Letters for Burning

describe yourself in 3 television characters.

Wed, 15 May 2013 13:32:00 -0400

Jane Kerkovich-Williams (Happy Endings), Ellie Torres (Cougar Town), and the love child of April Ludgate and Leslie Knope (Parks and Rec). Literally these people in a scary way.

Daria Morgendorffer (Daria) + Simon Amstell (Grandma’s House) + bits and pieces of Hannah Horvath (Girls).

I wish I could have had Toni Morrison as a professor....

Sun, 12 May 2013 14:08:26 -0400

I wish I could have had Toni Morrison as a professor. She’s my favorite writer to listen to. You can always feel how intensely personal and spiritual the acts of reading and writing are to her. She always makes me believe in literature again.

Real Life Wins Again

Wed, 08 May 2013 22:37:48 -0400

Let it be known that on the night of May 8th, 2013, Joseph thought for the first time of how nice it would be to draw a hot bath. He is suddenly no longer a boy. After a long day, he eases his wrinkles in.

Today was my first day of work, a real full-time job. I’ve never had one of those. But I went for an interview this week and I was hired that same day. I don’t know what to make of it all so far, since they’ll be training me for a while. It’s mostly plugging things into computers and office work. The company is quite large, a huge office with little cubicles. It’s very mixed, with people my age and other older people who have been there quite a long time. Everyone was very nice to me.

I’m going to be 26 soon, which is unbelievable. My brain stopped counting after 18. I am both 18 and 80. Whatever, numbers. I don’t have to think about numbers anymore. I have a degree in English to prove it. (Incidentally, I was always really good at math in school, so go figure…)

My sister’s graduation is also approaching. She was whining about how bored she’s going to be this summer now that I have a job. I promised her we would go shopping sometimes, but just for me, now that I’m making money.

My aunt started texting me. She wanted to know how my day was. My family is more excited for me than I am.

ofoctaves: Hey, I think I see Joseph’s name. Yep, I have a...

Tue, 07 May 2013 13:07:38 -0400

ofoctaves:

Hey, I think I see Joseph’s name.

Yep, I have a poem in this issue. You can pick up a copy here.

Steps in Kicks

Fri, 03 May 2013 18:52:35 -0400

I have emotion bulimia. My face reads nothing until I have a moment to get it all out. You wouldn’t know I’ve had terrible issues with anxiety because it doesn’t show. And, despite what you might expect, I don’t think I’ve shed a single tear in maybe over a year. My psychologist says I’m so expressive and emotional in my writing, and it is quite a contrast to see. I’m blank, but the pages never are. They get filled easily and quickly. It gushes out in a flood, and the water settles until the next time I need to get rid of something.

I guess these analogies are appropriate, since I’ve been so immersed in the world of self-injury and just finished A Bright Red Scream. Body issues came up, eating disorders. My mom used to think I had anorexia because I was skinny and wouldn’t eat. I don’t think I was, but I am good at controlling what I need to control. I like being in control of something. At least, the one thing I can control: myself. It’s funny though, more and more, I have less and less interest in power fantasies. People are always talking about superheros now, and watching movies about superheroes, and pretending they have other kinds of identities and superhuman abilities. But I always want to write about weakness and passivity, I want paralysis and flailing and maybe, the end will either be tiny kicks or getting on your feet. That type of victory is sweeter and more personal.

I have been given even more control now because I’ve been going on job interviews these past few weeks. I don’t know what on earth I’d do with money other than try to live and maybe eat sometimes. There is less disillusionment now anyway, and more forward momentum. There’s the desire to feel useful and step outside. It’s been raining quite heavily, but that hasn’t stopped me. I really want to go bowling. Who wants to come?

"I have no vision of the future for myself, if indeed I do survive to see it, she says..."

Mon, 29 Apr 2013 19:41:07 -0400

“I have no vision of the future for myself, if indeed I do survive to see it, she says matter-of-factly. I have no ambitions or career plan, and reject the idea of marriage and procreation. I don’t feel I have a useful work- or sexual-self, two things that seem essential to normal adult functioning. I don’t feel I have anything to offer people, although I know I am intelligent and creative.”

- a cutter from A Bright Red Scream

Boyfriend Chameleons

Sun, 28 Apr 2013 18:02:49 -0400

“You know she has to assume the identity of everyone she’s dating.”

That’s a good friend of mine talking about his sister. She has certainly come far. I remember her going from long black pants and dangling chains to wearing camo and shooting off guns. Her skin doesn’t just shed away, it’s like a chameleon reassembling in a completely different environment. It’s really quite something and even surreal when you take a seat and look through journals and trace the lines. Here’s where we came from and here’s where we are now.

We like to think we don’t change, but we do. We sometimes feel stuck, but we’re never really cohesive. I’ve only been around Scott for a week, but I’ve already noticed how my voice has taken on new qualities. It’s picked up some of his mannerisms. My sister called attention to the hard “k” sounds in my “likes.” I hadn’t noticed. I’m slowly absorbing his power.

I’ve been congratulated for sticking to my own colors. Being a beige blot in purple. Not copying or adapting when I’m thrown into a new pattern. I’m not sure at which age we start to become more like mosaics and quilt our own patches, but I wish it were soon.

The Language of Pain

Sat, 27 Apr 2013 18:41:00 -0400

I haven’t been writing much, but I have been reading a psychology book on self-mutilation, A Bright Red Scream. I was browsing my boyfriend’s bookshelves and it caught my eye immediately. He said I could bring it home. I’ve always been curious about cutters and why they injure themselves. Although I have known some of their issues, I don’t know the intimate relationship with self-inflicted pain like they do. I’ve never had a desire to self-injure, even on my darkest days. Suicidal thoughts seem to come from a different place, where you just want complete erasure, not stability and reintegration. It seems to me more about catharsis, and trying to articulate things which can’t be articulated.

In the book, is this quote: “For most people, tears, not blood, are the language of the body.”

When tears are gone and the pain still remains, blood is the next step up. I was not so sure about all this though - I am only one person with my own particular feelings. I am glad there are books to help us understand.

I woke up to an acceptance letter today. A story of mine will be published in the forthcoming issue of PANK. I really love them, so this is quite exciting. It is also timely, since my story is, incidentally, about quiet self-destruction. Self-destruction and family dynamics. From all the trauma I’ve been reading about, I wanted to supply an unsung story where the trauma isn’t so evident.

Maybe I’ll try to write a happy story next.

Or not.

Every tool is a weapon if you hold it right.

Wed, 24 Apr 2013 22:48:00 -0400

Every tool is a weapon if you hold it right.

Photo

Mon, 22 Apr 2013 14:02:23 -0400

"She refused to be bored, chiefly because she wasn’t boring."

Sat, 20 Apr 2013 21:01:43 -0400

“She refused to be bored, chiefly because she wasn’t boring.”

- Zelda Fitzgerald (via aemurrow)

The Lost Art of Shutting the Fuck Up

Sat, 20 Apr 2013 13:50:59 -0400

I feel stranded in this internet wasteland. There used to be places where I could go to get away. Sail on a sea of quiet conversation on a boat with fellow usernames. The life. But now, everything penetrates everything else. It feels like a tentacular apocalypse. And I can’t hear anything because everyone is always screaming.

People just don’t know when to stop. Taking pictures of their lunch, telling Twitter where they are at every exact moment. Their feed is a factory. Look at me! I don’t care if you stalk me, really; in fact, you probably should!

When I met Chuck Wendig, he wouldn’t stop tweeting. This annoyed me. Do people really have to be connected at all times? What is so important that it can’t wait until later? When I took my trip to Houston, I was more than happy to detach from all devices and just observe everything around me. When I came home, my mom was upset that I didn’t take any pictures. I wanted to observe, I said. I wanted to experience for the moment. No filters, no devices, no looking back on it as it’s already happening. The present as present, the present as not already past.

I wish people were more selective. Stop thinking in terms of audience. Thoughts can exist by themselves and they can be happy. They can have intimate gatherings with just a few people and it can be worthwhile. They can even be alone and quiet sometimes. Slap yourself and recognize what’s truly important with your words. You’re a writer. It shouldn’t be hard.

Let’s just take a moment to mourn the loss of thinking for thinking’s sake. Just a quiet moment of reflection. Ignore the tentacles coming in through the windows.

Hold on, I should really tweet about this first though…

Release the Kraken

Tue, 16 Apr 2013 17:21:00 -0400

I finally finished reading Frankenstein with my sister. As most of you probably already know, my sister is not a reader like I am, but for some reason, she really liked Mary Shelley’s classic. I was curious as to why that was, and since I never got a chance to read it for school myself, I decided to read it alongside her. Most of it, truthfully, was pretty tedious for me. It felt like work. Particularly the middle: lots of fluff, mostly about Frankenstein’s travels that weren’t all that interesting. To Geneva! Now, to Scotland apparently! Now back to Geneva! However, what was most interesting, by far, were the last twenty pages or so. When all of the meta-stories were finally pulling back and everything burst wide open and all these great questions about evil and existence came to a head. It was really exuberant. I can imagine English teachers having a field day with those last twenty pages, assigning all sorts of topics for papers. Who is the real monster here? The monster as a part of Frankenstein? The descriptions of nature (what is natural) versus the descriptions of the unnatural (the monster). Illness (mental, physical) as isolation. Who is lonelier? And those are just a few off the top of my head that I just thought of in ten minutes or so.

Over the weekend, I went with Melissa to meet writer Chuck Wendig. We drove to Las Olas and it was raining heavily when we arrived. Only in Florida will you sweat profusely in the downpour. Chuck showed up and gave out books when we asked him questions. He signed them and wrote in them how we would die (Melissa: death by plague in a retirement community; seems legit). He doesn’t write what I write, but it was fun to hear him talk. We went to a hotel afterward for lunch and I had delicious vegetarian flatbread. People bought Chuck drinks at the bar. Oh writers.

The Pulitzer Prizes were announced yesterday. I don’t really have much to say about that, simply because I haven’t read any of the books. I was aware of Snow Child though. What about you? What do you think?

I was thinking about how, as a child, I didn’t really identify with “writer.” I wrote, but I didn’t think of it in terms of an art or a business. Instead, it was just an essential; I needed it because I needed. There were no potential readers, no audience in my mind because I wasn’t looking for any. It’s funny how adults are the ones to call it magic.

How do you use your words now? Do you dip them in a thick batter? Do you pickle them in opaque jars? Do you throw them in with the rest of the laundry just so they’ll bleed? Do you sharpen them?

Wow.

Sun, 14 Apr 2013 21:48:00 -0400

Wow.

Post-Houston

Thu, 11 Apr 2013 21:59:00 -0400

I’ve returned from my trip to see my boyfriend. The flight back home was very sad. It already feels strange not waking up in my makeshift bed anymore, with his cat purring on the coffee table or nuzzling my luggage. Even stranger is the fact that we won’t be able to spend time anymore in real life, for now.

This was my first time travelling alone and without my family. Going to another state, going to see a boy I can actually put up with. But it all went smoothly. I arrived in Houston on time, unscathed. It was rainy the first night there, but the weather was cool and fair and pleasant for the rest of the trip. Scott picked me up and was dressed nicely in a vest and tie. He told me I wasn’t as short as he thought I would be. I told him that is the first time anyone has ever said that to me.

I spent nearly a week away. We ate both at fast food places I don’t have at home for the simple novelty (oh my god, Sonic actually exists!!!) and dined at nicer restaurants downtown. Scott introduced me to Kobe beef burgers, which was probably the best burger I’ve had (says the pseudo-vegetarian). Scott and I are a lot alike in ways, but his diet is different. Chicken, beef, seafood. I consumed a lot of flesh. I joked that I probably put on a lot of weight because of it. I came home and Nana was pleased to see me plumper than usual. “Healthy.”

Immediate observations: Cool weather is not so damp and deep to the bone like in Florida. Not as extreme and violent. Houston is, believe it or not, more multicultural too. I hear Spanish everywhere still, but there are more people of Asian descent too. Surprisingly, very few white people, and practically no Southern accents. The roads and highways are sprawling like Florida though. There is traffic. But there is also city and places with some color and culture. There are signs that say NOW HIRING.

We didn’t get to everything we wanted to do, but we tried. We played some video games, watched a movie, and he taught me how to play chess. We gave each other massages. We went to the Galleria Mall, which is one of the biggest in the country. It had an ice rink in the middle of it. There was every designer store imaginable and Scott kept touching everything but I was scared to even breathe. Suits went up in the thousands. Who would buy such things? We did try on some clothes though for ourselves. Some actual clothes we bought and would wear.

It is always a unique experience transitioning from internet real life to realer real life. I met my boyfriend online and we spent practically a week living together. I learned that he is sometimes inscrutable and difficult to read and he learned that I am not as articulate as he probably imagined. Despite being a writer, words sometimes don’t come to me naturally. They leap to my fingers, not to my mouth. I also learned that it is difficult making decisions on things when we are both so indifferent or indecisive (I’m more of the latter, of course). Sometimes we would pick things arbitrarily. Mostly he made the decisions though.

I liked being on my own too. I haven’t done this yet. I want to now, more than ever. I realized this especially when I came back home. I don’t want to be tied up with my family, I don’t want to be in Florida. The starkest, most immediate contrast was not going from Houston back to Florida, but going from Scott’s quiet apartment to my family’s high-energy dramatics. Going from an appreciation of silence to a desperate dread of ever shutting up.

Photo

Tue, 02 Apr 2013 21:27:00 -0400

I'm going to be away for a week. Not like I won't have access to the internet, I just want to feel important and like someone will miss me in the interim.

Mon, 01 Apr 2013 21:24:49 -0400

Crag to Slate

Mon, 01 Apr 2013 19:06:32 -0400

I was reading and Cixous was talking about how her name is ugly and how she considered using her grandmother’s maiden name just so that it wasn’t something so prominent and excessive, something that got so deformed over the years that no one knows what it originally looked like. It is a name with no distinct origins, much like my own. Although I know both sides of my family come from Italy, my name is still very un-Italian, by all accounts. Everyone gets it wrong and I’ve always hated that. No one knows what to do with it. But unlike Cixous, I did finally drop it when I started publishing my writing. I chose something easy, but still with a literary inflection: Dante. My middle name and my namesake. From four rocky syllables that people stumble over to two smooth sounds that skate across the page. It’s a flourish.

I don’t know anything about my family history. Just that somehow, blue eyes got in there that don’t produce hexes. But we still burn pretty easily like witches.

"I felt perfectly at home, nowhere."

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 19:40:22 -0400

“I felt perfectly at home, nowhere.”

- Hélène Cixous

proustitute: Leonardo da Vinci, Studies of Embryos, c. 1510-13

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 02:06:00 -0400

proustitute:

Leonardo da Vinci, Studies of Embryos, c. 1510-13