Text on the back:
“I am a cracked egg
I perceive my own energy spill out through my skin
tight, and shaking
It is a wonder people associate with me at all
when I can only move
like a kaleidoscope”
Text on the back:
“I will rewrite this memory.
I am making edits to your character. You are no longer weak minded, a series of firing synapses, instinctual.
You now have reason, empathy. You re-evaluate your life and strive toward inner autonomy. You have values which you stick by. You are no longer a frustration to be around.”
“Geometric patterns can be revealed in everything. I can’t stop looking for them. They spill out of mathematical theories and overtake my day to day life, until I am hallucinating kaleidoscopes.”
“The suburban angels carry in their eyes all that is sweet and nostalgic about childhood; basketball hoops and sand in your shoes and the sound of a ball hitting asphalt. They walk among green lawns and rooms full of doilies and dried flowers, they walk past vacuous houses and chain restaurants, they walk through the parking lot where your dad is crying in the car about his failed marriage. They walk with plastic smiles on their faces.”
“I think sometimes we get so stunted by the traditional model of drinking-as-socialization that we forget how to do Things. Let’s draw on each others faces. Let’s tiptoe through glassy waters and hold fake baptisms. Let’s swing. Let’s pick wildflowers and take bike rides and haunt bookstores. Lets engage strangers and make short films and write and sing. Let’s lie in my bed and listen to music.”
“Hold me to the light
the way you hold yourself to a high standard.
through the cracks in my body you’ll see the persistent glow of the sun, or the lamp or the moon. Faint and glittering. As you contemplate the meaning of this act, I’ll be soaring in the sky, my wounds and cracks healed.”
I have not been feeling very self confident creatively. There has been very little postcard action in the past few months, but I hope to remedy this with a flurry of December postcards. My advent calendar this year is the planned opportunity to write everyday, and put it out there. Let me know if you’d like some Christmas (well, in arrival time only) mail!
Oh me please! :) Do you still have my address? I have also put my postcards on hold because of school.
Text on the back:
“It’s the witching hour
and the silence is broken by the shriek of metal on metal
as flags convulse in the stilted breeze.
It’s the witching hour
And the noiseless traffic lights change
ushering ghost cars through silent intersections.
It’s the witching hour
And I am alone in the shadows, finding peace.”
Text on the back: “I am delighted by the smell
of the skin on my shoulder.
I am huddled in my sheets
inhaling the scent of cotton.
I am leaning out the window
breathing smoky air.
The world: an aesthetic feast.”
Text on the back:
“After your screaming rowdy friends have gone
you pick up bottles and pieces of paper
you can hear the silence humming
all alone in that room.”
