Not a precise recreation, but I realized too late that I was supposed to take a picture for today’s number. But this is the gist of the outfit — we went to the flea market, it rained on us, there was hardly anyone there.
“If you want to write, if you want to create, you must be the most sublime fool that God ever turned out and sent rambling. You must write every single day of your life. You must read dreadful dumb books and glorious books, and let them wrestle in beautiful fights inside your head, vulgar one moment, brilliant the next. You must lurk in libraries and climb the stacks like ladders to sniff books like perfumes and wear books like hats upon your crazy heads. I wish you a wrestling match with your Creative Muse that will last a lifetime. I wish craziness and foolishness and madness upon you. May you live with hysteria, and out of it make fine stories — science fiction or otherwise. Which finally means, may you be in love every day for the next 20,000 days. And out of that love, remake a world.”—Ray Bradbury (via tulletulle)
Here’s what I’ve got, the reasons why our marriage might work: Because you wear pink but write poems about bullets and gravestones. Because you yell at your keys when you lose them, and laugh, loudly, at your own jokes. Because you can hold a pistol, gut a pig. Because you memorize songs, even commercials from thirty years back and sing them when vacuuming. You have soft hands. Because when we moved, the contents of what you packed were written inside the boxes. Because you think swans are overrated. Because you drove me to the train station. You drove me to Minneapolis. You drove me to Providence. Because you underline everything you read, and circle the things you think are important, and put stars next to the things you think I should think are important, and write notes in the margins about all the people you’re mad at and my name almost never appears there. Because you make that pork recipe you found in the Frida Khalo Cookbook. Because when you read that essay about Rilke, you underlined the whole thing except the part where Rilke says love means to deny the self and to be consumed in flames. Because when the lights are off, the curtains drawn, and an additional sheet is nailed over the windows, you still believe someone outside can see you. And one day five summers ago, when you couldn’t put gas in your car, when your fridge was so empty—not even leftovers or condiments— there was a single twenty-ounce bottle of Mountain Dew, which you paid for with your last damn dime because you once overheard me say that I liked it.
-MOUNTAIN DEW COMMERCIAL DISGUISED AS A LOVE POEM by Matthew Olzmann
How did you go about telling your parents about getting your first tattoo/piercing? What did they think about them? & What are their opinions now?
My first anon question! I am probably a little too excited for this.
Anyway. Ahem. My first non-ear piercing was my belly button and my mother actually took me to get that done. I believe I was 16. It helped that my best friend Stephanie and her mother, who is a nurse, came along to get Steph’s navel done as well. After that, I think it was my eyebrow and my tongue, neither of which I gave my mother any warning about — I was 18 and I just showed up like that. My first tattoo was similar; I didn’t tell anyone, though I had wanted one for awhile and was vocal about that, I just went to a local shop and came home with this tattoo on my back.
My dad isn’t really a “hands-on” parent. If he objected, I wouldn’t care about his opinion or worry about it (but he doesn’t object, he’s just… there and doing his thing). My mother objected a little in the beginning, but realized over time that society is changing and that many of her co-workers have tattoos which haven’t held them back in any way. She is still reticent about my larger, more visible pieces, but she is always, always supportive of me and who I am. I think she realized early on that I was going to be a free spirit and headstrong and I’d do what I felt regardless of peoples’ opinions. I am very lucky, however, that she is so amazing to be willing and able to open her mind as I acquire more and more body art. She is also very accepting of Kevin, my partner, who is heavily tattooed and makes his living tattooing and building machines.
You are beautiful like demolition. Just the thought of you draws my knuckles white. I don’t need a god. I have you and your beautiful mouth, your hands holding onto me, the nails leaving unfelt wounds, your hot breath on my neck. The taste of your saliva. The darkness is ours. The nights belong to us. Everything we do is secret. Nothing we do will ever be understood; we will be feared and kept well away from. It will be the stuff of legend, endless discussion and limitless inspiration for the brave of heart. It’s you and me in this room, on this floor. Beyond life, beyond morality. We are gleaming animals painted in moonlit sweat glow. Our eyes turn to jewels and everything we do is an example of spontaneous perfection. I have been waiting all my life to be with you. My heart slams against my ribs when I think of the slaughtered nights I spent all over the world waiting to feel your touch. The time I annihilated while I waited like a man doing a life sentence. Now you’re here and everything we touch explodes, bursts into bloom or burns to ash. History atomizes and negates itself with our every shared breath. I need you like life needs life. I want you bad like a natural disaster. You are all I see. You are the only one I want to know.
ONS — style and poise — ability to be silly and laugh — striking features, be it bright eyes or a strong chin or whatever; this manifests a million different ways — food and coffee taste — adventurous spirit — confidence — an interest in learning and growing personally — ambition that isn’t cutthroat — physical grace — musical ability — a way with words
OFFS — arrogance — social conservatism — bigotry of any kind — no sense of humor (or one that doesn’t jive with mine) — taking yourself too seriously — wastefulness — intellectual laziness — people who don’t read or play a lot of video games — inability to cook or even “get into” food, a.k.a. people who “eat to live not live to eat” or are really picky eaters
I feel the need to note that there is not necessarily anything wrong with a few of my turn-offs, they are just turn-offs to me personally and not something that would preclude a friendship with someone who had that trait. Except the bigotry — I don’t want no bigoted friends, y’all.
You are the only thing that matters. You are my hope and I live for and in you. You are rawness and wildness, the colors, the scents, passion, events appearing. You are the things I live for. Please take me over.
I honestly can’t recall the majority of them. I mean, do I count “shows”? I guess not, because I’ve dated quite a few musicians and that’d get ridiculous. I will attempt, but many of these are going to be incredibly embarrassing.
New Kids on the Block Macy Gray with Mos Def 'N Sync (twice) Madonna Dave Matthews Band (eight times) Teitur Ben Folds Five Muse Jimmy Eat World Incubus (three times) Phish Willie Nelson (twice) Radiohead Beirut Vertical Horizon Tonic Live 8 The Shins Sigur Ros Bloc Party (with the Kills) Ani Difranco Gavin Degraw Sufjan Stevens
That’s all I can remember. And man, they generally do not reflect well on my taste.
What made you want to model? Nude model? Self portrait model? It seems like a typical progression so I've always wondered what motivates people.
I like self-portraits because I enjoy seeing myself in different ways. I like the challenge. And traditional modeling was always suggested to me because I was/am thin and very tall (5’11); it was simply the thing people said to the gangly girl they knew. I was never particularly good at it when I was younger, I wasn’t confident in myself until much later, but now I think I could have some fun with the right photographer. Who knows.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance.
Honestly. It ain’t easy being a young lady today.
“And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.”
I am so in love with this woman. Bossypants is one of the best books I’ve ever read. Even though she hates the internet, I would so love for her to get a tumblr.
She is a good lady and will be a great momma… though I disagree with her about tattoos and would simply amend that to “No tattoos before the age of 22.” (I know you can get tattooed before that, but so few young people make good decisions then! I know I didn’t.)
How was I to know it would begin this way: every cell of my body burning with a dangerous beauty, the air around me a nimbus of light that would carry me through the days, how when he found me, weeks later, he would find me like that, an ordinary woman who could rise in flame, all he would have to do is come close and touch me.