alina pleskova

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

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  1. April 13, 2014


    This is art.

    (Source: hysteria, via jackeesad)

  2. April 13, 2014

    "We have no other words to use. We know they don’t count but we lay them against the abyss anyway…" - Anne Carson, The Economy of the Unlost (via mttbll)

  3. April 13, 2014

    coping skills lost in the flood | CA Conrad

                       make you aching upwards of a
                                 teenage broken phone
                               come to hear underwater
                                    libraries up the side of
                                            the dinner plate a
                                            little too fast
                                              not ungrateful like
                some of  these bastards around here
    can’t tap out a tune with you looking away
                          genies of not enough sleep
                                   a happier location for
                                            the war not the
                           easiest thing you realize
                              beautiful architecture
                              refreshing beverages
           our signs read hello love us for
                                      the century of
                                      progress we
                                          gave you
                                        early here
                                      they are
  4. April 13, 2014

    Pizza Coven | Alina Pleskova


    We light oxblood candles, 
    sprinkle rings of oregano

    Crouch over eerie
    smartphone glow, cloaked
    in black lace garments with
    ample stretch room

    Our burnt tongues nightly
    chant, Deliver unto us 
    this rightfully-owed
    free side of hot wings

    With brew pints 
    bubbling over,
    we cackle louder 
    than the women 
    with salads

    harder than those 
    in yogurt commercials

    with their sensible haircuts
    with their mortal flesh


    The time felt right to write, you know, a pizza witch poem.

  5. April 10, 2014

    "So many doors forever. There were never enough. Each door had several locks. One lock was combination. Another required keys. Another was a simple side latch. Another was strictly ornamental. Another you could open by whispering the right thing to it at the right time, which is the type of lock most humans have." - Blake Butler, Scorch Atlas (via kdecember)

    (via nogreatillusion)

  6. April 10, 2014

    Questions of Scale | Alina Pleskova

    The wanting hinges on your voice
    via envelope, page 4’s mention of
    attempts at converting carnality
    to verse: I never do it so well
    as when it’s to someone I’ve slept with

    & a wound-up coil springs apart
    some 97 miles later, triggers
    visions of your thermotropic prints
    turning purple, brown,

    —even as you insist, Sex on paper is
    by definition dried ink
    this pulpy ticker suspects different,
    thrums expectant as if pricked
    by your serifs

    until, snagged at the junction
    of smitten & smut, I fidget—
    dumbstruck by the fast-cut fever
    dream of

    learning to breathe staccato
    in the underwater of your palm.


    (Just a lil’ poem I wrote about writing about sex after someone you had sex with writes to you about writing about sex.)

  7. April 9, 2014

    Ceremony for the Closing of the Mouth by Marni Ludwig


    You and I were having a fight
    in the street where we fell in love
    with our accident.

    Several artful lampposts instructed me:

    How to point.
    How to spin the lights.
    How to sit one chair away from myself
    in the auditorium of mistrust,
    where a piano lid crashes
    inside the stomach.

    You taught me to connect
    music to the will,
    though I did not say loudmouth,
    busy as I was bending
    spoons that were the exact shape
    my pain made.

    (Source: fluttering-slips)

  8. April 9, 2014

    "There are many invisible borders, she says. Some erect and inexorable as when a lover recedes into friend. How we fuss as we approach the millennium, after having slept in its secular sense so long. As if civilization were about to draw its lazy length up toward a moment of moment, advent of the Other, so that Human-Nature-Can/Cannot-Be-Changed would slide down opposite slopes of time. The horizon is a function of eye-level." - Rosmarie Waldrop, from Four Conversations

  9. April 7, 2014

    Soup Is One Form of Salt Water | Heather Christle

    I am making borscht      please do not laugh at me      I seem to have ruined my soul      the quality of television programming grows stronger all the time      soon we will live in the ocean      we will all return to the ocean      my hands are bright pink      like I have been applauding you for hours      my love for you is louder than I know      I saw a show last night      there were four thousand brides left in Iceland      I was laughing      but it was not funny      the brides looked embarrassed      and cold      I must not wash anywhere but a tide pool      I must use starfish      to scrub at my hands      I am writing this to say      I am not leaving you forever      I am going to get better      and then I’ll come home

    (via alinapleskova-deactivated201404)

  10. April 7, 2014

    "There is a voice in my head that I’d like to banish: an iteration of patriarchy that has told me to aim for emotional consistency & a controlled persona. Once my mother told me that I would never be loved as long as I couldn’t figure out how to have one single, knowable identity… Who I was shifted from moment to moment. My credibility was questioned because I acted differently with different people. But people are different, I always think. Shouldn’t you consider that? I don’t see what’s wrong with shattering into fifty pieces at once every time you try to commit to an idea. Much important thinking, writing, & activism seeks to unify those parts, but first you have to get to know the splits & fault lines. We know this! Yet ambivalence, fragmentation & contradiction are still often seen to undermine one’s authority in art, especially if the artist is a woman. How can you look so sweet & talk so ugly?" - Monica McClure, here

    (via alinapleskova-deactivated201404)

  11. April 7, 2014


    The self-portrait, as written by a woman, is read as somehow dangerous & indulgent. Some sort of gag order from modernism that even Second-Wave feminist critics, reading Jean Rhys, reading Zelda, reading Anaïs Nin, have internalized— this idea of being self-indulgent, in indulging in the self as contrary to art…

    …The charge against women writers so often is narcissism. This unconscious bias against women who are full of themselves bleeds into reactions against their literature. That it’s somehow cheating to draw from one’s OWN life, even if it’s with startling insight into the human condition, or more forbidden still, the complex & ambivalent female condition.

    " - Kate Zambreno, from Heroines

  12. April 7, 2014
    this weather calls for temp deviation from bb goth aesthetic

    this weather calls for temp deviation from bb goth aesthetic

  13. April 7, 2014

    "Listen, I have been educated.
    I have learned about Western
    Civilization. Do you know
    What the message of Western
    Civilization is? I am alone." - Eileen Myles

  14. April 6, 2014

    "Speech, tennis, music, skiing, manners, love- you try them waking and perhaps balk at the jump, and then you’re over. You’ve caught the rhythm of them once and for all, in your sleep at night. The city, of course, can wreck it. So much insomnia. So many rhythms collide. The salesgirl, the landlord, the guests, the bystanders, sixteen varieties of social circumstance in a day. Everyone has the power to call your whole life into question here. Too many people have access to your state of mind." - Renata Adler, Speedboat

  15. April 6, 2014

    "I think with my blood." - Cate Marvin