Snow globe life 🔮❄️
"I wondered if the incommensurability of language and experience was new, if my experience of my experience issued from a damaged life of pornography and privilege, if there were happy ages when the starry sky was the map of all possible paths, or if this division of experience into what could not be named and what could not be lived just was experience, for all people for all time." - Ben Lerner, from Leaving the Atocha Station
Ooh, there are so many. I’m gonna savor this opportunity to procrastinate [further]- here’s one for every letter of the alphabet.*
- A candle that smells like a man then cookies in the oven then your childhood room AND it screams wildly when you are about to fall asleep without blowing it out
- Perfect bitch face so when somebody bumps into you or makes a sexist comment you turn your face and it’s like Blue Steel with x10 more vagina sass
- Puppy that sufficiently enjoys when you leave the house and doesn’t give you sad eyes, it just turns on the TV and patiently marathons Rock of Love Bus till you come back
- A world without any more fucking think pieces on millenials
- Tights that come with a tracking device so you can find the only non-ripped pair in your goddamn Saving Private Ryan scene of a room
- An Iphone that stays charged forever
- The outfit that sits perfectly on that line of “not too matchy matchy” and “bat shit lady wears a bunch of bat shit patterns”
- Cashiers and waiters and bartenders will stop talking to me like I’m 16 just because I look 16
- A television channel that plays only *clears throat*: Sabrina The Teenage Witch, The Craft, Boy Meets World, The Little Mermaid, Curb Your Enthusiasm, 10 Things I Hate About You, Sleepless In Seattle, My Best Friend’s Wedding, Cruel Intentions, The OC. I could think of more but they’d need to fit into my theme of “Current Mood.”
- A little magic box that produces an object you don’t want to buy cuz you only need it ONCE like a fucking cake pan or 4 cups of flour or Neosporin or just enough whiskey for tonight
- A gentle reminder I need to go to bed
- Like, a good 90% of the comments on the Internet should go away
- That Jedediah Atkinson character on SNL gets like a 2 hour weekly radio show
- I’d like to see hard proof that my Furby will never come back to kill me
- Lip gloss that looks glossy but doesn’t stick my hair to my lips and I am a feral animal trying to get it off me
- I COULD say “hairspray that doesn’t get into my eyes and mouth” but what I really mean is “coordination” and Santa can’t help me out with that one, the old bag.
- I am so tired, so so damn tired of saying college loan forgiveness but perhaps let me explain this agony I feel in a fake Fall Out Boy track list: 1. This Can Of Beans Won’t Eat Itself, Sugar 2. I’d Give You All My Money But You Already Have It Anyway 3. The Only Difference Between College and Graduation Is 40 Years Of Crushing Debt
- A reasonably priced haircut and bra
- An umbrella that I don’t have to remember to bring because it remembers me (re: sentient umbrella)
- Sweaters that make my boobs look good
- Peace, endless brie wedges and money and good eyebrows
Western haiku We oughta be more decadent
I oughta be more apartment and present or president
You should be more epic, less tiny, full of tangents
Fly covered squirrel/ in the driveway/ it’s spring
But it only looks sleeping, a rock-a-bye baby
I sweep its stiff body with a stiff bristled broom
The song that I whistle, a distraction from deathery
Death walks into a bar, and Hart stops That’s all there is,
a thing to get clear about No more “Lush Life” I reel
in the thought of the manifold real All the possibilities
inherent in the world The world can be as large
or as small as you like it How many words can you fit
into you mouth Enough to be inspired by the plethora
of grass blades, a second cup of coffee, all the shoes in this house
The baby birds hatch Pianos Become the Teeth “I’m drinking
fatigue,” the singer screams ambiguously His name
is Kyle, and his vocals deliver The Lack Long After,
an emotional record, so full of dynamic crackle and noise
It shouldn’t be gorgeous, but it’s nothing if not gorgeous
It takes a few listens, then suddenly you get it, rocking
back and forth on a warm weather sea Really you should try it
The sunset’s huge and pink and green American epic
Bring on the feeling and experience and wisdom Never call
Mayday, never surrender Dole out the mercy, like it’s sugar
for the children Grace is not something one deserves
to receive But the sounds crashing hard toward summer
help us get it Sometimes it’s crickets, sometimes it’s grackles
Frogs or dogs or backfiring engines ninety-five degrees
and the humidity is braying I’m praying to no one,
but wanting it to be someone, something all around us
tuning in to our bloodstreams, the trees, the cloud forms,
the angels and devils, something that gets it, so we get it
originally published in Hobart, from Matt Hart’s upcoming collection, Radiant Action
"Everybody gets so much information all day long that they lose their common sense." - Gertrude Stein
Duane Michals, Certain Words Must Be Said, 1976
“Things had become impossible between them, and nothing could be salvaged. Certain words must be said. And although each one had said those words, a hundred times to herself, they had never had the courage to song them outloud to one another. So they began to hope that someone else would say the word for them. Perhaps a telegram might arrive or a letter delivered that would say what they could not. Now they spent their days waiting. What else could they do?”
It was a clandestine winter of television;
We were so tired of the fashion blogs.
The moist world was doing what it could
To think at pinkish dusk.
I say this from the position of having already been
That summer I heard the chora in the beergarden.
Vitality, monstrosity, sociability, anarchy—these are
standing in for a kind of sensing that hasn’t happened yet.
There’s a slicing rain horizontally striping the train
If ornamentation can be austere
It’s a form of brutality.
I started asking questions about the sculptural values
that sound has
And how authority is installed.
Describe the silence there. It’s a recording of silence
A marbling or breathing through
Of sentences coarse, heavy, and blistered
About things that weakened.
By 1650, with her outdated ruffs and loyalties, her
pipes, her horses and her Roman histories
I was an overheard language. I lay down in it with my
own nerves and blood.
Each has the pleasure of a new proportion.
It can’t be solved, only articulated.
Your wind, your clean sky, places, food, sleep
It all agrees brilliantly with the shape of the earth.
In this attic room with the deep blue carpet and skylight
Imagining these small actions from my chair fills me
with an even calmer happiness.
I was the flexible medium of the future and the
impossibility of beginning.
I was longing for the visible.
I wanted it to be real kissing, softer than god.
Thirty seconds of weightlessness as one’s inner life.
Oh breast-bone and guts
My heart’s all over my body.
Charis is the graciousness
The discretion outside effort.
giant sweater life
So much for endings. Beginnings are always more fun. True connoisseurs, however, are known to favor the stretch in between, since it’s the hardest to do anything with.
That’s about all that can be said for plots, which anyway are just one thing after another, a what and a what and a what.
Now try How and Why." - Margaret Atwood, from “Happy Endings”
How can it be that sometimes you don’t believe
your own thoughts? This happens with Love is
making me stupider But it must be because
what am I doing nothing that’s what I just
want to sit under this famed Southern California
sun more golden here, its true what they say
as boats glide slowly by hardly paying attention
to them other than vague acknowledgment:
yes, we’re having icecream at the waterfront & so
here are boats After work, you pick me up in
the rental, exit at La Jolla We swill fancy drinks
on a balcony & make fun of awful electronic music
It almost drowns out the seal-songs I wore
practical shoes out finally & you’re proud Now
we can walk along the rocks awed by the bright
full moon talk again about how crazy it is what
we’ve stumbled into Back at the room, you roll
sleeves up & slide the window out What hotel
allows open windows unless as invitation to get
high? After sex I notice how few pages I’ve read
of this book long flights & all It’s another thing
to blame on love The thought makes me laugh
what else to do You look at me just-so as if
testing it all thoughts dissolve twenty-three floors
over a glowing city We kill tomorrow afternoon
in an empty restaurant the bartender calling us
lovebirds a round on the house & I learn more
about keeping step with this steady rhapsody.
Part travelogue, part love poem. Mostly love poem.
“A mystical experience would be wasted on me. Ordinary things have always seemed numinous to me. One Calvinist notion deeply implanted in me is that there are two sides to your encounter with the world. You don’t simply perceive something that is statically present, but in fact there is a visionary quality to all experience. It means something because it is addressed to you. This is the individualism that you find in Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson. You can draw from perception the same way a mystic would draw from a vision.” —Marilynne Robinson, born on this day in 1943