Fun-A-Day, 20

I'm not the consolation prize for the girl you love and can't have. Fuck you.

Fun-A-Day, 19

Wow, tedious. I cannot cut a perfect circle with scissors to save my life. This is yet another poem that includes information about food I hate. I actually have TWO poems about how much I hate eggs. I'm a woman of intense opinions- at least about food.

Taste Aversions

I was hungry.

I didn’t want a burrito.

I hate burritos.

you see, in the fifth grade, I went to the new girls’ house for dinner. Her name was Megan [redacted]. Her mother made burritos. It was the first time I ever ate one. Mrs. Kunkle [redacted] undercooked the meat and I got food poisoning and was sick for three days. Now I can't eat Mexican food. It makes me ill. I found out in Introduction to Psychology that this is called taste aversion. At least it has a name.

Anyway, I hate burritos.

I didn’t buy a burrito.

I bought those little mini-doughnuts

and a pack of Marlboros

because I collect the miles.

For 25,000 miles you can get a regulation size pool table.

Fun-A-Day, 18

I have an unusual craving for liquid soap.

Fun-A-Day, 16 and 17

Day 16. 

Half-way there. Running out of steam, ideas, motivation.

you with your perfect teeth

like piano keys to play the

music of your words

since you took mine away

 Day 17.

This one was a total pain in the ass.

it hurts to watch you

a small star of

agonizing euphoria

-s.

Fun-A-Day, 15

Out of the woods! Then work kicked my ass. Updating as quick as I can.

she eats blue passionflowers, leaves the edges
marked
with that gold lipstick of hers-
reminds her of a plate glass window from
heaven.

-s.

Fun-A-Day, 14

I finally used my lions!

My heart roars.

 -s.

Fun-A-Day, 13

I'm in the woods and don't have much access to the interwebs. I would, but my phone is a piece of shit that won't hold a charge. This is a silly collage, fun to make. Finding a plastic cow turned into my white whale.

The cow jumped over the moon
knocked it out of the sky
and now it's hot. 

-s.

Drunk Pictures: South Beach Edition.

I like beer. A lot. I realized recently that when I drink, I take photos of SUPER random shit. It's like drunk me is leaving little bread crumbs of mystery for sober me. Why would I take a picture of Walgreen's escalator? What was going on that I felt compelled to capture it digitally? 

Without further ado, here are things I take pictures of when I'm drunk, South Beach style!

Happy weekend!

-s.

Fun-A-Day, Day 12.

Getting there. I still have ideas, so that's a pleasant surprise. And I'm (mostly) keeping up, though I've fallen behind a few times.

This quote is from a poem I wrote after this awful woman I know died. She was the worst. But at her funeral, everyone was talking about her like she was super-nice and frankly, she was barely decent. All I could think was that maybe you could just not say anything, instead of bullshitting? Also, I'm a weird combination of morbid and vain.

when I die

please please please

do not bury me

in an ugly dress.

I'll be SO pissed.

-s.

Stupid day.

My day has been stupid.

Two thoughts today:

1. Why is everyone on Instagram naked?
2. Why do I own thigh high socks?

That's all I got.

-s.

Day 11.

Defacing U.S. currency. For shame.

This is one of those quotes that immediately make people ask what the fuck happened. Nothing at all happened. I'm a fiction writer. This stuff is not autobiographical, man.*  I've never set a school on fire either, but I have a great short story about it. This was fun to make, though it took some effort to get the pennies to stay put. It is also quite substantial- especially since it's only 4 X 6.

I smell his blood, like red pennies in my mouth.

s.

*Well, not all of it.

Days 9 and 10.

Day 9.

This is my favorite so far. The poem was originally an assignment for a writing academy. You had to pick a favorite poet and emulate the style. I chose e.e. cummings, not an easy dude to imitate. At the time I had nothing. A few weeks later, driving across the Birmingham Bridge, I was inspired. Wrote the whole thing in one swoop on a napkin, sitting in my car on Carson Street. The second quote is from the same poem!

a world of lead
is not a world of writing-
praise dead trees and rainforests, happy ink and
blood, but never this infine example of
hyperwesternization

Day 10.

hey, there's a hell 

of a good thought process next door, let's go.

Yay space!

-s.

Everyone is being so helpful.

Having two cats often feels like having thirty cats. Especially when they are in their asshole teenager phase. I work around them, but Otis has red paint on his feet and Ace steals things. *sigh*

ACE

Pencil thief extraordinaire.

OTIS

Oh hey, you doing something? Let me see.

But they're warm and adorable, so I'll keep them.

-s.

Day 8.

Day 8. 

I know I wasn't going to use any other author quotes, but I carried this goddamn coaster 100+ miles on my bike, from Key West to Key Largo, for this project. Last November I got into a 15-person passenger van with 5 friends, drove 22 hours to Key Largo, put the van in storage and spent 10 days riding and camping (and drinking and swimming) through the Florida Keys. It's pretty damn spectacular. Read about both trips here and here. 

I visited the Hemingway House and hung out with the six-toed cats. I got to see the spots where Hemingway wrote and drank. I also spent an afternoon day drinking at Sloppy Joe's, a favorite of his. I snagged this coaster and then managed to not get it wet, smash it, or lose it. I'm using it.

I drink to make other people more interesting. -Ernest Hemingway

Truer words were never spoken, Ernest.

-s.

Days 6 and 7.

Day 6. Back to work. Eww.

Before you start thinking I have some sort of reason or order or science behind this project, let me assure you, I picked this quote today because I happened to find some tiny camels. I also found some tiny lions, so look for a quote about lions soon. I'm a big history fan, especially historic ladies, and this poem was about Cleopatra (based off of the word addict, which has a fascinating etymology.) Two books in particular peaked my interest in Cleopatra and ancient Egypt in general. (This is also why I have a serious hate on for the Roman Empire. Bunch a dicks.) Stacy Schiff's award-winning biography Cleopatra: A Life and the fictionalized account of her life by Margaret George, Memoirs of Cleopatra are both fantastic, woman-friendly reads.

You licked you pale, chapped lips.

"How does it feel?"

I opened my eyes.

"Like Egypt before it was looted."

Day 7. Still not phoning it in!

I have the sense of humor of a teenage boy. Thus, this collage. Meat clouds! Exotic beef! That is about all I can say about it, really.

I am hungry.

For steak.

Or maybe clouds.

-s.

Day 5.

Day 5. Hmph.

I like the Jack Kerouac collage, even though the artwork feels a bit contrived to me. And I'll confess right now, this isn't the original collage I made for this quote. The first one I made was the definition of meh. I accidentally made an iceberg. I didn't even attempt to fix it, I just pitched it. (That bad!) Here's the better collage.

I feel like the word shatter. - Margaret Atwood

Anyway, I had sort of an epiphany today. I have all of these brilliant, thoughtful quotes from brilliant, thoughtful authors. That's great and I'm glad I get to read them. But I write, too. So, for the next 25 entries I'm using my own material. (*If you are paying attention to the math, you'll notice that only comes to 30.)

I am exquisitely, cripplingly self-conscious about this (and, honestly, everything about this project and...just everything all the time), so don't talk to me about it. I have an amazing, supportive friend that's known me since my days of slinging produce at the Green Grocer (thanks for all the cookies!) who believes I can do this. He's smart and wouldn't bullshit me. So here we go!

-s.

*Because Jesus Christ, 31 divides into NOTHING. Did I mention this project is forcing me to deal with my OCD tendencies? (I like symmetry. A lot. It says so in my introduction.) I want everything to be perfect and straight and it's not. Five quotes from authors, thirty from me, one guest quote TBA.

Fun-A-Day, Days 3 and 4.

Day 3. Still actually motivated. 

I went straight for the Pauline Reage quote from The Story of O. I guess my mind is on sex. (Of a fashion.) Good times. That's all I'm saying about that one, think what you like.

Keep me rather in this cage and feed me sparingly, if you dare. Anything that makes me closer to illness or the edge of death makes me  more faithful. It is only when you make me suffer that I feel safe and secure. You should never have agreed to be a god for me if you were afraid to assume the duties of god, and we know that they are not as tender as all that. You have already seen me cry. Now you must learn to relish my tears.

I am in quite the mood tonight.

Day 4. 

I have to go back to work tomorrow which means that this project is going to get harder, time-wise at least. This collage was by far the most tedious one I've done. It took me forever to find enough vowels to complete the whole quote. I needed one more "e" and couldn't find one and that's why the author name isn't on the front. Jack Kerouac, in case you didn't immediately recognize the quote. I hate talking about my feelings and when I do it's spectacularly awkward, so I feel this quote. Someday I will find the words. But I'll probably be alone in the shower at 3am when it happens.

I already have my idea for tomorrow and it involves prep work- mainly sorting through a bag of broken glass that I collected from a sidewalk. I did it under the cover of darkness because I'm aware that it's stuff like this that make my neighbors think I'm crazy.

-not crazy yet.

So I'm doing this thing...*Oh and I'm back.

I'm doing this thing called Fun-A-Day Pittsburgh this January. The basic idea is that you do something creative every day in January. It can be thirty-one separate projects, one big project you work on every day, a bunch of little projects, whatever, the world is your fucking oyster. Last year I made bookmarks. (Duh, librarian.)

This is what thirty-one bookmarks looks like.

This year I decided I was going to make thirty-one mini-collages (4x6) based on author quotes. Nifty idea, how hard can it be, right? I even did some pre-planning. (Not because I'm organized, I was just excited.)

So many plans!

You may be asking yourself, "Is that a quill and ink I see there?" You're goddamn right it is! It would fantastic if I wasn't left-handed and smudged the ink everywhere. But, I digress- this is one neatly numbered page of favorite quotes. In fact, I have thirty-five quotes (thirty-one and four to grow on? I dunno.)

Day 1. New Year's Day. Okay, I had a raging hangover and never moved from my couch. I thought about the project a lot, though.

Day 2. I resolutely went upstairs and got all of my supplies out. I lined everything up neatly, had my little notebook, some sweet emo tunes to get me all artistic...and nada. I mean, I have a NEW GLUE GUN for crying out loud! I had an interesting picture and some pearls, so I went for it with a Henry Miller quote.

To have her here in bed with me, breathing on me, her hair in my mouth- I count that as something of a miracle.

Hot.

I had to make two, so I followed it up with a quote from Henry Millers's lover, Anais Nin. (Aside: You should probably read Henry and June: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anais Nin.)

To think of him in the middle of the day lifts me out of ordinary living.

I'll be honest. I am not super-thrilled with either piece. But I'm not really an artist and it actually IS fun, so fuck it, I'll soldier on.

-having tons of fun

*Nothing happened in 2014 anyway, so you didn't miss anything.

It's Mother-F**king National Poetry Month.

I think I don't read a lot of poetry. However, when I was thinking about this post, about twenty or so poets and/or poems immediately sprang to mind. A quick check of my bookcases confirmed my suspicion. I actually have a bunch of poetry. Several anthologies, some Pittsburgh poets, a bunch of e.e. cummings (clearly my favorite) and random poems saved on my computer. A friend recently reminded me of William Blake, which led me to remember that I took an undergrad class on the Romantic poets. Oh, Lord Byron, swoon. 

I used to write a lot of poetry. I'm way less dramatic now, which is nice as a personality trait, but doesn't lend itself to writing poetry. Believe it or not, I still have my very first poem. Written in the 4th grade, I only wish I still had my fantastic illustrations to show you. I can't draw to save my life and I attempted to draw shoes of all things. Let me present, "What is Yellow?" by a young Suzy.

What is Yellow?

Yellow is the color of happiness.

Yellow is the sun.

Yellow means fun.

I like yellow because

It is a wonderful, curious color.

Yellow and orange are best buddies.

Curious, wonderful, fun and sun describe this beautiful color.

Yellow is the color of my Easter dress

I wear because I’m happy.

I go to visit Granny because

I have no Pappy.

My mom wears her yellow shoes.

Which are in twos.

Yellow is a snappy shade. 

April is National Poetry Month and I think that's spiffy. It's also Grilled Cheese Month, Jazz Appreciation Month, Kite Month, Math Awareness Month (I'm aware that I'm bad at it), and Defeat Diabetes Month. (On a totally unrelated note, I'm diabetic. It sucks. I'm doing this to raise money for a cure.) Poets.org has a Poem-a-Day email and my absolute favorite poetry month event is Poem in Your Pocket day. The idea is to carry around a poem and share it with everyone. On Thursday, April 18 ask me for me poem. Or email me for it. It's top secret right now!

The weather is beautiful and I'm feeling intellectually lazy and I want to go ride my (NEW!) bike, so here are some of my favorite poems. Enjoy!

Photos all mine.

Ode to Bicycles
Pablo Neruda

I was walking
down
a sizzling road:
the sun popped like
a field of blazing maize,
the
earth
was hot,
an infinite circle
with an empty
blue sky overhead.

A few bicycles
passed
me by,
the only
insects
in
that dry
moment of summer,
silent,
swift,
translucent;
they
barely stirred
the air.

Workers and girls
were riding to their
factories,
giving
their eyes
to summer,
their heads to the sky,
sitting on the
hard
beetle backs
of the whirling
bicycles
that whirred
as they rode by
bridges, rosebushes, brambles
and midday.

I thought about evening when
the boys
wash up,
sing, eat, raise
a cup
of wine
in honor
of love
and life,
and waiting
at the door,
the bicycle,
stilled,
because
only moving
does it have a soul,
and fallen there
it isn't
a translucent insect
humming
through summer
but
a cold
skeleton
that will return to
life
only
when it's needed,
when it's light,
that is,
with
the
resurrection
of each day.

This reminds me of my husband. Aren't I sweet?

La Vita Nuova
Dante Alighieri

In that book which is
My memory...
On the first page
that is the chapter when
I first met you
Appear the words...
here begins a new life.

X

e.e. cummings

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

i like my body

e.e. cummings

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which I will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh...And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you quite so new 

Untitled

Henry Rollins

I am drawn to her.
She is beautiful.
She is kind.
She never tells me there is no time.
She never says no.
And I think about her.
Every time I fuck you. 

The Road Not Taken

Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

O Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Much Too Close

King Amaru

Much too close to bear his eyes

I turn my own down to my lap

I do not try to hear

the many soft words in his breath.

I make my hands stop both my ears,

then cup my cheeks that burn

at words he does not even speak.

I try so hard. But now

I feel my dress undoing me,

what do I do?

For every day poetry fun, also check out Cornell University's Mann Library's Daily Haiku! Here is one of my recent favorites:

heat lightning

all of us out at night

riding bicycles

-Rick Black

Happy Poetry-ing!

Quote Round-Up: March 2013

"Life itself is a quotation." Jorge Luis Borges

For years and years I have "saved" quotes. In journals, Word documents, on napkins, whatever. I would jot down passages and sentences that struck my fancy. And there it would be. Sitting there. Not being read by anyone and honestly, just cluttering shit up.

Well, now I have a BLOG. Finally, somewhere to harness all of those passages, sentences, thoughts, jokes, statements, that I carry around. I have decided that on the last day of every month, I'll have a quotes round-up. Now instead of me saying to myself, "Wow, that was lovely/horrifying/interesting," everyone can say it!

Happy Birthday!

Dr. Seuss (Theodore Geisel), March 2

You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who'll decide where to go...

Being crazy isn't enough.

John Irving, March 2

Oh FUCK the longings and agonies of youth.

James Merrill, March 3

The day is breaking someone else's heart.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez, March 6

The world is divided into those who screw and those who do not. He distrusted those who did not- when they strayed from the straight and narrow is was something so unusual for them that they bragged about love as if they had just invented it.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, March 6

I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me. I love you for the part of me that you bring out.

Mickey Spillane, March 9

I don't like people. I don't like any kind of people. When you get them together in a big lump they all get nasty and dirty and full of trouble. So I don't like people including you. That's what a misanthropist is.

Douglas Adams, March 11

The story so far: In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move.

I'd far rather be happy than right any day.

Don't Panic. 

Jack Kerouac, March 12

One day I will find the right words and they will be simple.

My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.

John Updike, March 18

It is easy to love people in memory; the hard thing is to love them when they are there in front of you.

If you have the guts to be yourself, other people'll pay your price.

Phillip Roth, March 19

The only obsession everyone wants: 'love.' People think that in falling in love they themselves whole? The Platonic union of souls? I think otherwise. I think you're whole before you begin. And the love fractures you. You're whole, and then you're cracked open.

Lois Lowry, March 20

The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared.

Ovid, March 20

Militiae species amor est. (Love is a kind of warfare.)

Flannery O'Connor, March 25

Anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days.

Robert Frost, March 26

If we couldn't laugh we would all go insane.

Tennessee Williams, March 26

All cruel people describe themselves as paragons of frankness.

Erica Jong, March 26

The greatest feminists have also been the greatest lovers. I'm thinking not only of Mary Wollstonecraft and her daughter Mary Shelley, but of Anais Nin, Edna St. Vincent Millay, and of course, Sappho. You cannot divide creative juices from human juices. And as long as juicy women are equated with bad women, we will err on the side of being bad.

Mario Vargas Llosa, March 28

I learned to read at the age of five, in Brother Justiniano's class at the De la Salle Academy in Cochabamba, Bolivia. It is the most important thing that has ever happened to me. Almost seventy year later I remember clearly how the magic of translating the words in books into images enriched my life, breaking the barriers of time and space.