curled over a porcelain mouth, i let my dinner fall out.
it's 9:33 p.m. and i think about saturday,
when rain hit the pavement like firecrackers,
the sky darker than the shadows behind the shower curtain.
i know there's a spider burrowed between those plastic folds.
funny thing about deep spaces; they feel better
when they're stuffed full. i think about how your fingertips
made my skin feel soft and breakable, how your tongue was warm,
about how my legs wouldn't stop shaking and you laughed, whispering,
well, there's this experience known as an aftershock.
hands clutching cold tile,
11,000 views, a slow and steady creep of new art, a play that just opened, and lots more down the pipe. It has been a good time for my creative mind, whether or not the quality of the art meets the exacting standards of this place or blah blah blah.
I've also found a lot of interesting art lately, and very talented people with very few followers or views. It does make me sad that, as in the "real world," there are tens of thousands of great artists on this site that are unseen, unappreciated, etc. We all tend to gravitate towards what's popular, the "professionals" on this site, and miss the bevy of talent scattered throughout the seriously
10k pageviews and I missed it.
Oh, well. Um, thanks, whoever you people are. Glad you like my shit or whatever.
Maybe I'll actually post something new soon to commemorate.
Or maybe not, I dunno. Writer's block is a bitch, right?
This journal is to shill the new blog my roommate and I have been working on. So far it's gotten some decent buzz and I'm hoping that the quality and frequency of it will really take off in the next few weeks.
So go and read and comment and support it if that's your bag.