Sunday, May 11, 2014

kinda wordsworth kinda zenon

"Plastic has climbed down, it is a household material. It is the first magical substance which consents to be prosaic. But it is precisely because this prosaic character is a triumphant reason for its existence: for the first time, artifice aims at something common, not rare. And as an immediate consequence, the age-old function of nature is modified: it is no longer the Idea, the pure Substance to be regained or imitated: an artificial Matter, more bountiful than all the natural deposits, is about to replace her, and to determine the very invention of forms."
---Roland Barthes, Mythologies 

I'm back, bitches.

I'm back because,
for the first time in a long time,
I've experienced a moment.

A full-bodied, multi-note moment.

I've experienced the future.

The future has top notes
of coffee tang, base notes
of crushed magnolias, heart notes
of aged paper.

All laying on petaled grass, neck
wrapped in rose-tinted plastic.

In life, you never see the big picture.
You see sweaty palms in job interviews,
neurons tangled with missed deadlines,
a passive aggressive facebook status,
a scar on your ankle,
slices of skin in bed.

But sometimes
the carousel of it all
aligns with a pure thought.

"This is exactly where
7-year-old Ali placed
me in her brain."

Laying in the grass under the
lacy shade of magnolia trees in
front of a university
library reading
Genesis with
legs outstretched toes
painted the color of
flower throats peeking
through sparkle-captured
plastic sandals finally
appreciating the earthy taste
of coffee sipping flipping sipping
feeling each swallow through the
choker wearing the black tank top not
letting the black tank top wear me sweet
thoughts of last rum-soaked night sweet
thoughts of exchanged breath sweet
thoughts of toes bent sweet
Manhattan office sweet
iced coffee sweet
syllables sweet

I never saw "Pieces of April" but
I looked for it every time I went
to Blockbuster as a kid
hoping that someday
I would bloom into
someone half as
badass as Katie
Holmes in a

Ryan spit on me because he cares

I'm wearing the black tank top,
not letting the black tank to wear me.
Plastic has climbed down or maybe
I've climbed up but either
way I've turned the

Weird life goals

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