megan falley in new york.
you don’t necessarily have to write to be a poet. some people work in gas stations and they’re poets. i don’t call myself a poet because I don’t like the word. i'm a trapeze artist.
- bob dylan.recordings
this is for the sociopathsFollowing
well, not really. it’s a weekend tour. but it’s with the intangible collective, and that feels like a world to me. we’ll be roadtripping the state of new york, celebrating our book release and putting on dope hip hop and poetry sets for those born with the miracle of ears.
where we’ll be & when:
-thursday, november 5th: herkimer community college. @ 8pm.
-friday, november 6th: valentines, in albany @ 9pm.
-saturday, november 7th: deity, in brooklyn @ 7pm.
halloween scares me, not for the witches zombies ghouls ghosts, but for how easy it is to be someone else, and how willing. how the college kids stretch the holiday for the whole weekend, how i woke up and reached for a costume.
Lichtenstein girl and Lindsay Bluth Funke. Hardly anyone understood us, but at least we understand each other.
i saw lithenstein girl on the streets in halloween, and asked her if she was the measles.
i suck.
(via itchycosmicpocket)
I’ve got to tell you
how I love you always
I think of it on grey
mornings with death
in my mouth the tea
is never hot enough
then and the cigarette
dry the maroon robe
chills me I need you
and look out the window
at the noiseless snow
At night on the dock
the buses glow like
clouds and I am lonely
thinking of flutes
I miss you always
when I go to the beach
the sand is wet with
tears that seem mine
although I never weep
and hold you in my
heart with a very real
humor you’d be proud of
the parking lot is
crowded and I stand
rattling my keys the car
is empty as a bicycle
what are you doing now
where did you eat your
lunch and were there
lots of anchovies it
is difficult to think
of you without me in
the sentence you depress
me when you are alone
Last night the stars
were numerous and today
snow is their calling
card I’ll not be cordial
there is nothing that
distracts me music is
only a crossword puzzle
do you know how it is
when you are the only
passenger if there is a
place further from me
I beg you do not go
there is a small Indian man who sits the shift before me. He is quiet, with probably too much mustache, but I get a good feeling from him. When I walk in, he smiles in a way that transcends any customs or salutations, there is something in his brain that sees me and pulls his ears back. It is the purest thing.
He does not leave before swiping his palms under the automatic hand sanitizer the school has installed because everyone is afraid of a flu, or of touching. He does not restart the computer until I have clocked in, because he’d never let the time sheet show that I was a minute late, or more.
Our phone conversations go nowhere. He doesn’t understand my questions, and I don’t understand his answers. But he’s a good guy and I think we’ll generally look out for each other.
Sylvia Plath (via adales)
oh.my.god
It must be hard speaking for a generation of
broken women
using strong words,
words that were carved into me
before you ever wrote or spoke them.
I’m sorry that I feel I know you
just because I pen your words
in the corners of my notebooks
for inspiration.
I just want to make things like you do.
You get to live in a place that you created
with starving, striving, limited, limitless language.
well, that is fucking dope. thank you, kate. for listening.
i am officially a published author, alongside some of my favorite people and poets in the world, the intangible collective. please click the above link and buy our first anthology.
every dollar you spend should go towards the type of world you want to live in. please support your independent artists, your activists, the believers in peace, the dreamers, the ones who haven’t given up on poetry even when they were told it was dead. here it is. it is alive. and it is the intangible collective.
