once upon a time
i did that thing that theyve been telling us from the very begining not to do
and i tried to stop the split reel with my hand and i sliced my finger in two places.
but i like it
cuz ill have a scar to show next years freshmen. "look," ill say "dont try to stop a rewind with your hand. youll loose a finger."
and i also like it cuz i get to wear a blue band aid on it.
but it hurt.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
Not Editing
Behind a sign on the door that says "im editing in here. go away" i am actually not editing. i am sitting on the editing room floor, writing this poem.
Small Teeth
There's this place in a city somewhere
The part of the city where
The buildings are tight together
And the washing hangs on lines like street fair banners
From your window to my window on a pulley that if pulled the right way
Brings my clothes to me
And the wrong way sends my clothes to you.
It's spring in this part of the city and
Cherry trees that only wish they were cherry trees
They're not really
They're really just pink
which cherries aren't
The cherry trees drop petals but it's fine
They always have more... always.
And the the petals get everywhere
But mostly they gather
In piles in the corners
That the trash cans make with the walls.
After you buzz up and I buzz you inside.
I grin so widely that
I have to cover my mouth even though
There's no one to see
I'm afraid you'll notice how small my teeth are.
And the minute you open the door you can smell
The sweet and stale smell of emulsion on reversal film
Which i know I've told you before
Reminds me of 'The Day After'
Spent in a basement room, looking at the projection screen
Or at the back of the boy's head.
Wondering if he knew that that had been my first kiss
And wondering what I was supposed to do.
And you hand me my whites
Which had ended up through your window
"Thats really just my excuse
For coming to see you." you say
And I smile and show you all my small teeth
Small Teeth
There's this place in a city somewhere
The part of the city where
The buildings are tight together
And the washing hangs on lines like street fair banners
From your window to my window on a pulley that if pulled the right way
Brings my clothes to me
And the wrong way sends my clothes to you.
It's spring in this part of the city and
Cherry trees that only wish they were cherry trees
They're not really
They're really just pink
which cherries aren't
The cherry trees drop petals but it's fine
They always have more... always.
And the the petals get everywhere
But mostly they gather
In piles in the corners
That the trash cans make with the walls.
After you buzz up and I buzz you inside.
I grin so widely that
I have to cover my mouth even though
There's no one to see
I'm afraid you'll notice how small my teeth are.
And the minute you open the door you can smell
The sweet and stale smell of emulsion on reversal film
Which i know I've told you before
Reminds me of 'The Day After'
Spent in a basement room, looking at the projection screen
Or at the back of the boy's head.
Wondering if he knew that that had been my first kiss
And wondering what I was supposed to do.
And you hand me my whites
Which had ended up through your window
"Thats really just my excuse
For coming to see you." you say
And I smile and show you all my small teeth
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Jumpsuit
In this highly hypothetical situation a hypothetical person bought a blue and white striped romper/jumper/ one-piece piece of clothing at the salvation army.
she, the hypothetical person, is wearing it right now.
she likes it.
it looks like summer and a sailboat in the 50's.
when she sits down on the floor and leans over to type on her laptop which is also on the floor in front of her, the jumpsuit, being one piece, does not reveal any part of her but crack.
all in all is quite a wonderful article of clothing apart from the two tiny suspiciously brown stains on hem of the left leg.
but.
the reason i am telling her story, the hypothetical girl's story, is because she is afraid to wear the jumpsuit.
shes afraid of wearing a lot of things.
even things that look good.
its not that she is afraid of looking bad. its quite the opposite actually.
for some reason, that she has begun recently to blame on certain converstations and experiences with women in her childhood- this hypothetical girl is afraid of looking good.
isnt that odd?
i think so.
the sound of the thoughts that accompany this fear are mostly about people noticing that she is trying to look good.
or trying in any way to be anything really.
whats wrong with trying? i asked her quite recently and she said that she didnt think that there was anything wrong with trying. that in fact she loves people who try. it makes them seem alive when they try, try to look good, try to climb a mountain, try to dive off a high dive...
anything that they cannot do that they are trying to do is beautiful to the girl. but somehow in herself... even though shes gottan over most of the problems with looking like shes trying... for instance: she cannot climb a mountain but would not be embarressed for you to see her try to climb a mountain or paint with oil paint of load a bolex camera...
for some reason clothing is still hard...
but
just like 'fat ankels" being her least favorite thing about herself
she supposes that
being afraid to wear a jumpsuit is not the worst thing to be afraid of.
for instance... shed rather feel this fear than a fear of spiders..
or a fear of feet.
she knows people who are afraid of feet and she knows people who are afraid of spiders..
she wonders if effects thier sunny days just as overpoweringly as fear of trying to look good and actually... she doubts that it does.
she, the hypothetical person, is wearing it right now.
she likes it.
it looks like summer and a sailboat in the 50's.
when she sits down on the floor and leans over to type on her laptop which is also on the floor in front of her, the jumpsuit, being one piece, does not reveal any part of her but crack.
all in all is quite a wonderful article of clothing apart from the two tiny suspiciously brown stains on hem of the left leg.
but.
the reason i am telling her story, the hypothetical girl's story, is because she is afraid to wear the jumpsuit.
shes afraid of wearing a lot of things.
even things that look good.
its not that she is afraid of looking bad. its quite the opposite actually.
for some reason, that she has begun recently to blame on certain converstations and experiences with women in her childhood- this hypothetical girl is afraid of looking good.
isnt that odd?
i think so.
the sound of the thoughts that accompany this fear are mostly about people noticing that she is trying to look good.
or trying in any way to be anything really.
whats wrong with trying? i asked her quite recently and she said that she didnt think that there was anything wrong with trying. that in fact she loves people who try. it makes them seem alive when they try, try to look good, try to climb a mountain, try to dive off a high dive...
anything that they cannot do that they are trying to do is beautiful to the girl. but somehow in herself... even though shes gottan over most of the problems with looking like shes trying... for instance: she cannot climb a mountain but would not be embarressed for you to see her try to climb a mountain or paint with oil paint of load a bolex camera...
for some reason clothing is still hard...
but
just like 'fat ankels" being her least favorite thing about herself
she supposes that
being afraid to wear a jumpsuit is not the worst thing to be afraid of.
for instance... shed rather feel this fear than a fear of spiders..
or a fear of feet.
she knows people who are afraid of feet and she knows people who are afraid of spiders..
she wonders if effects thier sunny days just as overpoweringly as fear of trying to look good and actually... she doubts that it does.
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