Write on

poetrysince1912:

This is as close to being happyas a family ever gets.I envy their content. And yetI’ve done that too, and knowthat no hobby or activitydistracts one from thinkingforever. Every human beingis an intellectual more or less.Louis Simpson’s “The People Next Door” (quoted above) appeared in the May 1988 issue of Poetry. The New York Times has his obituary, where the Pulitzer Prize-winning poet is called “a poet of everyday life,” and Simpson is quoted: “I did not intend to be a poet. I wanted to tell stories.”

I want to tell stories, maybe I’m actually a poet too. Or maybe I’m not a writer at all. Oh how sad. 

poetrysince1912:

This is as close to being happy
as a family ever gets.
I envy their content. And yet
I’ve done that too, and know
that no hobby or activity
distracts one from thinking
forever. Every human being
is an intellectual more or less.

Louis Simpson’s “The People Next Door” (quoted above) appeared in the May 1988 issue of Poetry. The New York Times has his obituary, where the Pulitzer Prize-winning poet is called “a poet of everyday life,” and Simpson is quoted: “I did not intend to be a poet. I wanted to tell stories.”

I want to tell stories, maybe I’m actually a poet too. Or maybe I’m not a writer at all. Oh how sad. 

This movie is so excellent…

(Source: nedhepburn)

nedhepburn:

Hmm.

What! I’ve never gotten an interesting horoscope like that! 

nedhepburn:

Hmm.

What! I’ve never gotten an interesting horoscope like that! 

Part of why I was frustrated with acting was because I took it so seriously. I want it to be so good that I get in my own way. It’s like love: when you fall in love, you’re not yourself anymore. You lose control of being natural and showing the beautiful parts of yourself, and all somebody recognizes is this total desperation. And that’s very unattractive. Once I became a total buffoon, it was so liberating. I’d see child actors and I’d get so jealous, because they’re just completely wide open. If you could convince them that something frightening was going to happen, they would actually feel terror. I wanted to feel that so badly. I’d just been acting too long, and it had kind of been ruined for me. I wanted to put myself in a situation that would feel brand-new and hopefully inspire a new way of approaching acting. It did do that for me.

Joaquin Phoenix (via bbook

This is how I feel about my writing sometimes. 

(Source: iwanttobelikearollingstone, via bbook)

bbook:

I’m haunted a little this evening by feelings that have no vocabulary and events that should be explained in dimensions of lint rather than words. I’ve been examining half-scraps of my childhood. They are pieces of distant life that have no form or meaning. They are things that just happened like lint.

bbook:

I’m haunted a little this evening by feelings that have no vocabulary and events that should be explained in dimensions of lint rather than words. I’ve been examining half-scraps of my childhood. They are pieces of distant life that have no form or meaning. They are things that just happened like lint.

(Source: pickasong)

bbook:

What, when one is the engine behind a multi-million dollar industry devoted to inoffensive desire, can a man do? Efron began by looking in the mirror. “As a man watching Zac Efron,” said Zac Efron. “I don’t necessarily like me yet. So how can I like Zac Efron?” He toyed ponderously with a lone edamame then concluded. “Maybe, if that guy shook things up, did what I didn’t expect him to do, if he wasn’t afraid to be a dick, if he wasn’t afraid to fall on his face, if he hung around long enough and did the grunt work, one day I might respect him.”
So, like a ship of state, Efron set his course for a distant shore where Terpsichore, Melpomene, and Calliope dwelt. There were some hiccups on the way. (No one who saw 2011’s New Year’s Eve could call it anything but frumious gunk.) But the journey had begun, the Rubicon crossed.
Retrospectively, of course, it is easy to see the signs that something had to give. There was that condom that accidentally flew from his pocket onto the red carpet at the premiere of The Lorax, a film adaptation of a Dr. Seuss book for which Efron provided a voice, as apt a place as any to announce that Efron makes love. (“A brilliant fuck–up,” he calls it.) There was the prison tattoo he got on his hand that reads YOLO, short for You Only Live Once [Ed Note: Funny how YOLO is only used to justify poor judgment. No one says, “I should put an extra 15% into my 401K because YOLO.”] Efron doesn’t remember exactly the details of that tattoo. “I went through a period there, when I was single for the first time in six years, where I went out a lot,” he explained sheepishly.
But there was nothing as explicit, mindful, or successful as The Paperboy, Lee Daniels’ pulpy tale of murder, journalism, and sex in the bayou, which comes out October 5th. “I wanted a project that involved risk,” Efron explained, “I wanted to see how deep the rabbit hole went and how far I could really push myself.” If The Paperboy marks twain, the rabbit hole is very deep. In fact, it might never end.
Zac Efron Doesn’t Want to Be Your Teenage Crush Anymore

bbook:

What, when one is the engine behind a multi-million dollar industry devoted to inoffensive desire, can a man do? Efron began by looking in the mirror. “As a man watching Zac Efron,” said Zac Efron. “I don’t necessarily like me yet. So how can I like Zac Efron?” He toyed ponderously with a lone edamame then concluded. “Maybe, if that guy shook things up, did what I didn’t expect him to do, if he wasn’t afraid to be a dick, if he wasn’t afraid to fall on his face, if he hung around long enough and did the grunt work, one day I might respect him.”

So, like a ship of state, Efron set his course for a distant shore where Terpsichore, Melpomene, and Calliope dwelt. There were some hiccups on the way. (No one who saw 2011’s New Year’s Eve could call it anything but frumious gunk.) But the journey had begun, the Rubicon crossed.

Retrospectively, of course, it is easy to see the signs that something had to give. There was that condom that accidentally flew from his pocket onto the red carpet at the premiere of The Lorax, a film adaptation of a Dr. Seuss book for which Efron provided a voice, as apt a place as any to announce that Efron makes love. (“A brilliant fuck–up,” he calls it.) There was the prison tattoo he got on his hand that reads YOLO, short for You Only Live Once [Ed Note: Funny how YOLO is only used to justify poor judgment. No one says, “I should put an extra 15% into my 401K because YOLO.”] Efron doesn’t remember exactly the details of that tattoo. “I went through a period there, when I was single for the first time in six years, where I went out a lot,” he explained sheepishly.

But there was nothing as explicit, mindful, or successful as The Paperboy, Lee Daniels’ pulpy tale of murder, journalism, and sex in the bayou, which comes out October 5th. “I wanted a project that involved risk,” Efron explained, “I wanted to see how deep the rabbit hole went and how far I could really push myself.” If The Paperboy marks twain, the rabbit hole is very deep. In fact, it might never end.

Zac Efron Doesn’t Want to Be Your Teenage Crush Anymore

Let it rain

loqui:

All those times 
Avoiding the rain 
Pinching lifts 
Off others
Holding back 
For it to pass

Until one day 
You got caught 
Stuck between 
Two closed doors
Out in the open 
At the mercy of the heavens

Paint flicker on a white shirt, nothing 
A few stones and a bruise, a graze - 
Holding on

When there were lobbed bricks, punched, kicked 
You faltered, bent knees, collapsed
And you went inside, you ventured within 
Pummelled down, here came the boots 
And you hurt and you spat 
Blood and the cuss words of numbing 
- That’s when the humming of downpour began

Let it rain 
You let it rain 
And where’d you go? 
When within was empty but for echoes
Behind locked doors and boarded windows 
You had to let it come kicking down 
Pouring down scalding your soft skin 
Sticking your clothing to your pale skin 
And let it soak through 
Let the water reach the bone 
And you kicked up the puddles
Jumped in and splashed back 
Against every car passing

Ripped back your head with laughter 
And let it spew out 
Let it shout out 
Let it piss out and cum streams of exorcism 
Pushed inside out, you lost the care for your clothing 
And let yourself out

So let it rain 
Let it soak through
Let it cleanse you 
Let it wash away that grit 
You cannot get to 
In the shower - 
Let it rain

Is it finally going to rain

      today?

The sky has been taunting me

      threatening

           for days

leaving me waiting.

My emotions sit just on the verge of

       overflow.

I need the downpour

            outpour

                 flush

The first drops fall hard on the patio,

the pool, the ripples

hiding the mess that sits on the bottom.

The leaves are

     slimy reminders

of my lack of motivation and

domestic resilience.

                       Failures

washed away in the rain

June 1966 : Poetry Magazine

Ron Loewinsohn. This one is a starting point. Read all of his. I really enjoy an abstract poem with a good narrative. That is where the real beauty in poetry is created. I’d like to use this poem to inspire a short story, might produce something interesting.