Filed under: Uncategorized
I just got off the phone with my mom to talk about numbers, figures for next year, and my plans for the summer. As of now I plan on living in Brooklyn over the summer and working so I can stay here. Why do I want to stay here when I could go home and live for free with my parents while making money at a 40 hours a week minimum wage paying job? I want to have an internship, my boyfriend is here, and my friends will be here. It’s the same reason why people get homesick when they first move to college. Also, I want to be realistic about paying bills for myself and being an adult.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: China, Computers, Keys, Stress, Strokes
A keyboard holds arrangements.
I. The dying art of handwriting.
Elementary school teachers no longer stress cursive.
Spelling, touch-typing accuracy, familiarization with the keyboard
II. Deadlines Speed.
A taskforce of typists hired by words per minute.
New hands – speed – growing from their fingers.
Carpal tunnel and Arthritis.
Dried coffee on the spacebar
Dirty fingers press keys,
III. Keeping Mistakes
A writer plucks the delete button from the keyboard.
IV. Computer manufacturing in China.
Designers change keyboard coverings, not letters.
Technological waste in China.
I’m looking for a place to Go Kart.
Filed under: Uncategorized
Fill it out and leave it in the comment section. I’ll be embarrassed if no one fills it out because that will prove I’m the only person (other than people I force to look at my blog) that looks at my blog.
It’s a Pratt-related survey, which explains the question about the trees, but if you live in a desert and you read my blog, I’d like your response also. How are the trees in Mongolia?
I’m drinking Earl Grey and coughing.
The first thing that comes to your head. You can be patient. You don’t have to write the first thing that comes to your head, but write down something that was in your head at the time.
Now, A few questions. These should not take long. You’re free to respond with “Yes” or “No.” You are also free to go into detail.
1. Is there anyone you want to apologize to?
2. What do you think of the trees here?
3. Do you think you need to try harder doing anything?
4. What is your favorite place to sleep?
5. What is your favorite book?
6. Are you sick?
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Anxiety, Breakfast, Eggs, exhaustion, Listening, Minutes, Orgasms, Patterns, Remember, Sestina, Sinks, Sleep, Wait
The first time I heard a Sestina, it was Sestina: Bob, and it dulled the word so much that I wanted to slap people for saying “Bob” when referencing the poem afterwards. But, the poem was funny. At that time I didn’t have enough confidence to tackle the Sestina for an assignment (oh, the name is so pretty — I thought I would fuck it up — and the form is so easy to make cheesy) and it was optional so either way I’d be free. This year, I was forced to write a Sestina. They are hard. And in every lesson, Elizabeth Bishop’s Sestina is taught and makes you feel like you could never match something so bittersweet with such simple words. Last night I wrote a second Sestina and I liked the form. If I sit down and do something in an hour, I know the quality always sucks, but it’s done and it was fun to read.
Twice a week, I make you eggs.
For each egg cooked, I give you an orgasm,
A favor you return within minutes
That leaves us both too exhausted
To wash the pans in the sink.
Plates are left crusted with breakfast.
Instead of dinner, I make you breakfast,
And by morning the drain is clogged by eggs.
Once I left the water on and it gushed out of the sink
While we were in the other room, reaching orgasm,
Ensuring the day’s exhaustion.
We slept for ten minutes,
Until water reached our room. For minutes
We toweled up the flood, and vowed that breakfast
Dishes would never be too much to exhaust
Us – no matter how dried-up the eggs,
Were, or how badly we wanted an orgasm.
But that never made morale sink.
Now our favorite place is next to the sink.
There, we go at it longer, about twenty minutes
More than usual, and you would not believe the orgasm!
It’s the kind that burns off breakfast
And makes us less guilty about the cholesterol in eggs.
I’m always washing dishes – that explains our exhaustion.
If we paced ourselves, we wouldn’t get so exhausted,
And we’d have a cleaner sink.
For a week, we went without buying eggs
And dish-washing took less than a minute,
But there was nothing to look forward to after breakfast,
Because without the eggs, there are no orgasms.
We realized we couldn’t live without orgasms
Even though for that week we weren’t so exhausted,
But why take the fun out of breakfast?
We just need to ignore the full sink
And take a few minutes
To make a new agreement regarding eggs.
The decision took a minute over breakfast:
As long as my eggs weren’t fertilized, the sink
Could stay full and orgasms could exhaust us.
The sound of empty when no one is listening,
And the haul against the nerves
That tugs from the other end
Which builds a snow room to keep you in.
I want to keep you in between my thumb and forefinger around a match
I strike against your teeth
To light the streetlamps in the hilly park at night:
The stars – much closer to earth –
Because they are closer to exploding.
At night we swam across a lake to our new home.
I thatched bamboo into a roof to hear the rain dribble
Through it onto our skulls thick with electricity.
My hands charged as we slept,
And in the morning I ground teacups to make coffee.