and pissed off. And it's been this way for MONTHS.

I am just so very very very unhappy with the way my life is right now. I really have no idea how to fix it. I'm going to go to some open mics and try to make some new connections. I'm goign to try to force myself to move more. I called a center in the city for food addiction. Food rehab. And as for work. I really just don't know. I'm lost.

New Pieces for Persephonous Blue

"How Was Your Weekend?" by Angel Thompson Georges
"For the L Sisters" by Lori Williams
"A Soft-Ass Mother Fucker" by Erek Smith
"Prophet" by Paul Christian Stevens

the game

Was thinking I wish I had someone to curl with up with and watch "the game." I don't care about "the game" but I like cute boys who do.

I wrote an email to my ex to see how he was doing. He ignored it. I wish it didn't matter.

Wish I could kill hope. Not about him. I just mean hope in general.

Sweet God I've Been Miserable Lately

I'm not going to get into all the crap I've been going through lately. I'm getting kinda sick of being locked inside my own head. So fucking self-absorbed. When I'm freaking out about things and/or feeling depressed I just sorta shrink into this miserable little woman scared and and pissed off about everything. I've been doing a lot more existing than living lately. But life is freaking gorgeous and today is a perfect day in NYC. It's warm but cool, beachy but breezy. And the best? We're supposed to get a big storm tonight. So I'm happy. I'm also happy that the book is coming along well. Not so happy that I still haven't done my dishes. But I will. Happy because my mom is coming down to see my last show at Stain. Pissed off because I'm still not working. Happy because I just read that gold fish love oranges. Kinda looking forward to seeing mine pick away at one -- I'm so weird.

My stomach is bitchy today. Going to go feed the fish and do one more pass through Chapter 5. I'd really like to get the first 100 pages squared away by the end of the weekend. I'm about half way through.

Muah's!

Goodbye, Stain Bar

Love You Til Then: A Celebration of Stain Bar
Friday, June 12th 7:00 pm $5 Cover Charge
Stain Bar, 766 Grand Street Williamsburg Brooklyn

After five years of supporting the arts of New York City, Williamsburg landmark Stain Bar is closing its doors. Many performers, including yours truly, got their start on their modest stage and without this bar, An Echo, A Stain and Stained Glass Confessional would not exist. Tonight we say thank you to owners Craig and Caroline and celebrate the spirit of Stain with music and poetry.

All performers are allowed 5-7 minutes.



"An Echo A Stain" by Bjork

She touched
My arm
And smiled

One of these days
Soon
Very soon
Love you 'til then
Love you 'til then

Feel my breath
On your neck
And your heart
Will race

Don't say no to me
You can't say no to me
I won't see you
Denied

I'm sorry you saw that
I'm sorry he did it
An echo
A stain
A stain

I can't say no to you
I can't say no to you
Say nothing

Free falling
Complete

taboo

Perhaps some things should not be said
But they should always be written

I am one who will bleed on your stage
I will dissolve into the wood, taking grains
with me as if I were acid, not flesh

Perhaps some things should not be said
But they should always be written

I Need Money - Buy My Stuff!!!

Tonight I learned that the movie I'm working on is kaput so after less than 2 weeks of work, I'm back on the dole.

In an effort to make money and to also de-clutter my life, I'm going to be selling a ton of my stuff. Hey, it's just stuff right? And maybe you need some of this stuff. Help a girl out. I'll add pics and descriptions tomorrow.

- PS2 w/controllers & wires, guitar hero guitar (corded) and FOUR guitar hero games - 1-3 & 80's. $100

- Misc. DVD's. Will post later. I have the first two seasons of Lost if you're interested.

- A small silver DVD player with remote. $15

- Large green coffee table. $50

- Collection of green vases $20 for all - 3 little ones, 1 large one, 1 extra large

- Cat toy/scratch post $10

- Black and Decker Food Processor. Used once. $25

- Glass pasta canister. $5

- Brand new wide-slot toaster. $7

- Collection of recipe books, some nice hard covers. $10

- Unused plastic kiddie pool. $5

- Hair straightener. $5

- Blowdryer $5

- Small curling iron $2

- Electric kettle. $10

- Large, metal, collapsible, bi-level animal crate $20 obo

- Ikea Desk $5

- Black wooden Ikea chair $10 (never used)

- Misc. cookie sheets, baking pans, & roaster rack $15

- HP Multi-Use Printer, Copier, Scanner in 1. With extra ink cartridges. Works perfectly. $60

- Misc. books. List to come

- Large black grocery cart. $15

- Treadmill. Gym-quality. Works perfectly except the incline is off. Paid 800 dollars two years ago. More details to come. $500

- Collection of Jem & The Holograms Collectibles, circa 1985. $75 (paid way, way more.) Details to come.

- Full length mirror, brown frame. $7

- Professional headphones. $20

- Set of red mugs. $5

- Glass dip & chip server $10

- Decorative wooden incense holder $5

- White gravy boat. Never used. $5

- Pink and purple stripped afghan throw. $10

- Thick Ikea cream colored curtains. Floor-length. 2 sets. $25

- Black high heel knee boots. Size 9. $15

- Lid holder that goes on your wall. $5 Ikea

- Proctor Silex Blender. Great for margaritas. $10

- Bar set with measuring glass, strainer, and shaker $10

- Small fondue set $10

- Small Proctor Silex 4-6? cup coffee maker. Used less than 10 times. $15

- Set of Brooklyn Brewery Oktoberfest beer steins with handles. $10

- Magnetic paper towel holder $5

- USB 3.5 Floppy Reader $10

- Wrought-iron floor candleabra, holds 5 pillar candles. $20

- Gorgeous wooden antique magazine rack. $20

- 3 black shadow box shelves $15

- Cute picnic basket from Target. It's wicker with white gingham. Paid $20. Will sell for $15. Used once.

- George Foreman Grill, small $15

- Metal dishstrainer with red base and black utensil bin $15

- Electric mixer $15

- Crockpot $20

- Painting - woman in red $20

- Small space heater/fan $15

- Blue yankees cap, barely worn $12

- Black pinstripe cap $5

- Small black formalish purse $5

- Yoga DVD w/ mat & strap $18

- Small white shelf $5

Latest Janice Brabaw News

An Echo, A Stain is being re-invented.

For the past four shows - and the upcoming show on Monday - we've had a bunch of featured readers and then a small open. In order to separate AEAS from Stained Glass Confessional, I'm going to make it more of an open mic with only a couple featured readers.

It might fall on its face but hey, it's worth trying.

In other news, fellow SLU alum (and author) Mark R. Brand and I are putting together a book event at our alma mater for this fall. We're thinking a book fair, some readings, a panel. It'll also be to promote his new anthology, Thank You, Death Robot, Bridgette's Gallagher's Reading Leaves, and my new collection, The Grape Jelly Conspiracy. Exciting!!!

I'm also pushing back the release date of my memoir, And Again to Spring 2010.

annoyances of the day

I hate preachy Christians. You don't hear me trying to convert others to atheism.
I hate preachy vegetarians. You don't hear me trying to convert to baconism.

That's all. Just had to say.

Latest Bio

Janice Brabaw is the critically acclaimed author of Universe, Disturbed, a collection of poetry that has been hailed as "Prozac Nation in verse." She is a passionate advocate for childhood mental health awareness and has lectured on the warning signs of suicide and depression in young adults. She is also the author of And Again: A Memoir of a Life Disordered and the editor of The Best of Stain anthology series and Persephonous Blue Quaterly. Born and raised in rural New York, she now lives in Brooklyn where she runs Stained Glass Confessional and An Echo, A Stain reading series. Janice has performed through New York City and beyond in such legendary venues as The Bowery Poetry Club, Otto's Shrunken Head, and the Library Lounge. Her work has appeared in Poesis, smoke, Violent Femininity - A Journal of Female Poets, The Toronto Quarterly, Ophelia Street, The Record, and The Cartier Street Review. www.JaniceBrabaw.com.

Violent Femininity - Volume 1

Just got word that three of my poems are included in the first edition of Violent Femininity Volume 1.

They include:

Photosynthesis
If
Tongue For Folie.

Sweet!

old maid (drafty draft draft of a draft)

My first boyfriend
was in fifth grade
and he'd tell me I was
oh so pretty and call me
every night despite
the mean things kids would
say he'd call, he'd always call
we had a song, it was by Winger
and everything was awesome
until he cheated on me
with that slutty little
foster girl who used to
ride in the church van
with me in the summer

I read romance books the kind I bought from Kmart with the pretty teen girl on the cover the ones about the nerdy, quiet girl on vacation who met the cute lifeguard who she at first thought was way out of her league but he saw something in her and then they'd end up kissing by the water and her life would change, her life would change for the better and they always had the best of happiest endings.

My second boyfriend was
in the seventh grade
but he made me pretend he
didn't know me because they
picked on us so bad. he'd never
even kissed me on my cheek
but they said I'd crush him
if we had sex and I'd cry
he'd call me everything night yes
despite pretending he hated me during
the day he'd call me at night until
he decided to date my cousin instead.
he didn't call her fatass in study
hall then sweetheart on the phone
I bite my lips red.

I used to read those YA horror novels where the girl in question was pretty but unsupposing and you spend one hundred and twenty pages wondering if she chose the right brother maybe the nice one who says he loves her is really the one who strangled Jennie on the pier and perhaps it's his mysterious dark-eyed brother that appears in shadows at odd times who is the one who wants to save her. She always makes it out alive. And with the right guy. Crying and wrapped up in his arms, safe and secure.

I watched the girls in junior
high get asked to dance in the
cafeteria and I always sat in the
corner or took the time to get
a soda from the machine or blot
my thick black eyeshadow in the
bathroom in preparation for the tears
I'd cry while locked in the stall
at the end of the night when
just like in gym class twice a week
just like in schoolyard kickball games
I am the last girl left sitting
the last girl picked for the team.

I wrote a book about a girl who left her highschool sweetheart but he still carries a torch for her despite the bad decisions she's made in her life including dating the bad boy who hits her and then falling in love with a vampire. He loves her and even sacrifices his life for her and she always takes him for granted. What a luxury to have love to spare, to wipe your ass with, to cast aside like soiled paper towels.

I'm on the committee that chose
the blue and green crepe paper
to decorate the gym with and I spent
hours blowing up balloons and crafting the
river of dreams across the half court line
I sold candy bars and magazine subscriptions
the day past to buy tickets to the prom
I never expected to be queen
but I never thought I wouldn't be asked to go
I watch the pairs form and realize that
even my guy friends don't want to ask me
in hopes they can do better and on the night
I leave my dress in my closet and cut
myself to sleep.

I wrote a movie about a girl that is so desperate for love that she does anything she can to manipulate her boyfriend not to leave. She threatens to kill herself she pretends to be a whole other person she dyes her hair and bends and contorts to fit in his human tetris grooves but still it's not enough and he leaves and she falls apart. She always falls apart. No one loves girls that fall apart. Too many pieces to pick up. Too much work. So not worth it.

Other girls in my dorm go on dates
with real-life men and i sit in Vickie's
room typing and pretending on Yahoo chat
and when i do meet him in real life he says
I'm too fat but takes my virginity
even thought he says I'm ugly because
after all it is my birthday and I deserve a gift
he leaves me to rot, to bleed
he returns to ether
A soiled paper towel, i throw myself away.

I wrote a short story about a girl that decides to take charge of her life and shrug off this society-imposed misconception that she is anything without a man. She falls in and out of love easily and finds meaning in everything and never loses perspective and never had to take medication to be normal and she is bright and cheery and independent and never worries she will die depressed and alone in an empty house with only cats to claim and clean her bones.

I turn thirty in the bathroom of a french restaurant
My ovaries celebrate twenty-two years of failed
attempts to make me a mother
I consider the returned engagement ring of my early 20's
and the endless tampax thoughtlessly flushed
but I return to my red wine and good friends
and try not to say my fears out loud
for fear that the men will hear and run and hide
forever

I write this blog that no one knows about where I bitch about all the things I can't talk to people about in real life like this sick, dark feeling I get whenever someone breathlessly announces they're engaged/pregnant/closing on their fabulous brand new house. It's a dark green and black sensation much like gangrene or cancer that seeps into my pores and I can't tell anyone that I've lost the ability to be happy for anyone else with their brand new loves, rings, and fetuses.

I've always been years ahead
or years behind
I've always been the wrong
size the wrong chemical composition
the wrong color the wrong shape
the wrong girl the damaged one
the watcher, the waiter, the fear
of the hesitator.

A thirty year screech
a thirty year ravine
filled with thirty years of tears
and sweat and blood
that spills and careens
and just won't go in the right
direction I am alien and outside
and I don't think another
thirty years is going to
fix a goddamn thing.

This is what it is
to run out of time.

breaking the hip (draft)

i'm too settled in my ways
these youngins on my lawn
in my bar, on my streets
annoy me with their skinny jeans
their shoegazing bullshit
you post-emo wanna be hipster bastards
you're getting younger every year
and I'm still here
I'm still here
fucking a, why am i still here?

park slope is where
williamsburg transplants
go to breed
if you can't or don't succeed
if you are not selected for your genes
your high cheekbones your perfect ass
your trust fund your je ne sais quoi
we are shifted to the south side
to rot on kent avenue
in the old folks home of billyburg
waiting for the return
of the williamsburg strangler
drinking at the rock star bar
bitching about the rising price of things
and dying the black back in our hair
or to the top of fourth floor buildings
stretched between the Ricans and the Guineas
you'll be doing the Grand Street shake
past the Bushwick Country Club
breaking a hip to music
you're even too young for, old man.
Joe Strummer you are not
and you hipsterettes
will fade to popsicle sticks
because even in the East Village
no one stayed forever

cue the fade
begin the yuppie parade
even rosemary's will sell out
to a pink berry
and yes it's better to burn out
then fade away
but what happens to the
fifty-year old hipsters
when they're the last ones
picked in gym class
again?

even if you dress like you're a
fifteen year old from 1983
until 2023
you're can't keep this shit up forever
and eventually the casual encounters
on Craigslist won't be enough
and those who are left in the Burg
won't be cool anymore

what then?

what

THEN?

you are not a rockstar
barista
bartender
bike messenger

what

NOW?

emily post

My nails have grown too long
They are good for nothing
But getting snagged on loose strings
And leaving blood trails when I scratch.
In New York I don't even have to go outside
for the soot to seep into my nailbeds
I clean them constantly with
folded edges of post-its, pen caps,
my teeth.

Perhaps these are not the ways
of the marrying kind.
Perhaps that is what I"m missing
this gene to keep clean
and to maintain a tidy house
and pristine hygiene.

I don't always wear clean clothes
I pick my nose on a daily basis
and would choose a cigarette
over food, over your sex
if given the options
on side by side plates

I forget to change my sheets
the litter
the trash
I forget to wash the dishes
the toilet
my panties
I forget to shave my legs
my armpits
my toes
I am not good at pretending I am perfect
I do not stand in front of many mirrors
I forget to wax, to watch my weight, to
suck in my gut, to turn down chocolate,
to speak like a lady, to not want to fuck you,
to iron my shirts, to wish you happy birthday
I forget so many things on purpose
but do I always have to be so bothered?

Can't clean hair
some perfume
a good heart
and best intentions
be enough?

Stuff I Wish I Wrote

I just read "Narcoleptica" by fellow SLU alum, Mark R. Brand and loved it so much I wanna recommend that all of you do the same:

http://www.silverthought.com/brand09.html

It's really great, check it out.

Three New Pieces Selected!

"Circadian Soul Prison" by William Bryant
"Persephone Meets Pluto on the Web" by Richard Marx Weinraub
"Under The Olive Branch" by Ron D'Alena

Janice in Fourth Coast Entertainment Magazine

March 21st 2009 - Janice Brabaw, a Hermon
native who’s been living for the past seven years
in Brooklyn, was in town for a quick road show.
This performance took place at the Partridge
Café in downtown Canton. Brabaw read only one
poem from her successful debut book, Universe,
Disturbed, concentrating instead on more recent
material, some of which had been written in only
the past few days. Brabaw is an excellent reader—
her delivery radiates passion, humor, and a sharp
eye for detail. A 2001 graduate from SLU, she
has several new books coming out, including her
prose memoir, And Again: A Life Disordered. Jan-
ice was supported by the poetry of a few members
of SLAP (St. Lawrence Area Poets): John Berbrich,
Nancy Berbrich, and Valerie Harrington. Check out
her website at www.janicebrabaw.com for more
information.

a dollar a pack at the rez by Janice Brabaw

in my mother's house
even the once lily lampshades
are nicotine yellow
the delicate lace of doilies past
crocheted, now curled, lung-like
tumorless but strained
smushed under plaster owl lamps
the ash collects in thread webs

my father is on the floor
prone, pillow-propped
chainsmoking and watching Jeopardy
my mother pops corn in the kitchen
I am afghan-wrapped on the
hand me down Marlboro-red couch
the butter scent drifts through
but after eighteen years of
breathing second-hand
I have lost my sense of smell
Heightened due to compensation, I hear
rogue kernels slapping the bowl
refusing to be Redenbachered, proper

mother settles into cushions next to me
I finger the pack of generic Indian cigarettes
Natives, they read, that she tosses to the table
A dollar a pack at the rez, she says
Handful of grease and sacrificed maise
I watch her gray skin puff and exhale
I weighed five pounds when I was born
Cord around my neck, blue but feisty
But it was the seventies, she'd say
And at least she didn't drink.

Persephonous Blue, Volume 1 Preview

While we are still reviewing submissions, we are excited to say that we will be featuring the following pieces and authors in our upcoming journal. More to come!

"Garima" by Lara Konesky
"First Aid" by Daniel W.K. Lee
"Like A Wounded Thing" by Colin James
"If" by Stephanie Bryant Anderson
"passport" by leah angstman
"A Species of the Thesaurus" by Ben Nardolli
"Nonni bleeds her penitence" by Kristin Bapst
"Plastic Bag" by Timothy Freeman
"The Hole of the Cockroach" by KJ
"Not Even The Colour of Your Eyes" by JJ Steinfield
"The Road" by Christian Ward
"Cocktail" by Michael Weems
"And Satyrs Shall Dance There" by John Berbrich
"Charley Plays a Tune" by Michael Lee Johnson
"afterhours at the coconut" by puma perl
"Untitled" by Louis M. Watts
"Because It Was Night" by David McLean

do butterflies still erupt
when you fall in love after thirty
or should you learn to
nurse and shelter cocoons
and hope for the best?

I am wondering if love is not
like the first snort of cocaine
that can never be matched


(i'm half asleep as i write this)

Persephonous Blue

Tangled Up In Blue Productions announces the launch of Persephonous Blue Quarterly!

Persephonous Blue is a new literary publication that features confessional poetry and inspired short fiction. Inspired by the myth of Persephone, the Greek goddess of the underworld - a woman bound to darkness a third of her life. Persephonous Blue is raw, frank, and honest. Persephonous Blue is about madness, darkness, revitalization, redemption. It is a literary publication for "she/he who destroys the light."

Persephonous Blue loves Allen Ginsberg, Riot Grrl, Liz Phair, Tori Amos, Ani DiFranco, Fiona Apple, Alanis Morrisette, Dylan Thomas,Sylvia Plath, Ted Hughes, Anne Sexton, Henry Miller, Anais Nin, and Morrissey. Persephonous Blue is edgy, passionate, ugly, beautiful, intense, at-your-throat, and heart-on-your-sleeve.

Learn more or submit HERE!

Update!

Today was a rainy and gray day here in New York City but I was too busy to notice. I started work today on the new film, Family. You'll be here more about it in the next few months for sure. When it comes out in theaters and you go to get your Bow Wow fix (its his vehicle), stick around after film to see moi in the credits as payroll accountant. It's so dorky but even after eight years in "Hollywood" I still giggle when I see my name.

Anywho, the REAL big news today is that the third edition of The Toronto Quarterly was released today and features my poem "Future." You can pick up a copy at Lulu for $6 here!