hardly saffron

All I can do is express myself in drawings in my mind, nothing I can realize on the page.  I can't help but be exactly who I am, which is goddamned shame a mathematical majority of the time.

I'm imprinted in ink, a close and frenetic scribble.  Press your pen to the page and clench your fist, try to resist. 

A close and frenetic scribble, pen marks straying to the edge of the page.  I'm trying to pull

(try to resist hurting anyone, and by anyone you mostly mean you)
I'm trying to pull myself together.

I am I am

I've been quiet lately, I know.  I don't know if my time is too full to leave spaces for poetry or my brain is too full or what.  Sometimes it's just that other people write so sickening well and I know that's a fever I'll never sweat.

I'm trying to melt individualism out of everyone around me; hack out chips of humanity from that beautiful or unbeautiful mass.  I'm getting to a point with my new friends, peeling back smiles and style and trying to chisel away to some sort of core.  All I know I know outside out.

I'm trying to take a couple of steps back from myself for a day or two.  I know this blog is a constant paean to every emotion I've ever felt and I don't mind it that way, but maybe both it and I need a break.  I've been taking one, anyways.

I'm endlessly internal.

sizing

I play with ideas of myself and the world, I stack them up and knock them over again and again.  I'm frustrated with utility, I write puzzles and dreams, I see myself reflected in a thousand panes of glass scattered around the map like pins.  I'm built to shine quietly and ferociously and I'm built with the gleam of a million or two others.

I can't pretend at uniqueness, I'm no artist, I know.  I blank out blank canvases and paint twelve pictures in sync.  The work I produce hangs in galleries around the full-text version of my mind, downloadable and accessible from very few ports.

I'm an exclusive carbon-copy, both beaming and dull.  I'm my own ivory tower and I'm surrounded by giants.  I could seal myself into my mind forever, echo beats off my bones and know a glittering chronological luxury.  Dress up my intellect in furs and spin it around, present a dizzy bow to the opera house.

But I'm an automaton.  Marching forwards forever and climbing up laws like a staircase, looking onwards at due dates and grasping at straws.  I can't pretend at uniqueness, I'm no artist, I know, but I'm doing a wonderful job at pretending to like this.

courtesy of jessi

bearing/teeth

I'm sorry, it's been a while.  Let me tell you about a few things I want to accomplish this year.

one

Talk less shit.  Everyone benefits.

two

Work harder.  I'm pairing this carefully with nos. four, five, and six.

three

South America.  Sorry, mom, I don't think I can bear to stay in one place for more than six months at a time.

four

Be better to myself.  I'm alright, I'm okay.

five

Be better to myself.  I'machine, you'rengine.

six

Be better to myself.  There's only so much.

seven

Tell me who you run with and I'll tell you who you are.

twenty-one.

Matthew DiVito makes gifs.

you have eighteen, I've got

I'm worn out, I can feel the bones in my lower back creaking against one another and under the library bathroom's fluorescent light, I just look tired.  I've written five exams and I have another tomorrow.

Last night I sat on my bed and I stared at the wall for thirty minutes.  I just wanted space to think and not think, drifting through daydreams and hazy half-lit ideas.  I stared at the wall for thirty minutes, and then I keeled over and fell asleep at 7.15.

My mind has completely retired, it's absenting itself from my body and abstaining from the vote.  I can't seem to corral my intellect into any kind of shape, it's drifting lazily on mental tides and washing against shores far distant from the contracts exam I have tomorrow.

fifteen thousand

Here are fifteen tiny stories or platitudes or ideas for you for the fifteenth.

The Strange and the Sweaty

First dates are a fascinating thing.  He sweat so much he soaked his shirt and had to put his sweater on.  He sopped his napkin and shook with nerves.  I did not see him again.

Chillaxin' and Maxin' All Cool

 Last night I learned that it is apparently not universal knowledge not to tell the girl you're dating that you think she's carrying a few extra pounds.  Luckily, though, you probably shouldn't worry too hard about that extra weight because I bet you five dollars you will never see her again.  Also, excuse me?

No, For Real

That's a real thing that happened.  To me.  Last night.

It Ain't Easy Feeling Feelings

And it is perfectly acceptable to not think about them until you have to.  Right?

Chemistry Set

Number six and I are still talking and I am still utterly charmed, a year later.

Pillows Like Lips

I'm obsessed with pillows, of all things.  Imagine how they could brighten the our apartment, whose walls are a dreamy and smoky cloud grey.  I want all manner of patterns and shapes.

I'm an Excruciating Embarrassment

"Visa?  Oh... Um.  No, I actually can't pay with my debit.  Well, I only have seven dollars, so maybe I don't need this... or this..."


You Just Want Me For My Intellect

When I leave the house sometimes I dress in my invisible outfit and I sneak through the streets like Harry Potter.  Try curly hair, glasses, harem pants, and a big sweater.  Your life will be free from voyeurs for one precious day.


I'm Straight (But It Might Just Be A Phase)

I wear a pin that says this on my housecoat.  We loudly denounce heterosexual scenes in movies in our house:  "Just disgusting, I mean do what you want, but don't flaunt it, okay!"

 At The Altar of Her Incompetence

My property law professor somehow managed to hand out the same exam for the final that she had posted online with answers a month earlier.  Should I feel bad that she might lose her job as this last-straws the formal complaint process already going forward?  Probably not, no.  She's bright, she'll find something else.  It shouldn't be on our shoulders to sacrifice our understanding of property law.

SFF: Supreme Friends Forever

I know all the supreme court justices' names, I pick favourites like a sports team.  McLachlin is of course my all time ace, you hear me?  And La Forest? That rogue!  Ritchie's a distant relative, which means heck we're practically siblings.  And you gotta be able to get behind L'Heureux-Dube, the prolific dissenter.  What a woman, she does what she wants.  When I do what I want it usually involves just involves eggnog.

To Be Lit Up

I think it would benefit all of us to spend more time thinking up album titles for our hypothetical band's second album.


Saying Hello to Strangers Gets Tiresome

I have a pair of pants that have a great deal to say to the world.  When I wear them, everyone smiles at them.  For some reason when people smile at your pants, they feel the need to smile at you, too.


Insufficient Sweetness

I skip sugar in both my coffee and my personality.

Can We Just Talk About Me For A Second?

As soon as any quote is ripped from its original resting place, it becomes awful and trite.  I'm sorry.

are you smiling?