alisonwynn-blog - Tumblr blog

[alisonwynn-blog]

grammatology for anthony robinson i want sentences. to make sense. in the post post post structuralist way. want barbie to topple. the way she should. want my hands to age. the redness to be arthritis not frostbite. want to use apostrophes as commas because nothing. is that possessive. i used to hoard old sneakers. a kid with candy in the closet. now i fill trash bags with clothes that fit. i like this showing. like you in all your languages. body. bullets. paragraphenalia . today i think. waist. want. put on. my cargo shorts and strut between couch and computer. between balance and overdrawn. i feel like a checkbook missing monthly interest. i know it's there. acquired. never met. i never thought about barbells. about piercing my nipples. the ringlets small. i miss. i am miss. admit to singular. can't conjugate smitten. alone. Erica Kaufman

[alisonwynn-blog]

How did you come upon the compline hour of being alone from Finnegans Wake Might I inquire

I think it found me.

[alisonwynn-blog]

Spa

[alisonwynn-blog]

Your Relationship to Motion Has Changed

Having nowhere to go is the best place to be: I

don’t care if crosswalk signals never let me pass or if rivers

continue to flood. After all terrors, settled moments have left to

head towards nothing. Welcome to mediocrity: we’ve had a table

with a broken leg for you all along. As another immolation

passes, we see renewed faith in saints who died normal deaths, poets

who had heart attacks in their 80s

surrounded by their families. Ev- entually you have to accept

that things you knew about motion are long since

debunked and re-mystified in new ways. All anger begins new life

as damage, resting on benches and in middles of streets. Days of

wishing we hadn’t woken up have returned to us, having let us go

long enough to know we would come back. ….

....

Amish Trivedi

[alisonwynn-blog]

Good #morning #RVA

[alisonwynn-blog]

Autumn ill and adored You die when the hurricane blows in the roseries When it has snowed In the orchard trees Poor autumn Dead in whiteness and riches Of snow and ripe fruits Deep in the sky The sparrow hawks cry Over the sprites with green hair the dwarfs Who’ve never been loved In the far tree-lines the stags are groaning And how I love O season how I love your rumbling The falling fruits that no one gathers The wind the forest that are tumbling All their tears in autumn leaf by leaf The leaves You press A crowd That flows The life That goes

Guillaume Apollinaire –translated by A. S. Kline

[alisonwynn-blog]

"But I miss you most of all … my darling When autumn leaves … start to fall."

[alisonwynn-blog]

Hi there. You interest me.

Typewriterblues! You've always fascinated me. And your words. Oh God, your words could move mountains. They certainly move me.

[alisonwynn-blog]

Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire.

Roland Barthes, A Lover's Disclosure: Fragments

[alisonwynn-blog]

Typewriter Series #876 by Tyler Knott Gregson

*Pre-Order my book, Chasers of the Light, and donate $2 to @TWLOHA and get a free book plate signed by me :)  Click the link in my bio, or go here:  tylerknott.com/chasers*

[alisonwynn-blog]

My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope - make yourself a structure you can live inside.

Aimee Bender, Willful Creatures

[alisonwynn-blog]

I used to notice everything, and spoke A language full of details that I’d seen, And people were amused; but now I see Only a little way. What can they mean, My phrases? They come drifting like the mist I look through if someone appears to be Smiling in my direction. Have they been? This was the time when I most liked to smoke. My watch-band feels too loose around my wrist. My body, sensitive in every way Save one, can still proceed from chair to chair, But in my mind the fires are dying fast. Breathe through a scarf. Steer clear of the cold air. Think less of love and all that you have lost. You have no future so forget the past. Let this be no occasion for despair. Cherish the prison of your waning day.

Clive James ‘Holding Court’

[alisonwynn-blog]

The adjectives were abandoned Suffixes and prefixes scrambled Vowels lynched and hung upside down Epithets beheaded Remnants from shattered strings Conjoined for a synthetic memory The unoccupied portions on the Map of alphabets resemble A Hieroglyphic of colonial logic symbols, The refugees flee through edited check-points And seek asylum in an alien tongue Bleaching through barbed wire fences of apartheid Abbreviating their surnames and Dislocating their punctuations Silencing their phonetics in sound bytes Stripping bare the sterile meat of An evacuated language

Chandramohan S Occupied Language

[alisonwynn-blog]

When one of us turns aside from living in order to admire life; when a rose petal is allowed to cool an eyelid, when a line of charcoal depicts the inviting length of a thigh; we are no longer going in nature’s direction but contrary to it. What was never meant for us becomes ours entirely; what never had a use is suddenly all we need.

Rainer Maria Rilke

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René Burri

[alisonwynn-blog]

Walk through words like through a minefield: one false step, one false move, and all the words which you have threaded onto your veins your whole life will be torn apart, and you with them...

Avrom Sutzkever – Green Aquarium (translated by Zackary Sholem Berger)

[alisonwynn-blog]

Lisa Murphy (Australia) - Power Of A Dream, 2010    Drawings: Ink on Watercolor Paper