the voyeur.

why do men love strip clubs? fetishes for big, fake boobs, therapy and more.. check out this blog if you are interested (like you are not).

breathing.

I'm finding it harder
the feeling of air in my lungs,
I have to tell myself to let the air out.

I'm suffocating.
how do you force yourself to do something
that should come naturally?

the only time I can concentrate on a rhythm,
a relaxed pace in which the air comes in and out,
is underwater.

words running madness.

the problem with being a dreamer, a writer, a poet, is not that they feel more than everyone else. It is that they cannot escape from it. all the pain, ache and explosions,- others can dismiss as merely a feeling that cannot be contained. but for us, there are endless words to describe the way we feel, to actualize the feeling, to give it existence, to gravitate them. the irresistible impulse to label everything, to get to the bottom of every unexplainable feeling is crippling. to live as a writer is non-apologetic. everywhere that you try to escape to, is aesthetically numb. even when you do not see what reminds you of it, words are running madness inside your head.
thank you lelove

wrestling with an octopus.

I'm wrestling with an octopus

and faring less than well,

one peek at my predicament

should be enough to tell.

It held me in a hammerlock,

then swept me off my feet,

I'm getting the impression

that I simply can't compete.

I'd hoped that I could hold my own,

but after just a while,

I ascertained I couldn't match

an octopus's style.

It flipped me by a shoulder,

and it latched onto a hip,

essentially that octopus

has got me in its grip.

I tried assorted armlocks,

but invariably missed,

and now I'm in a headlock,

and it's clinging to my wrist.

It's wound around my ankles,

and it's wrapped around my chest—

when grappling with an octopus,

I come out second best.

Jack Prelutsky

Artist: Catherine Howe

emotions aren't covered by single words.

emotions in my experience aren't covered by single words. I don't believe in "sadness", "joy", or "regret". maybe the best proof of that the language is patriarchal is that is oversimplifies feeling. I'd like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train car constructions like, say, "the happiness the attends disaster." or "the disappointment of sleeping with one's fantasy." I'd like to show how "imitations of mortality brought on by aging family members" connects with the "the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age." I'd like to have a word for "the sadness inspired by failing restaurants" as well as "the excitement of getting a room with a minibar." I've never never had the right words to my life, and now that I have entered my story, I need them more than ever.

thank you jefrey eugenides author of middlesex.

heart breaker.

In a recent interview for thefabric katie boland is asked "what is the worst thing that has happened to you that most inspired you?" her answer genuinely brought me to tears on a level I can relate far too well. I always wonder if I find someone to keep me at home more, will I lose this fascination for all things love?

she answers "heartbreak. everything... man, I have so much in my life because of being heart broken. I owe pretty much how my life looks right now to having my heart broken. I took one of my old boyfriends out for lunch recently and thanked him so much for everything because without him I never would about started writing, I feel like I have a deeper understanding about myself and the world and a bunch of other bs about becoming a better artist... when you are heart broken especially for the first time, you think that nothing will ever make you feel better and so to know that you can get through that it was such a learning experience for me. and makes me feel really optimistic about the future. so thank you men"

watch the beautiful video on thefabric and read more of katie's wisdomosity here.
photo credit: arden wray

it's always you.

"But how did he know that he didn't love her?
I never understood how it could be so black and white. I was never sure if I loved someone. I can love a lot of things about anyone. He might look back later and realize that he did love her. He might like her more than he knows. And she might realize that she never loved him at all, even if she was sure she did. How do you know, in the moment? He'll find out that this whole crisis has nothing to do with her. 
Trust me when I say that everything is always all about you."
with love katie boland and her brilliant fiction from her site. I can't get enough.

blog on.

blogging is a hard game. only just now after a year of dedication am I finally getting recognized for it and it feels amazing. people commenting that they like it is always amazing, and now getting actually paid to do contract blogging- it could not be more fitting. so for any writers out there, I am still a rookie at this game but I have learned a few things that make it better. one, keep posting- the longer you go without posting, the less you think what you have to say is important. secondly, read lots. read the paper, read the metro, read blogs, read novels, read classifieds - just keep reading and you'll never lack inspiration. lastly, stay positive. it's hard explaining what you do and why you do it. blogging is such an ugly word and with pioneer sites like live journal people have a really nerdy emo take on what it means to blog. here is an excellent article called don't hold your breath waiting for a social media parade in your honor. very clever and one can relate as a blogger.
stay inspired whatever you do.

Implicitly put.

with strong encouragement from my professor and inspirer of all things I love, I started blogging. realizing that I have far too many opinions and an interest beyond the surface of all things media related, this blog is now an extension of my past education in all things experienced and wondered. enjoy.