This week's Junkyard is brought to you by my Queen of Hearts notebook:
[1] "Your mom told me to tell your sister that Peru is a planet."
[2] "It's the shaky leg. It's just like the stanky leg, but grandmas do it."
[3] "Foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds."
[4] "I could shit my way out of a hostage situation."
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Freewrite again. Week 3, more, more, more
I just read "The House on Mango Street."
Sad book. Sad, sad, sad book. Made me cry almost. The language was breathtakingly beautiful throughout. I don't even know what I am typing, or why, or for what cause. I just feel like I need to write something, and this is what it will be. I am going to just write a poem. No pre-notes, no outside sources, nothing. I just want to write, and you can listen if you feel like you need to, or you don't have to.
It is like the echo of something soft against a cold wall
By: David Mathis
I don't always feel like when I sit in a chair, I should be attentive--I've fallen asleep in many a chair, tipped back, cowl over the eyes, or not--lamp blaring, headphones over my ears with music streaming into my head at odd angles; I would say mostly the obtusely angled music gets through to tamp my dreams when I am asleep, tamping them into soft earthen mounds like the kind that the Native Americans used to bury their dead in. I like to think that I don't need sleep, like I've somehow transcended normal human behavior and that I could stand for days in the same spot, like a tree--they always cast the same exact shadows every day, in the same pattern, their elongated forms wrapping around like the hands of a clock, and you could probably even tell time by them if you were so inclined; the problem with telling time by a tree is that it is a lost art, and nobody even wants to take the time to read a tree like a clock anymore. Mostly, these days, people make trees into clocks in a different way.
I went to the petrified forest once. It was the same day that I visited the painted desert, may have been the same day that I went to the grand canyon, saw Earth's largest battle scar which was carved an inch at a time by a tiny river down at the bottom of the gash--if it were dammed, it is probable that the entire ordeal would never have happened, and people from all over the world would have simply never come to the spot with the dam and I wouldn't be staring into the biggest gash on the face of the Earth. Interesting when you imagine things without rivers. I imagine things without rivers sometimes, wonder how Egypt would fare, how the water would taste if it was all salt, and if perhaps people would drink salt water, or if those rare lakes without rivers would be the best source of water, if humans would have adapted to higher salt intake, and if the concept of evolution even really matters at all in the first place--if it does, I might want to know if it would apply to drinking salt water, and if it wouldn't, I would ask it what good it does. Evolution that is. I imagine it doesn't matter in the end.
Sad book. Sad, sad, sad book. Made me cry almost. The language was breathtakingly beautiful throughout. I don't even know what I am typing, or why, or for what cause. I just feel like I need to write something, and this is what it will be. I am going to just write a poem. No pre-notes, no outside sources, nothing. I just want to write, and you can listen if you feel like you need to, or you don't have to.
It is like the echo of something soft against a cold wall
By: David Mathis
I don't always feel like when I sit in a chair, I should be attentive--I've fallen asleep in many a chair, tipped back, cowl over the eyes, or not--lamp blaring, headphones over my ears with music streaming into my head at odd angles; I would say mostly the obtusely angled music gets through to tamp my dreams when I am asleep, tamping them into soft earthen mounds like the kind that the Native Americans used to bury their dead in. I like to think that I don't need sleep, like I've somehow transcended normal human behavior and that I could stand for days in the same spot, like a tree--they always cast the same exact shadows every day, in the same pattern, their elongated forms wrapping around like the hands of a clock, and you could probably even tell time by them if you were so inclined; the problem with telling time by a tree is that it is a lost art, and nobody even wants to take the time to read a tree like a clock anymore. Mostly, these days, people make trees into clocks in a different way.
I went to the petrified forest once. It was the same day that I visited the painted desert, may have been the same day that I went to the grand canyon, saw Earth's largest battle scar which was carved an inch at a time by a tiny river down at the bottom of the gash--if it were dammed, it is probable that the entire ordeal would never have happened, and people from all over the world would have simply never come to the spot with the dam and I wouldn't be staring into the biggest gash on the face of the Earth. Interesting when you imagine things without rivers. I imagine things without rivers sometimes, wonder how Egypt would fare, how the water would taste if it was all salt, and if perhaps people would drink salt water, or if those rare lakes without rivers would be the best source of water, if humans would have adapted to higher salt intake, and if the concept of evolution even really matters at all in the first place--if it does, I might want to know if it would apply to drinking salt water, and if it wouldn't, I would ask it what good it does. Evolution that is. I imagine it doesn't matter in the end.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)