FOR THE BLOGS

The NYC feminist collective and distro I am apart of, FOR THE BIRDS, has recently started to up our blog game in a serious way. As most of us are in graduate school or touring the country, we can't commit to as many events as we once could. We'll still be out there, distroing zines and music, but we are also trying to maintain active conversation and visibility on the internet.

Today I updated the site with my first blog post, in which the author of the book I discuss totally commented! The internet is literally a tangled web, and a small one at that.

You can follow the blog posts I author here !

WILL YOU FALTER?

SCOPING YOU OUT

SPITTING RESOLUTIONS

I often have a reoccurring dream and it goes like this: I am with someone significant or need to say something important. I open my mouth to speak but my mouth is completely filled with either bright pink chewing gum or a dough-like mucus. I begin pulling the substance out of my mouth, but I can never get it out completely and I begin to panic.

According to my "extensive" research on the internet, I've learned that to dream about chewing gum suggests that you are unable to express yourself effectively, that you feel like you may have said the wrong thing, or that you feel vulnerable.

To dream about not being able to remove the gum from your mouth suggests you are experiencing some powerlessness or frustration. You may lack understanding in a situation or find that a current problem is overwhelming. Maybe an inability to digest a dilemma. Or possibly some negative force in your life that you need to get rid of.

Last night I had this very dream, but for the first time I was able to completely remove all of the dough from my mouth. I spat hard to be sure I'd removed any lingering pieces. I woke and saw that I had spit clear across my bedroom; a pool of glistening excretion on the ground.

THE SYNDROME

The air tastes like cutlery and salt. It lay smooth and cold on a furry white tongue that he runs over rows of cluttered teeth. His mouth is a crowded room, a subway car during rush hour, a deadline. He presses the third floor buzzer and then slips his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt to hold them there and feel the beads of pulled material accumulating; the wear and tear of every day that sneaks by. Everyday that is exactly the same as the last. When he breathes out, he breathes out smoke. When he breathes in, he breathes in savory metal. He runs one hand over the back of his neck as the door opens and the warmth inside hits him like an air bag.

* * *

The window in her bedroom is open, even though there is frost crystallized like cracked glass on the window. She lay belly down on her bed, a mattress in a corner, reading from a book that she’s been trying to finish for months. She places the book on the ground, lays her head across her forearms, and begins to mentally play out a conversation she would like to have. Before she gets to the crux of the internal dialogue, a cool stream of wind whistles down her spine and the apartment buzzer sounds. She flies off the bed to answer the door, but stops cold as she glimpses a shadow escape through the window. A shadow so palpable she could have run the back her hand along its cheek, licked its teeth, pricked the bottom of its foot with a needle and sewed it back to a body before it could fly out into the piercing dusk.

NOTES FROM DIFFERENT COASTS

Joint blog with Laura Long; writing letters to each other, coast to coast, of reasons why we shouldn't have left/shouldn't have stayed.

SO YOU WON'T WANT TO LEAVE

BETTER DAYS ABOUND, NO MATTER WHAT.

2010 WINTER MIX TAPE: WHETHER WE LIKE IT OR NOT

A.
The Beatles - And Your Bird Can Sing
Kyle Gilbride - The Flood
Josephine Foster & The Supposed - Jailbird (Heart of Sorrow)
Bonnie "Prince" Billy (Sing the Greatest Palace Music) - New Partner
Marked Men - Ditch
Allergic to Bullshit - I'm Not Ashamed
John K. Samson - Utilities
Straight Street Holiness Group - Come On
Cara Beth Satalino - Good Ones
Aphid Ant Constructions - Track 5 (Off their Winter Tour E.P.)

B.
The Wedding Present - Brassneck
Bob Dylan - Simple Twist of Fate
Grass Widow - To Where
Deertick - Diamond Rings 2007
Bratmobile - Throway
Otis Redding - Let Me Come Home
P.S. Eliot - Incoherent Love Songs
Husker Du - Terms of Psychic Warface
Neil Young - Lotta Love

A cold weather airing out, of sorts. Or, cold songs for colder weather & feelings.

THE PITS

There was a tree growing inside the avocado I ate for breakfast this morning. That pit was way ahead of itself. Way to defy nature and be the most ambitious!



Up until, well, a few minutes ago, every time I referred to a situation or period of time as "the pits" (see: now) I always thought of the seeds and pits of fruits, which was always disconcerting to me since they are the center; a source of change and growth. As it turns out, I was wrong all along. Thank goodness.

Pit is derived from the Old English word "pytt" which means "water hole" and is rooted in the Latin “puteus,” meaning “well or pit.” I've read that "the pits" maybe refers to the practice of putting animals in deep pits to fight, or maybe it refers to the pits dug to confined prisoners. Or maybe it's about armpits and body odor, although I really don't think so. It could also be referring to "the pit of hell"; the abode of evil spirits and lost souls.

Stuck in the bottom of a well, fighting your way out of the worst, living a living hell, whatever. Things could actually really be the pits, but things are always going to change. You'll grow. You'll figure it out.

GETTING TO KNOW YOU BETTER THROUGH LETTERS

Giving credit where credit is due: I named this blog after Flannery O'Connor's book of letters, bought for me by my best friend. Aside from a really smart title, the front cover is possibly one of my favorite book covers.

Letter writing has always been really important in helping me understand what it is I am trying or need to say. I have books of unsent letters addressed to individuals, groups of people, no one in particular, and myself. I recently started attaching addresses to each letter, in hopes that someday, years and years and years in the future, some of these letters may get to where they need to go. The addresses will probably be different, maybe the addressees will be gone as well, but words traveled and received even after the mouth has been tied shut with suture string will still ring true.

The last sent letter I wrote was devastating. The letter before that was about the future. And the one before that was lost in transit.

But I'm a hell of a pen pal. So, let's write some better letters together.