Outbursts of imagination –
the spontaneous product
of a bored generation
I didn’t really have a good idea for a blog post today, so here are a few random little bits of prose from my journal that I like and thought I’d share:
I want to cause chaos. I want the entire world to feel the insecurities and fragility that creates the glass enclosure I dare not shake or shatter.
I lean towards darkness, but not cruelty or evil. The comforting dark. The mysterious dark. The exciting dark. The natural dark. The darkness inside is strong, but it need not be frightening.
I believe in justice, in fairness, in self protection, and in reflecting negativity back to its source, but I do not believe in malevolence.
I should have been a whore when I was younger. I was a good girl – I ran from impropriety. I feared intimacy. I swam in self-doubt and self-consciousness. I was afraid to be sexual. I was afraid to be sensual. I was afraid to be attractive.
We are uncomfortable
in this world
not made for us.
Or just another
cosmic punch line?
Dolls ponies kickball screaming bruise
Boys angst shame body confusion
Marriage work pretending big loss
Health Pain Drugs Homebody Silence
forties? fifties? sixties?
yet to come
Lately, I’ve really gotten into making my own zines – handmade little booklets of my art and writing on subjects I find fun or interesting. I am selling these on Ebay, but there are currently limited print runs of 5 copies each (I’m not sure if I’ll do future reprints or not). So if you see one you want, you might want to get it soon 🙂
Here are samples of the ones I’ve made so far (covers and first page of each zine is shown):
So which is your favorite? Let me know in the comments!
(The following slightly risque poem was inspired by a passage from Ulysses by James Joyce, which turned out to be a lot dirtier (and nonsensical) than I thought it would be lol.)
Want women by the score?
Quit throwing flowers
at their feet
and singing sappy
in your feathered cap.
Gifts? Words? Music?
I already told this story
but if you insist,
here it is again
into one word –
the dead rest
one upon another
with dull, open eyes
and red rum trickling
out the side
of their mouths
of the future
they no longer
freedom finally found.
Act 1. I don’t know if being alive matters.
Act 2. I don’t know if this world matters.
Act 3. I don’t know if me being alive in this world matters.