Spare a pencil?
I have a major crush on George Watsky. There’s something about one of the lines in the beginning: “My church is for those of us who grew up wishing we believed in an afterlife.” That’s how I’ve always felt. I’d drink the Koolaid with him anytime.
She heard sad things all day
long in the usual turning
of phrases until it felt
everything she was touching
was just a neatly packaged beauty
supply or a deeply discounted
drug: what everyone needed: detergents
and cosmetics; she scanned shells
for shotguns and rounds for 22s;
and while handling cheap bras and polyester
socks she began to feel the flimsiness
of the lives of others.
That grasping suddenly altered her
thinness into transparency,
and their eyes took turns clutching her
to glean the shape of her bones.
Then they could offer their own
thorns: One had a stray wife who was still
beautiful. Another had a faithful wife
with eyebrows as dark as hers, also still,
also beautiful, but betrayed. Finally,
a pregnant wife. We’re all older now,
only smoking once a week and it has
something to do with religion. With a world
you can no longer fist. With a wife.
No one she knows has killed himself,
yet. The fat guy at the gas station
thinks of her daily and she remembers:
outside the church it’s the day she married
and this perfect stranger comes up to her
and says: Now what do I do
with the rest of my life?
Listening to Rives is like falling in love, so hurry up and fall.
Don’t take her to movies but to cemeteries
tell all about werewolf bathtubs and forked clarinets
then desire her and kiss her and all the preliminaries
and she going just so far and I understanding why
not getting angry saying
You must feel! It’s beautiful to feel!
- “Marriage” by Gregory Corso
My name is Amanda.
This is the part where I try to tell you everything about myself but I’m bad at that. So instead, bullet points!
- I’m twenty. It’s a bummer.
- My inner dialogue reads like a 4th grader’s writing exercise.
- I write constantly, and it goes on here. <3