alina pleskova

flotsam & jetsam, jolts, bric-a-brac, whatever catches--



fb : twitter : instagram : poems etc. : bedfellows

  1. August 31, 2014

    Assistance | Darin Ciccotelli

    You have the vague hope. Like a fritillary 
    it ekes along the perimeter of what 
    you can see. It is some consequence of youth, 
    this idea that you can be revived. 
    Until then, each day seems like that 
    apartment you’ve lived in—unfurnished, 
    wet with primer. Then the weekend is gone, 
    television having usurped it with 
    the dressage portion of the event. Increasingly 
    you rely on the idea that you were nearly 
    understood. The sky all fumes. 
    Inside, a refrigerated lily holds itself 
    still. The post-industrial town fits its 
    hours in envelopes. So you assuage yourself 
    with the person you never knew. 
    She sits in the mind like a 
    telephone. The feeling can’t help be 
    compounded. I read the article that said 
    we weren’t supposed to look each 
    other in the eyes. Without being asked, 
    the unceremonious plot resets itself. You are 
    in love. Everyone, at every corner, 
    suddenly like road flares.

    (via BOMB)

  2. August 30, 2014

    "

    Protests and looting naturally capture attention. But the real rage smolders in meetings where officials redraw precincts to dilute African American voting strength or seek to slash the government payrolls that have long served as sources of black employment. It goes virtually unnoticed, however, because white rage doesn’t have to take to the streets and face rubber bullets to be heard. Instead, white rage carries an aura of respectability and has access to the courts, police, legislatures and governors, who cast its efforts as noble, though they are actually driven by the most ignoble motivations.

    White rage recurs in American history. It exploded after the Civil War, erupted again to undermine the Supreme Court’s Brown v. Board of Education decision and took on its latest incarnation with Barack Obama’s ascent to the White House. For every action of African American advancement, there’s a reaction, a backlash.

    " - Carol Anderson, “Ferguson isn’t about black rage against cops. It’s white rage against progress.” (The Washington Post)

    (Source: citysleep)

  3. August 26, 2014

    (Source: ohsodirnty, via stayfunny)

  4. August 18, 2014

    ras-al-ghul-is-dead:

    A silent protest in Love Park, downtown Philadelphia orchestrated by performance artists protesting the murder of Michael Brown in Ferguson. The onslaught of passerby’s  wanting to take photos with the statue exemplifies the disconnect in American society.  Simply frame out the dead body, and it doesn’t exist.  

    Here are some observations by one of the artists involved in the event:

    I don’t know who any of these folks are.

    They were tourists I presume.

    But I heard most of what everything they said. A few lines in particular stood out. There’s one guy not featured in the photos. His friends were trying to get him to join the picture but he couldn’t take his eyes off the body.

    "Something about this doesn’t feel right. I’m going to sit this one out, guys." "Com’on man… he’s already dead."

    (Laughs.)

    There were a billion little quips I heard today. Some broke my heart. Some restored my faith in humanity. There was an older white couple who wanted to take a picture under the statue.

    The older gentleman: “Why do they have to always have to shove their politics down our throats.” Older woman: “They’re black kids, honey. They don’t have anything better to do.”

    One woman even stepped over the body to get her picture. But as luck would have it the wind blew the caution tape and it got tangle around her foot. She had to stop and take the tape off. She still took her photo.

    There was a guy who yelled at us… “We need more dead like them. Yay for the white man!”

    "One young guy just cried and then gave me a hug and said ‘thank you. It’s nice to know SOMEBODY sees me.’

    (via overtheanvil)

  5. August 8, 2014

    (Source: scarerants, via clipclopclap)

  6. August 6, 2014
    sovietpostcards:

(via Matryoshka Travels By Plane Vintage Soviet by SovietPostcards)

    sovietpostcards:

    (via Matryoshka Travels By Plane Vintage Soviet by SovietPostcards)

  7. August 6, 2014

    Aphrodisia Hangover | Alina Pleskova

    I stockpile amulets against the
    old ways, just in case.

    The latest from a book about fishing: 
    There’s nothing interesting about a resistible urge.

    Drifted around CVS after he called
    stoned in the way where all the world’s a cartoon,
    clutching a handful of cheap mascaras.

    Each a transformative offering:
    cat eyes, ‘wide-eyed manga look’,
    something to do with stilettos. 

    I chose ‘illegal length’,
    batted lacquered lashes
    over a giant margarita’s rim
    in mimicry of some illicit invitation.

    Our talk was direct, instead,
    close enough to tension-drained.
    His voice tilted concerned,
    like fidelity’s a disease I caught.

    Another round to realize, & not for the first time,
    how I remember things all wrong.

    Which is to say, incandescently. 
    Didn’t his eyes use to do something
    in the old poems? 

    Before, the air stilled.
    I called it a glitch, 
    hypergraphia, temporary psychosis,
    the flu, the spins.

    All my mistaken words
    for sleepwalking.

  8. August 6, 2014

    "Jenny Holzer’s famous truism “Protect me from what I want” renders in a very precise way the fundamental ambiguity of the hysterical position. It can either be read as an ironic reference to the standard male chauvinist wisdom that a woman, when left to herself, gets caught in the self-destructive fury, so that she must be protected from herself by the benevolent male domination: “Protect me from the excessive self-destructive desire in me that I myself am not able to dominate.” Or it can be read in a more radical way, as pointing towards the fact that in today’s patriarchal society, woman’s desire is radically alienated, that she desires what men expect her to desire, that she desires to be desired by men. In this case, “Protect me from what I want” means “What I want, precisely when I seem to formulate my authentic innermost longing, is already imposed on me by the patriarchal order that tells me what to desire, so the first condition of my liberation is that I break up the vicious cycle of my alienated desire and learn to formulate my desire in an autonomous way.”" - Slavoj Žižek, How To Read Lacan (via funeral)

    (Source: linkinparkvevo420696661337, via funeral)

  9. August 5, 2014

    "History is a papertrail that leads to a hole.
    My personal history is always such that and that which, a dreadful taxonomy of raining men.
    Hallelujah I’ve dug up this adorable patriarchy and it wants to live!" - from “Man Hole” by Natalie Eilbert. (via millionsmillions)

  10. August 4, 2014

    The Stenographer | Bianca Stone

    Never mind where I was
    it was like 6:45
    and the bartender had great hair
    I was breaking apart and taking notes
    I had to stand at the very end
    and wave for my drinks—
    couldn’t finish my book called
    Valis because the candle went out on my table and anyway the book was putting me deeper and deeper
    into a state where I felt like Buddha
    losing my memory in a backroom
    surrounded by thugs
    I was thinking of stenographer women who type in court houses
    while everyone rages around them—it’s a life
    of listening and typing
    sentences
    said by other people
    right now
    it seems like no one in this place
    wants to mean anything
    which is okay
    in my head I’m saying
    in 300+ words
    I’m afraid and very hopeful 

  11. August 1, 2014

    hello

    i’m journaling here, because i’ll be a 14 y/o livejournal devotee at heart forever.

  12. August 1, 2014

    You Make Love Like the Last Snow Leopard | Paige Taggart

    You make love like the last
    snow leopard. Time hunts your shadows.
    Your grooves dip a real x of an arc.
    I love your shadow. It’s performance on the wall. 

    Your white hair flocked. It’s old age that makes
    you kill for food. You bring a long blank to 
    bed in, the weight draws out.

    You need someone with skill for the excursion.
    Ride through the reservoir of sour peaches. 
    Your name meanders through the grass. Tall 
    people are in the way. I crowd surf to get to you. 

    You spill me into the flood. Water rushes out your sides.

    You make a mystery of playing political love. 
    I could kill for you. I’d bring you an eagle stuffed
    with finches. It’s pouch growing large and groaning
    in your palm. A cliff of umbrellas and memory 
    shaping your every move.

  13. July 31, 2014
    humansofnewyork:

"You stopped a live one today, honey. I’m an international cougar!"

    humansofnewyork:

    "You stopped a live one today, honey. I’m an international cougar!"

  14. July 29, 2014
    theparisreview:

“Self-criticism comes in during gaps where I lose my focus, or sometimes when I’m up in front of a room giving a reading and I’m unexpectedly mortified, and there’s nothing else to do but to continue reading with an air of confidence while thinking, How could you write such sick fucking stuff?”
An interview with writer Dodie Bellamy.

    theparisreview:

    “Self-criticism comes in during gaps where I lose my focus, or sometimes when I’m up in front of a room giving a reading and I’m unexpectedly mortified, and there’s nothing else to do but to continue reading with an air of confidence while thinking, How could you write such sick fucking stuff?”

    An interview with writer Dodie Bellamy.

  15. July 26, 2014
    he’s a god, he’s a man, he’s a ghost, he’s a guru (at The Mann Center for the Performing Arts)

    he’s a god, he’s a man, he’s a ghost, he’s a guru (at The Mann Center for the Performing Arts)