Why We Write
We like to use words like nostalgia
because little things take us back
to yester-years when we were either
blissful or melancholy. Traces of
smoke, whether it’s from a burning
fire or cigarettes, sleep in our pores
waiting for thick phrases to wake
them up — with our heads held
lower than our chest or higher than
our shoulders, we become insomniacs
hoping to record our inhibitions in
metaphors that make sense. When we want
our pen to bleed with tears, we try
to keep our rivers in a steady current
so we flow altogether as each part of
our body feels different. Heart aches
and headaches, we’re all aching for
one thing - love, and we try to find it
in between the lines we diffuse so
at least we have one thing - imagination.
But because we know that our thoughts
are written in black scribbles sketched
to our potential, we write for ourselves
simply because we aren’t afraid to
admit that we are only
Posts tagged spokenwordsaturday
Draft Project Pt. 7
Errata for Draft Project, Pt. 7: The Spoken Version
I touch my eyes. How do I know all of this if I do not see? I’m not sure I am really touching my eyes. Maybe my mind is just telling my arm it’s moving, bending at the elbow. Maybe my fingers just feel like they’re touching my eyes. Maybe my eyes just feel like they are being touched.
Here’s the full, written version.
(PS - I know the above quote is kind of the most surface of explorations in the whole “what is real” department. Maybe something to think about later when I re-draft these drafts.)
One Word a “Day” - Third Word (Spoken)
I haven’t done one of these for awhile. I think I ran out of original writing to read. I did Sylvia Plath, Chekhov, and Amiri Baraka. I’ve been writing more, though. Maybe I’ll do a Draft Project reading at some point. For today, here’s a reading of all the “third word” pathways for my One Word a Day (Even though it’s hardly every day anymore) project.
Me reading my original work entitled Hand to Hand.
One Word a “Day” - Fourth Word (Spoken)
I’m still not sure which one of these I’m going to use. For now, here they are for your listening pleasure. Or something. It’s kind of long.
Here are the fourth word pathways, by the way. I got some reaction on these, which is nice. Thanks for reading and liking and reblogging! I also got some nice feedback from whatwasiexpecting, which was very much appreciated. Thanks again, everyone!
I am a luna moth, fairy to the forgotten lonely at 2 am. I will kiss your eyelids to dreams, I will caress your ears with gentle lullabies. Once you’ve finally reached restful unconsciousness, I will silently beat my wings home. whilst you are sleeping, darlings, I am contemplating wars and love and peace and hate. Nuclear physics and the gold stitched in a butterfly wing. the whispering rustle of autumn leaves and the complexity of a supernova. brainstorming possibilities, worrying over joblessness, fright of the world falling on my back and shattering, fear of failure.
My dozing dear, I am your dreamcatcher, taking the ghouls that chase you in the day time so they don’t fracture you in the nighttime. taking invisible bullets from the bad men that keep you captive.
sleep on, dream on, my lovely.
goodnight to you
*as requested by Kassie
Recorded a quick one this week at the radio station I work at. Some radio noises might be going on in the background, so apologies to the crazy audiophiles listening. As always, thoughts/questions/critiques are appreciated.
First, she broke her body open. The skin was arguably the hardest part, but it finally began to loosen and unfurl by the power of her own will. The exposed muscles immediately started revolting against her like they always have. The pectorals covered themselves and demanded to give their skin back. The hamstrings, being the diplomats of the body, tried to will every muscle into an unhinged attempt at escaping. After a few months, the muscles tired themselves out and parted their curtains to the holy organs. Each one glistened with patience and understanding like a midnight revelation, but all throbbed so regretfully when it was their turn to leave. The liver kept offering mix drinks made out of gin and tears. The intestines coiled like serpents, taught to never trust another person outside the skin again. The lungs couldn’t stop shaking, never looking the same after the house fire. But removing the heart was the most painful because it was surprisingly the quietest of all. No crickets and cicadas singing national anthems. No propaganda about former lovers. No family. No memories. No past. No future.
And, with all her parts sprawled so lonesomely for all to see, she was, decidedly, born.
Travelers Beware by Brandon Gene Petit
I read the first part of Brandon’s piece earlier and asked him if I could do a spoken word for it. He let me and provided the whole text. I hope this is acceptable… I’ve recorded it in the 10minutes of free time I had just a while ago. There were some audio problems and apologies if I couldn’t re-record a better version. Thanks again to Brandon for letting me do this. :-)
p.s. apologies for reading and audio errors :-) all done with haste and basic equipment.
Will I Do a Double Back Flip?
Captain J. Moses
“Will I Do a Double Back Flip?” by Captain J. Moses
This simple answer is no, but it is not without precedent.
Importantly, I can do a double back flip.
I can do them off a house or on flat land.
I can do them out of chairs.
I can do them from perfect stillness, lying flat on my back or
held with weights to the bottom of a deep swimming pool.
“Obviously I can do double back flips,” mocks my mind in the
high pitched voice of a human weasel.
imagine my body’s majesty in serendipitous flippantry,
a marvel of physics, pouring itself over twice
in a flurry of limbs, carbon contorted by force,
powered by carbohydrates.
I can do that.
In fact, I was once seduced by the double back flip.
I rained double back flips until it flooded,
I flipped in doubles so frequently
my body flipped in it’s sleep like
some sort of distorted stillness illness
like some sort of gravity-less leg syndrome,
I poisoned myself on double back flips.
Someone once asked, “ever consider becoming a ninja?”
to which I admitted, “I had.”
However, one can’t be a cowboy and a ninja at once.
Thus, I have to stick to my roots.
I’m so bored of double back flips, now, I could die
if I write one more sentence. So I won’t.
I wrote this piece for a personal blog. It’s called Letters, and was inspired by Nani (pavorst). Hope you all like it :)
p.s. if there’s audio problem, a good in-ear pair of earphones will help :)
Why you look unhappy?
There’s a better way to spend the evening
Add your star to my sky
Let it sparkle and that way you’re closer than ever
There’s a better way to spend the morning
Pour your coffee or tea
Let me pour mine and sniff the fresh fragrance
As the heat from the cup transfered to my hand
I’d feel you; warmer than ever
There’s a better way to spend the day
I know you have me on your iPhone
Put it in your left pocket, near your heart
So whenever you missed me
Probably when you wake up
Or when you have lunch, alone
Or before you close the night
(you can) Remember me;
And the way we feel so strongly
So you can stop
The interesting part about this post is, this is the first time I edit sound. So the hassle was pretty much there. I inspired with the hashtag spokenwordsaturday, and I’m feeling kinda sick so I thought I’m gonna have some fun, read my poetry on iPhone, turned out it was m4a so I download an m4a to mp3 converter, convert the poetry, then I thought I need a background sound, I download my friend’s Dewa instrumental record on his SoundCloud, and I’m trying to put it all together. I finally download audacity. Trying to figure it out for an hour before I can finally cut the unneccessary part of the clip. Export to Wav. Tumblr didn’t want Wav. So I’m back to Audacity. He wants me to download lame_enc.dll first before exporting to Mp3. And I downloaded that thing. And here we are. Such a long journey.
Diagnosis is based on observed behavior and the patient’s reported experiences.