Sunday 28 September 2014

the chaos of stars


"I didn’t fall in love with you. I walked into love with you, with my eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way. I do believe in fate and destiny. But I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we’d choose anyway. And I’d choose you—in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you."

—The Chaos of Stars; Kiersten White

Thursday 18 September 2014

the diary of frida kahlo


“I used to think I was the strangest person in the world. But then I thought, there are so many people in the world, there must be someone just like me who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. I would imagine her, and imagine that she must be out there thinking of me too. Well, I hope that if you are out there and read this and know that, yes, it's true, I'm here, and I'm just as strange as you.”

―The Diary of Frida Kahlo; Frida Kahlo

Sunday 14 September 2014

the seed, the soil


“I like to write. I like to choose the right word, I like to write the right sentence. It’s just like gardening or something. You put the seed into the soil at the right time, in the right place.”

—The Guardian; Haruki Murakami

Monday 8 September 2014

fall on your knees


"Dark and sweet, the elixir of love is in her mouth. The more I drink, the more I remember all the things we've never done. I was a ghost until I touched you. Never swallowed mortal food until I tasted you, never understood the spoken word until I found your tongue. I've been a sleep-walker, sad somnambula, hands outstretched to strike the solid thing that could awaken me to life at last. I have only ever stood here under this lamp, against your body. I've missed you all my life."

—Fall On Your Knees; Ann-Marie MacDonald

of literature


"When I look back, I am so impressed again with the life-giving power of literature. If I were a young person today, trying to gain a sense of myself in the world, I would do that again by reading, just as I did when I was young."

—Maya Angelou

Thursday 21 August 2014

you are the universe


“Stop acting so small. You are the universe in ecstatic motion.”

—Rumi

Wednesday 20 August 2014

start home


"Moving into my own place to start home, I lost all the words in transit, postage stamps pig-stuck to ticking tongue. But my life has been some kind of finally kind. The while, the world has lately broken spider limbs and limbs and limbs. And living has felt brave-spinning, more than the press-play channel of words, of weights. But I am here. We are here. And your way can be quieter, still, stilling. Away from ink and information. Cut the writing from your lungs and breathe. Open your cracked spine and eyes and see."

—Ian William L.

Tuesday 8 July 2014

the gift of you


"When you start to crack open, don't waste a moment gathering your old self up into something like you knew before. Let your new self splash like sunlight into every dark place and laugh and cry and make sounds you never made and thank all that is holy for the gift because now you have no choice but to let all your love spill out into the world."

The Gift Of You; Brian Andreas

Tuesday 17 June 2014

I and you are


"But you learn to accept who and what you are. Most days. The days when you don't fly into the sun. The days when you don't spill and thaw and crash. I am brief and violent and true. I am always true. I am that blurry, breathy promise, cracked lips, long hopeful seizures before sunrise, sweat and tears and story. I am yours, and I am now. I am living and dying and always coming alive."

—Ian William L.

Sunday 15 June 2014

oils (redux)


"But then a small wind, a shivering light bulb, an ocean lapping against your tongue. And this sweat, like a bullfrog splayed, and muddy snowflakes, the guts of the day, and fingertips. And you are not entirely okay, because you were just great. And now your thoughts click like a telephone, the heavy kind, a nickel pressed to your forehead, and then removed."

—Ian William L.

Monday 9 June 2014

the typewriter even now


"On that piece of white paper Sam wrote, 'Write about me sometime.' And I typed something back to her, standing right there in her bedroom. I just typed, 'I will.'"

—The Perks Of Being A Wallflower; Stephen Chbosky

Sunday 8 June 2014

luce


"When we finished high school, Luce, we knew less than a hummingbirds-wings' amount of anything. We knew less than nothing about nothing. We slow-danced, felt all moon and magnolia, all hip on hip and hot on skin. But we were kids who ate the tinned soup our parents simmered, who spent our summers just—just—just hanging out. I can't count the things we didn't know. Things about working—about the persistence of working—the way it never stops. About really being alone out there. About how you can pack up and leave. Or come back. About what it mans to be poor, Luce. Or, as well, what it's like having money—what it's like to order drinks and appetizers and desserts and just do it.  Lucy, we didn't know. We knew cricket-wing, moth-wing, less than paper. We knew zero. So how the fuck, Luce, did we find each other? That's what I want to know. Luce, I love you and that's what I want to know."

—Sean Michaels; Said the Gramophone

Tuesday 3 June 2014

the only moment we knew (redux)


"Live loudly, through all fault and favour."

—Ian William L.

Wednesday 28 May 2014

thrashing line (redux)


"The moment you thought to ignite fell more gravel than breath, and careful ache. I still feel the debt. I love you and will give you more. But tonight, I am turned out—a milky film slipping through waste glass, cigarette eyes choked to the street, the divine speck left cold."

—Ian William L.

Monday 26 May 2014

anautumn


"Sitting on a bench in a park on one of the last days of autumn. Leaves falling like snow. A soft meteor strike. Thick pin-pricks of afternoon. The light shining through their bones. I wish I could pen each one to the page."

—Ian William L.

Sunday 18 May 2014

212918052014


I am losing my voice. I am always losing my voice. I always have been. I let the world into the head and chop me into firewood. Be Ouroboros with an ax wound. I write backwards, suck it in like blood. Vampires between the paragraphs. I am screaming a mountain. I am rock face less. The tense always fucks me. The wanting and the not wanting. I feel imaginary sadness. None of this matters or is worthy.

But I have to record something.

I breathed heavy and nothing came out

I made nothing beautiful. I see it, though.

SOMEONE COME OUT, AND SAY: I UNDERSTAND YOUR CONDITION.

Practice.

Swallow down another photograph.

Filter blur.

I am nothing. I am nothing. I am nothing under all of this.

Study the chemicals. They go so fast. Faster than my keystrokes.

Why couldn't you just be louder every moment you are saved?

Mute. Nothing. Silence. Clenched teeth. Head in my hands

Atomic illumination of information and connection.

Life is good. This is all my head inventing.

Experiment.

Call this flux. I have.

I am failing my dreams. It's true.

So, this exists in tandem. The mirror side of my shadow. Always has.

I just breathe in songs and berate myself until my feet feel floor. Until I retreat.

But I tell the truth. I am not a writer. I always say that. They always disagree. But this is proof. I am trying my hardest and only this mess falls out. Rings of scissors. Schisms. Traps under feet.

I will invent a way that lets me speak the story that is singing jet flight and ends of everything behind.

My head hunts me.

I will speak.

Monday 12 May 2014

unprecedented


“You are so busy being you that you have no idea how utterly unprecedented you are.”

—The Fault In Our Stars; John Green

all of the stars




No words for how beautiful this is.

Thursday 8 May 2014

hope is the thing with feathers


"Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all."

—Hope Is The Thing With Feathers; Emily Dickinson

Tuesday 6 May 2014

(some absence) (redux)


That paper cup holding back—a night sweat cuts, to a lip—in expanse of his breathing in—moving out into the grass, never stopping for—a streak, scant, of star flashing—palpitation, or eyelids firing, or weight of love—cast forking spider-silk I claw, from—wakeful blood-tremors—that clasp lovers holding back.

—Ian William L.

Monday 5 May 2014

a thing loves


"If a thing loves, it is infinite."

—Annotations to Swedenborg; William Blake

Sunday 4 May 2014

restless


"There’s this kind of songbird that thinks it dies every time the sun goes down. In the morning, when it wakes up, it’s totally shocked to still be alive, so it sings this really beautiful song. I've sung every morning since I met you."

Restless; Jason Lew

love




"One day we will look at the past with love."

For your mix tape or infinite playlist; file under:
Hope Sound

Listen to the whole Hope Sound mix tape:
http://open.spotify.com/user/1231033109/playlist/2pUTGe6fm6nx326iicnLqQ

Saturday 3 May 2014

dust, maybe, never mine (redux)


"This picture I keep blurs into gasoline, burns until I nurse a blood nose and I am singing. I smile, and it stings, and I name the shapes, really, just chasing them back to smaller bones, thumbing at rings of so many taller trees. I hear autumn, my car keys, your lighter fluid and your eyes. Still, I have tried, to understand your sparrow pieces, and how they chip at mine."

—Ian William L.

Wednesday 30 April 2014

say it, just say it




File under your mix tape or infinite playlist:
Driving Sun

Listen to the whole Driving Sun mix tape:
http://open.spotify.com/user/1231033109/playlist/2nYbaXpg8S7SlAJZY006Ys

Monday 28 April 2014

eighteen months


And I don't mind shouting this so loud, that it knocks down stars. That it sounds in ugly places. That I am this one clumsy sentence echoed through all time: I love you.

—Ian William L.

sonder


sonder (n.) the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.

—The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows; John Koenig



Sunday 27 April 2014

a woman of war


“As women, when we're children we're taught to enter the world with big hearts. Blooming hearts. Hearts bigger than our damn fists. We are taught to forgive—constantly—as opposed to what young boys are taught: revenge—to get "even". Our empathy is constantly made appeals to, often demanded for. If we refuse to show kindness, we are reprimanded. We are not good women if we do not crush our bones to make more space for the world, if we do not spread our entire skin over rocks for others to tread on, if we do not kill ourselves in every meaning of the word in the process of making it cozy for everyone else. It is the heat generated by the burning of our bodies with which the world keeps warm. We are taught to sacrifice so much for so little. This is the general principle all over the world.

By the time we are young women, we are tired. Most of us are drained. Some of us enter a lock of silence because of that lethargy. Some of us lash out. When I think of that big, blooming heart we once had, it looks shriveled and worn out now. When I was teaching, I had a young student named Mariam. She was only 11 years old. Some boy pushed her around in class, called her names, broke her spirit for the day. We were sitting under a chestnut tree on a field trip and she asked me if a boy ever hurt me. I told her many did and I destroyed them one by one. I think that’s the first time she ever heard the word "destroyed". We rarely teach our girls to fight back for the right reasons.

Take up more space as a woman. Take up more time. Take your time. You are taught to hide, censor, move about without messing up decorum for a man's comfort. Whether it's said or not, you’re taught balance. Forget that. Displease. Disappoint. Destroy. Be loud, be righteous, be messy. Mess up and it's fine—you are learning to unlearn. Do not see yourself like glass. Like you could get dirty and clean. You are flesh. You are not constant. You change. Society teaches women to maintain balance and that robs us of our volatility. Our mercurial hearts. Calm and chaos. Love only when needed; preserve otherwise.

Do not be a moth near the light; be the light itself. Do not let a man’s ocean-big ego swallow you up. Know what you want. Ask yourself first. Decide your own pace. Decide your own path. Be cruel when needed. Be gentle only when needed. Collapse and then re-construct. When someone says you are being obscene, say yes I am. When they say you are being wrong, say yes I am. When they say you are being selfish, say yes I am. Why shouldn't I be? How do you expect a woman to stand on her two feet if you keep striking her at the ankles.

There are multiple lessons we must teach our young girls so that they render themselves their own pillars instead of keeping male approval as the focal point of their lives. It is so important to state your feelings of inconvenience as a woman. We are instructed to tailor ourselves and our discomfort, constantly told that we are "whining" and "nagging" and "complaining too much". That kind of silence is horribly violent, that kind of insistence upon uniformly nodding in agreement to your own despair, and smiling emptily so no man is ever uncomfortable around us. Male-entitlement dictates a woman's silence. If we could see the mimetic model of the erasure of a woman's voice, it would be an incredibly bloody sight.

On a breezy July night, my mother and I were sleeping under the open sky. Before dozing off, I told her that I think there is a special place in heaven where all wounded women bury their broken hearts and their hearts grow into trees that only give fruit to the good and poison to the bad. She smiled and said Ameen. Then she closed her eyes.”

—A Woman of War; Mehreen Kasana

Thursday 17 April 2014

us and you and I city breathing


"I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning, or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday, two a.m. I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks. I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologise for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don't belong around people. That I belong to all the leap days that didn't happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don't see the lightning, but you hear the echoes."

—unattributed

Tuesday 15 April 2014

traffichead


The circumstance is that everything I feel is apocryphal and artifice—day-star and elemental—inclement and pale.

I am not telling a story. I am telling one single lonely missing colour.

It feels like a bird on a streetlight at dusk, the smell of hot water, smashing a glass against the wall, a slight static, notched bone.

drain the sea


I bit my cheek, and maybe the night. I am no longer a submarine in a lonely place.

boxxes 1111


origami of peeled, dried skin, little ships

bloodied lips, blood vessels

set on a glass table, pretty

neurotic headache, the dog chained

to a dead dog

song to sound old mail

celebrate us! us.

foreign


"And she tucked herself away in a corner, quiet and foreign to the crowd around her, and all that kept racing through my head is that the best kind of beauty is the kind that is mostly ignored."

—Christopher Poindexter

Thursday 10 April 2014

the child-er night


"I am in love for this night: a warm song clicking through headphones, the caterpillar-fur-spray of rain, streetlights spinning in round—child-er night thrown down to pavement, the kaleidoscope cracked open, to magic shifting."

—Ian William L.

Monday 7 April 2014

tender is the night


"I don't ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember. Somewhere inside of me there will always be the person I am tonight."

—Tender Is The Night; F. Scott Fitzgerald

Wednesday 19 March 2014

what happens next


"It's like this light coming out of you. I could be in a crowd of thousands and know right where to find you."

—What Happens Next; Colleen Clayton

Friday 28 February 2014

nothing is missing


"we were all there

under the hot black sky         listening

so many shifting bodies like water

we felt words rise like steam

words like stars swimming in a black pool

it's hot there when it's hot

all our molecules were dancing like steam off a black starry pool

shifting bodies dancing into the night under stars

raining down from rooftops like falling

embers from the blackened night sky

hot bodies drenched in the universe falling from the sky

when words hit your skin it melted leaving only your clothes to

mark your passing

that night we were a body unquestioned

all our molecules were ecstatic fire."

—Nothing Is Missing; GR Keer

round, hopeful poem


"I'll match your

cold, lonely parts

with my honest skin

I can remind you."

—Round, Hopeful Poem; Reba Overkill

Wednesday 26 February 2014

you creative


"To be creative means to be in love with life. You can be creative only if you love life enough that you want to enhance its beauty—you want to bring a little more music to it, a little more poetry to it, a little more dance to it."

—Osho

Tuesday 25 February 2014

the only


"Every time you try to break us down, you only galvanize. Force us to the wall, to the cage, and we only live loudest. We won't turn to hate—only hope."

—Ian William L.

Thursday 20 February 2014

a farewell to arms


"I am so in love with you that there isn't anything else."

—A Farewell To Arms; Ernest Hemingway

Saturday 8 February 2014

search party



RPO


"You are my beautiful era."

—Ian William L.

breathy nightloves


"On your best days, this is the best thing I could tell you. All in racehorses around your bones. All of everything, and barricades. But on your worst days, I am trying to ruin you with beauty, with calcium, with streetlights and astronauts and smoke. And I am to trip over love for your shoulders, your paper envelopes, your bit lip, your brace."

—Ian William L.

midnight in paris


"The artist's job is not to succumb to despair but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence. You have a clear and lovely voice. Don't be such a defeatist."

—Midnight In Paris; Woody Allen

Friday 7 February 2014

an end of summer


summer stung with its last purple skies and smoke-bit moons

dragonflies brimming beneath your skin

the ways we slip back to our youth

dusk through the gapped smiles

remember how we were here.

—Ian William L.

Wednesday 5 February 2014

blessed are the wingless


"Blessed all the debris that waits inside of monuments."

—The Wingless; Cecilia Llompart

this star won't go out


“I feel very lucky to know you—and as far as I have seen, to know you is literally to love you.”

—This Star Won't Go Out; Esther Earl

Monday 3 February 2014

tiderays


today gave us a head full of smoke. time to wash it all away, so beautifully.


Sunday 2 February 2014

in adequate


“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?”

—Marianne Williamson

bodies of stars (redux)


"Carry your passions, no matter of ugly glow. Hold them for stars."

—Ian William L.

Thursday 30 January 2014

Sunday 26 January 2014

the others in static (redux)


"I cannot speak it, picking gingerly at static honeycomb. This is licking the television screen switched off, breathing out—heat strings, chemical jars, asphalt beaches. This is a scrap of paper with the secret of everything. This is Mona Lisa's grimace, cold headaches, staring into midnight, trying to conjure a dead rabbit. This is advertisement space. This is meat. It is a wrong, whoreish bell—pale contraception—an engine of colour to wet along your palms. This is a gap tooth wonderland, appendices not correctly attached, ugly math. This is something. This is a feeling. This is not a word. This is only left with a paper aeroplane, bowel cancer, apocryphal, home."

—Ian William L.