A Bit of Everything |
Posts related to my major loves in life: linguistics. poetry, and random thoughts posts about art, art history. A bit of everything... pretty much. |
Vik Muniz, Marilyn Monroe, actress, NY City, May 6, 1957, after Avedon, from Gordian Puzzles, 2008
Jenny Holzer, Projection in Florence, 1996
Yasumasa Morimura, Brothers (Slaughter 1), 1991
Yasumasa Morimura, Self-Portrait (Actress) / White Marilyn, 1996
Sunny-side up
early in the morning could never be enough.
I want to transcend my usual protein dosage
.
Scramble up my eggs and fog up the surfaces of my retinas
.
That hauntingly white noise
from the screen to the frying pan -
will become rhythmic
and the ultimate archetype of our love making.
I have fallen
in love with every man
I’ve ever met
I call it optimism
some, immaturity.
of the heart
of the imagination
And I wouldn’t have it
any other way.
I fail so much at blogging.
I think it has to do with my urge to keep a lot of things in my life private… and not posted all over the internet. Which is strange, because I love reading other people’s personal blogs, which contain things like intimate details of relationships, family, work, etc. I’ve never really been that great at talking about myself either, at least not for an extended and consistent period of time.
Now that I think of it, this personality trait of mine has possibly infiltrated my creative style. I think my urge to keep things private and … mysterious - to some extent - causes me to write in a more cryptic manner than others. It’s like I would like to write about something… but I put it in this complicated and strange coding so that it would be difficult for a reader to actually know what I’m saying. This way, I still have my privacy.
Geez, that’s pathetic.
Well, at the very least, it’s a theory to think about. I wonder if there are others out there that feel the same way. Probably not… or else they wouldn’t be blogging.
Toodles.
Don’t get sucked into the ‘I’ll be happy when…’ attitude.
Mascara speared across the pillow case.
I’ve spent every waking moment of my life
attempting to perfect the appearance of my body.
Joseph H. Witzke
(Source: paperlesswords)
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In September, the sky wore bright blues.
You carved a message into the tree out back,
thinly bordered and...
We left the room tainted with the scent of sex
Love smeared across both our lips
And the stain of lust on foreign bed sheets
The...