January 2012
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Firework
motherground:
The day my body caught fire the woodland darkened. The horizon was a sea of maids, rushing to piece me back into a girl. Out of the girl came yellow flowers, came stem & sepal. You never happened, they said. The meadow was a narration of lessness. Inside the corral, horses fell from the impact of lightning. They broke down. I heard gunshots in my sleep. I was a keeper of...
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Some guys are so frustrating/confusing/annoying/dumb. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother.
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Velvet
motherground:
I can’t tell you much, except for the graceful aging, the strength of history, how young and hungry this city let me be. If you don’t know the language, you must let your heart do all the talking. If you don’t know the language, it’s easier to believe what you hear. I can’t tell you much, except how I cried the first time I walked across the Charles Bridge. The weight of it under...
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“I am really interested in silence. In inarticulacy also, which isn’t the same as...”
– Tilda Swinton (via monkeyknifefight)
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Alternate Endings
motherground:
There are times when they gather at the edge of your life, Shadows slipping over the far hills, daffodils blooming too early, the dark matter of the universe that threads its way through the few thousand blackbirds that have invaded the trees out back. Every ending sloughs off our dreams like snakeskin. This is the kind of black ice the mind skids across. The candlelight...
“May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope...”
– Neil Gaiman (via boxofoctaves)
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brb
Going to the beach. Finally!
December 2011
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Historiography for the Body
motherground:
What I keep of you I keep in my stomach where it is easiest to feel empty, easiest to feel full. After everything, don’t we get to assign our organs these metaphors? Because something inside the body gathers each loss, contains it. Call it the heart’s debris, all that we let go of that lodges elsewhere: Between lungs, in duodenum, sleeping dormant in clavicle spoon. I wouldn’t be...
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Dancing Toward Bethlehem
If there is only enough time in the final minutes of the twentieth century for one last dance I would like to be dancing it slowly with you, say, in the ballroom of a seaside hotel, my palm would press into the small of your back as the past hundred years collapsed into a pile of mirrors or buttons or frivolous shoes just as the floor of the nineteenth century gave way and disappeared in a cloud...
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Love Letter After the Fact
motherground:
Out here I thought the wind would be kind to us. Would offer some kind of resolution, a new direction north. New stars to see by on clear nights when the temperature drops and we find each other without maps. You’ll be surprised that I’ve started enjoying the taste of beer. Drink it straight from the draft on nights when I’m by myself in a bar thinking about the best way to get...
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Now is your chance kids.
Ask me a number, any number.
1. Insecurities
2. Best memory
3. Worst memory
4. Last person you kissed
5. Why?
6. Last dream you had?
7. Greatest fears.
8. How did you change over the last 3 years?
9. What do you want more than anything?
10. Bad habit
11. Biggest regrets
12. Craziest thing you've ever done
13. Where do you see yourself in 5+ years
14. Favourite band
15. Weirdest dream
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The Opposite of Nostalgia
motherground:
You are running away from everyone who loves you, from your family, from old lovers, from friends. They run after you with accumulations of a former life, copper earrings, plates of noodles, banners of many lost revolutions. You love to say the trees are naked now because it never happens in your country. This is a mystery from which you will never recover. And yes, the trees are...
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