Thursday, April 24, 2008

Crawling from the wreckage

Sometimes, I admit, I'm very closed-minded. I get an idea of something and clutch onto it for as long as I can. I've always pegged "Fight Club" as a "boy" movie, for no other reason than I once saw a preview of it while half-asleep. But I saw it last night, and wow! Possibly the best movie I've seen all year. I went out and bought the book it was based on, by Palahniuk, an author with whom I'm shyly developing a cult obsession. I searched for half an hour through the bookshelves trying to find the book, until someone finally told me that they kept all of his books behind the register, due to a high occurrence of theft with his publications. So I went and found him sitting amongst the pricey medical encyclopedias and pornographic volumes. All the treasures.

Since I graduated college I've found myself spending many days entirely frittering my time away at bookstores or libraries researching obscure things upon which to base poems. Sometimes I wonder if being a writer isn't just an excuse to get out of manual labor. Anyway, here's a recent poem in the works:

Paper Organs

A paper heart can be as efficient as a live one -- just as
a telephone call at dawn to someone you used to love
can crack the ice of a body, can cover itself with skin and be visible
to scientists everywhere.

The wreckage of daily life isn't what you expected, you considered
artificial organs, artificial communication, artificial/love
to be the problem, but never the highly visible, the ultra-pixelated.

The mechanical process of living can be summarized as – bleach.
Empty the flush of yourselves, you'll find yourself staircasing
into mathematics. The rush of blood can only fill the paper organs
you've folded across your own body.

Monday, April 21, 2008

Like a patient etherised upon a table

I finally decided which grad school to go to. I know that normal people wouldn't labor over such a decision to this extent, but I couldn't help it. I hate making decisions. When I go to the grocery store I can spend years analyzing the fat content of whole wheat crackers and comparing the flesh of cherry tomatoes side by side. But I made a choice, I got into three of the schools I applied to, it was between the wonderful choices of: New School, Columbia and Sarah Lawrence. So, I'll be going to Sarah Lawrence College, which means I'll be moving to Bronxville in Westchester, come September. I think it's probably the whitest neighborhood I could move to, but I'm thrilled. I can't wait to focus only on poetry, watch the birds tweet outside my window, attend social functions, join their literary magazine Lumina, which I've heard wonderful things about. I've had my heart set on this school for the longest time and I'm so honored they've accepted me.

And furthermore, my youth is being revived. The fiction series I was obsessed with as a young girl is re-launching: Sweet Valley High I can proudly admit to having read over 400 of the Sweet Valley series. My mother used to yell at me because I would even be reading as I strolled down the streets crossing boulevards. I'm sure the feminists of aujourd'hui would love to tar and feather me for this obsession, but I'm unrepentant. I loved these blond twins, as un-politically correct as that may be. I remember being 11 years old in a seedy motel room somewhere in middle America, begging my father to read the latest Sweet Valley High book because it was, and I quote "life-altering". He swore he would read it as cockroaches scurried across his feet and he folded the over-starched blankets over me.