March wears a crystaline white skull cap against the clamourus swill barreling through the drafty attic nook. Her polished china doll face with a chipped tooth smile. Gauzey white bandages looped protective around the sticky red interior. The glassy and slender moon, snug against her window ledge, carefully ecking out salty sands to cauterize the wound. Solitude — a thickly spread membrane casting nets in every direction to catch the stray thoughts that escape in puffs of white smoke, an attempt to choke out the dull throbbing pain. Inescapable. Softly padding on tip toe her loose fitting nightgown trails along the steps she has climbed before. Sighs creak, dreams snap, light fades, attention focuses. A single red reminder. Fractured lace collar bones jutting into her breath chamber. Cavernous exhalation. Labour sweetly rendered in anticipation of blooming indigos and violets just beneath the surface– tension of her transcendence. Beautiful scars shining the way to the holy place.
Hi, I don’t know you, and I don’t even remember your name, but you changed me and my life for the better.
I want to give props where props are due and let you know that without meeting you I would not be able to trust again like I want to do. Your love poured through me and opened all my pores to intuite the divine in your rueful smile. I don’t know why I walked into your bar or why you hung around through my defensive disinterest but I’m glad you did.
The things you said to me about love and loss, art and life, and getting on. They were exactly the words my heart was hoping to hear but I didn’t know it yet. Phrased in a way that was just new and fresh enough they melted the whore frost clinging to my bones and rattled my heart beat into a new spring tune.
I hope you read Edna St. Vincent Millay and think of me.
I hope you find the falling star you are looking for.
I hope you become the supercharged black hole this humdrum universe has been crying out for.
I hope you know how much those couple of hours of conversation meant to me.
I will remember the gentle creases around your warm eyes, and the way you knew how to spin strangers into your card tricks, the way your heart stood open to the world full of mysteries.
Only your name seems to escape me.
enfold me in excess
rupture my rapture
with keen calamity
a delightful disaster
I need help finding the broken pieces of myself can you come over?
I locked myself out of my heart again, slept in the cold </3
New tinder profile: seeking someone to watch Netflix and hold me while I cry DTF
I’m loosing my heart to the sea
what’s good for the goose isnt’ always good for the gander
pretty sure soul mates are made up of the pieces of yourself you shed along the way
I am the glue keeping the cracks together
First date: brazenly drunk. Second date: painfully shy. Third date: soul mates. Stops texting you back. Rinse & repeat
I only have two settings and both of them are tongue tied
the greatest romance is with my own broken heart
My type is the sad lonely artist types who can’t love me back
New tinder profile: seeking a poet who doesn’t slobber when he makes love
the kind of girl with a lover for each of her neurosis
can’t sleep my feelings will get me, you?
My hobbies include dwelling on the past and using it to sabotage my future
Googled my symptoms came up with malignant tumor of fear of rejection and self hatred
I just called to say I’m over you is code for when are you coming back
I’m concerned about you is code for the amount of details you share about your breakdowns on the internet makes me uncomfortable with my own secrets
It burns me up to feel this way about your icy shoulder
New tinder profile: if I knew how to accept the loneliness I wouldn’t be on here
I’m not worried he will hit me again I’m worried I won’t be able to feel love if he doesn’t
Failure is the only option that feels right
I can’t hold your hand bcz I’m too busy holding my heart together
I built my home in the scary place so I wouldn’t have to run as far to chase my demons
It takes a lot of courage to drown your sorrows like puppies
text u 😭😢😪 bcz I’m dead inside and can’t shed real tears
Maybe only broken ppl know how to love my broken pieces
Nightmares about you holding her hand again
heart starting to dissolve into sweet nothings YOLO
The mechanics make her holy. In the details are where the hallowed reside. Snapchat saints and drunk text sinners. Decoding symphonies instantaneously the moment two waves collide. Open to interpretation our hearts beat to an unceaded rhythm. A schism between what is left to do and what’s already been. Love in the labouring to understand it. Truth in the moment it is forgotten. Dissolving disonance, intuitive destruction. Creation from the rubble of our own creating.
Bring back the divine interventions in our sick hearts turning these black diamonds into glittering beetles, fertile in their composition as tiny soldiers set to defend our defiant decay in the face of barren intoxication, with beauty and all things becoming intervenous weapons of internal combustion, engine for change out of what is already comfortable exposed in the dark as an uncooperative accomplice in our own blind imaginings of what is still possible.
In the beginning the end was already wrapped up in it crying like a new born babe for mothers affection. Mother dead in the babies womb as yet unborn. Tender embrace. Secret promise. Tempting fate. Wielding magic. A man walks into a bar and orders, a man and a fish and a gold mine walk into a bar and dance, a child walks into a bar and detonates, a man walks and walks and walks until he reaches an immovable object. Calamity invocation. An unstopable force solving for ex.
Inspired by Astronautalis latest video Running Away From God
Here is your long weekend reading list on the tongue in cheek theme femz feelz which playfully refers to the emotionalized femininity which has been hyper-sensationalized and sold back to us as a derogatory trait instead of a consecrated achievement in brutal vulnerability. I suggest you read these after you paint your face in your warrior colours and cry and scream until the colours run together.
- Carolee Scheemann on Feminism, Activism, and Ageing via AnOther
- Sick Woman Theory via Mask Magazine
- Negative Emotions are Key to Well Being via Scientific Americans
- Louis Bernice Halfe reading Success In Spite Of on BBC Radio via Pam Bustin
- Aninas Nin on Why Emotional Excess is Essential to Creativity via Brain Pickings
Bonus listening my favourite album of all time Jane Vain and the Dark Matter’s Give Us Your Hands
Today I am happy to announce our April sketchbook presentation. I could not be more proud of the work my team has put in over these last three months and I can’t wait to share what we’ve been cooking up with you.
We have been working hard since January incubating ideas, discovering stories, and exploring the bonds that connect us through good food, friends, and conversation. After three weekend devising intensives we have collaboratively created over 9 hours of recorded material and 28 pages of text so far exploring how we build community through the act of sharing a meal.
Some of it is silly and whimsical, some of it is heartbreaking and tender, all of it is brand new never before seen. We are selecting 30 minutes of the strongest material and concepts created to take for a test drive in a invite only sketch book presentation at 7:00 pm April 11th at the Two Twenty co-working space. You are invited to come take a peek behind the scenes and be part of the development process by joining the conversation, offering your impressions of the work, and sharing your stories.
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