Anomie

Both. But the important thing is that there was no way I wasn’t going to get a huge, glorious schnoz, which I love very much thank you.

Girl in blue sweater from chest up standing in front of vista with pine trees. The wind blows her dark blond hair across her face, obscuring it.

Two rainbows against dark overcast sky ending in a field.

Tall yellow grass photographed with harsh flash at night. Power lines and evening sky above and in background.

I need more writer friends on here.

The extent to which my sense of humour has been largely massaged into its current state by spending 15 years on tumblr cannot be overstated.

She still has her Swifties and her Gaylors or whatever but I think the new album has started alienating even some of those. You can’t be the sensitive odd girl out and then transform into the smug rich cheerleader who marries the quarterback and expect not to alienate people.

It’s good to hear from you either way! You have a very insightful therapist.

ok why am I into this

I get emails from my employer with stress-relief tips even as my insurance benefits get gutted. It’s fantastic.

Look boss, I gotta be honest. I think there’s a certain amount of airy mooning about going on here. But then he just fucking nails it, especially about poetry.

I am always thinking unconsciously of the surreal James Dickey poem “A Folk Singer of the Thirties”, in which a hobo is crucified on the side of a train car and all the sources of the land’s wealth are magically revealed to him.

No, that’s fine!

In the context of both the house and the self as a vertical structure, he here uses (via Jung) the paired symbols of the attic and the cellar to discuss, I believe, different types of fear/anxiety.

The introduction also contains some really intriguing ideas about poetics/poetry/the communion between poetry and reader.

Reading Gaston Bachelard’s “The Poetics of Space”: mostly excerpts that jump out at me, since I’m having a hard time tying it to my own work on my childhood homes right now.

Thank you! I think since twt is mostly flaming shit garbage I’m going to focus on poetry and non-fandom writing here.

February revision of an old August poem.

How big though? The size of a coffee mug? A Great Dane? A lear jet?

Accountability poetry post: generate a rough draft in gdocs by evening.

I also love Dorothea Frazil and Max DeBryn.

BUDDY I AM LISTENING, I love them. Especially Thursday, I can’t even talk about how hot he is to me. I hope you watch the whole thing and keep us posted.

Just watched an ep of Air Disasters where the copilot was trying to tell the pilot he was about to crash and the pilot was like, “no, no, I got it”… then the plane crashed and they died.

Anyways if that was me I’d be following him around in the afterlife like “I FUCKING TOLD YOU”

You know what mortifies me is just witnessing another customer being a dick to a service worker, a stocker or cashier or whatever. Then I’M embarrassed too, like… sorry you have to go through this shit on our account.

Oh no, I must be a bad person. I don’t feel bad. Im just like “oop ‘scuse me 😁” as I reach past them?

Typed up one of the handwritten drafts from earlier. Still very much a WIP, it’s the rough opening sketch of a possible prose poem project about childhood, place, and memory.