February 2012
13 posts
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an old, whisper-thin man gets on the bus. he is wrapped in a trench coat which so completely overwhelms his wasted frame that I think, ”he is entrenched in his coat.” He sits down by a middle-aged woman, after nearly falling when the bus lurches back into transit. The lady is overweight, and her bundled sides encroach on the rightful seat-territory of the fading man. He is so far...
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translations from spanish to english →
if you’re into that kind of thing.
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one thinly writing pen, please.
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superbowl time :3
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“You go into your apartment and lie down on the floor in your room.
Clothes,...”
– Sam Pink, The No Hellos Diet (via organic-hummus-dip)
super bowl tomorrow
is at 12:30am, Germany time :/ I have to wake up Monday morning at 6:30am to get to my job, which pays exactly €1/hr.. SO I’M TOTALLY GOING TO STAY UP AND WATCH.
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i feel like
steve roggenbuck’s ‘live my lief’ might be subconsciously seeping into my mood, because today everything seems beautiful and i feel like everything is moving! i like it! keep working!
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i want to watch big fish and cry because i don’t understand how any parts of the world work but i like when he holds his wife in the bathtub and they are old, they seem happy at being sad.
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January 2012
60 posts
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i'm willing to share with your domestic animal.
give me the spot
at the end of your bed
and i will stay there forever
listening to you
rehash the stories of universes
i will grant you longer breath
than Homer’s bards
and you can weave me an epic
to wrap up every culture
just keep running your fingers
through my hair
and reassuring me of my wantedness
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train leaves tomorrow at 6am
Stuttgart to Berlin Hbf! It’ll be my first time in Berlin and I’ll be seeing all of my American friends for the first time since Oktoberfest (and for half of them the first time since July). I am so excited to do something new.
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i'm not dysfunctional but there are broken parts...
the mechanism that’s supposed to cry for the dead
is cross-wired to certain melodic tones
and i never seem to remember, when you say
to forget.
my dreamer only seems to work
after 2am
and then it rerolls
the same 15 minute film.
look it doesn’t matter
i can stay this way
and that will be alright.
i’m not saying i’m a machine
just that a synapse and a circuit...
Watchpopserial:
animalitoinexpresivo:
Red bull para stephen :)
Boring Luna
Luna Miguel reads “Red Bull sin azúcar,” 1 of 2 poems by her that will be appearing, in Spanish as well as Jeremy Spencer’s English translation, in Pop Serial #3.
internet, how do i get to do this? i just want to translate lit pieces instead of company websites.
i have a €15 gift certificate
for amazon.de
i always get stuck in vacillation when i have giftcards to amazon because you could get so many things.
what should i buy?
is it bad
that the main selling points of depaul university for me are it’s location and the fact that David Foster Wallace went there? these things have nothing to do with education.
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Dígame un color...(Tell me a color...)
Translation of the poem by David Leo García, from the Spanish as published at Tenían viente años y estaban locos.
Tell me a color. Green. Another. Green.
A part of a house. Air.
A question. The question. A writer.
Mystery. What do you associate with a bird?
Mystery. And with a bird?
Infancy. And with grass?
Infancy. Tell me a color.
I don’t know. A country. Almost all of them.
A...
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“El hombre, el imperfecto bibliotecario, puede ser obra del azar o de los...”
– ¹ Aquí ‘universo’ se refiere a la Biblioteca de Babel.
del cortorelato La Biblioteca de Babel por Jorge Luis Borges.
”Man, the imperfect librarian, may be the work of chance or of malevolent demiurgi; the universe¹, with its elegant endowment of shelves, of enigmatic volumes,...
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grooveshark is now blocked within germany
:’(
no more beautiful music.
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“Death was so dull. That was the worst thing about death. It was dull. Once it...”
– from The Death of The Father I by Charles Bukowski.
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Andrés Neuman sobre Luna Miguel →
”Pienso en casos como el de Luna Miguel, agitadora poética, poeta agitada, joven estelar y estrella joven, a quien apenas he visto en mi vida.”
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paul auster's new memoir 'winter journal' is...
first of feburary for europe :) i still haven’t gotten to his The Invention of Solitude, so I can’t really vouch for it, but i plan on picking it up and giving it a go.
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i don't understand interpretive dance.
i don’t understand interpretive dance
but i like to watch people move through the city
and imagine how they’ve disappointed their loved ones
and speculate on which bystander they’re planning on murdering.
it’s pretty obvious, we’re all killing one another (slowly).
[don’t say that. you know i hate it when you say that.]
[what?]
...
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i really want
a cabin in the woods on a mountain with a running water source
a garden with delicious radishes and potatos and carrots and more and more vegetables
a dutch oven to cook those delicious vegetables in
a whole lot of books to read
beautiful trails to hike and summits to make
a nice dog friend :)
how is college going to help me with any of this? i don’t know but i guess maybe i hope...
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Books I've Read: December 2011-Present
Well, it’s been a while since my last installment of ‘Books I’ve Read’ (November 28th, 2011), so here is a hearty update.
December 2011
The Pale King by David Foster Wallace (still reading, currently on page 323/547).
The last of DFW’s work - The Pale King is Wallace’s unfinished novel. I’m a bit more than half-way through, and The Pale King is no...
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you know your German hostparents don't like your...
they say, ‘Wow, you could pass for a Turkish man…’
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“Para uno de esos gnósticos, el visible universo era una ilusión o (más...”
– de El jardín de senderos que se bifurcan por Jorge Luis Borges.
‘For one of those Gnostics, the visible universe was an illusion or (more precisely) a sophisim. Mirrors and fatherhood are abominable because they multiply and spread them.”
from The Garden of Forking Paths by Jorge Luis...
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secret to rainy days.
you’re on a boat.
you’re on a yacht, and you know which ropes
to pull, and which pulleys to unleash, and which
knots to tie (and how to tie them).
and the weather is not quite fair
in fact, there is a bit of a swell
and you’re rocking through a all-encompassing
massive blue - and then green, and all blue green.
no it’s no storm, it’s just a bit of stirring...
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i hate this poem
right now
yes
i wish i was capable
of flight.
on late night buses
and early morning trains
i still think about your hair
covering my face.
often lack of sleep
drags down my eyelids
like the mutilated lobes
of our friends’ gauged ears -
and then we are.
sometimes i submit
myself.
what what what
are we doing so
far far far
apart?
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via: omgitskelcey
Hazelton by Bon Iver.
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here
have a copy
of one of the three pictures
taken of me during the course of my life
in which i look cute
no, i don’t need it
i have a thousand copies.
it’s alright if you do
but please
just let me down easy
slowly
let me down in small ways
over two or three years
and then throw red paint
in my face
and tell me how i ruined everything
in excruciating detail.
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“Life’s as kind as you let it be.”
– from Charles Bukowski’s A Favor for Don.
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