Gospel of the Misunderstood

Posted by anya on June 26th, 2018 filed in Uncategorized
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I want to be the blade striking
knotted brown, to kiss the nape of any hunger;
American beautyberry or rutted cane, warm branch
of man pinning me here in mute study. To be an ache
in the breast of a burst jelly is what I wanted, vine-slick
and torrid in summer’s greed, pressing my fears against
the light of the lonely. Nameless, I haunt for god and love
in extinct places, curve myself inside desire’s eye and drink.
All peeled vermillion, all caught promise. Again all-seeing, and finally.
To be seen. Is what I wanted. To trawl the sleep of his body.
To make a burning room of this mouth. Skinned eager
with spiderbite and holy. Split-pink, drunken. Choked quiet,
as life unfolds its sticky wings in me. Snuffing me sweetly.

Isn’t this love? To walk hand in hand toward the humid dark,
enter the ghost web of the hungry, to consider some wants
were not meant to be understood. Some women.
The way my brother prays I’ll still find a man to divine me,
and my father tells me lazy women will never be loved.
Like today’s new trumpet pushing its bright flower
in my slutty way. The slow voice of its angel hissing breathless:
No. He is not here. He is not here. He is nowhere.

by Safiya Sinclair

all that you are

Posted by anya on June 22nd, 2014 filed in Uncategorized
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“Sometimes, I sit alone under the stars
and think of the galaxies inside my
heart, and truly wonder if anyone will
ever want to make sense of all that
I am.”

— Christopher Poindexter


Posted by anya on June 22nd, 2014 filed in Uncategorized
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“I’m lonely. And I’m lonely in some horribly deep way and for a flash of an instant, I can see just how lonely, and how deep this feeling runs. And it scares the shit out of me to be this lonely because it seems catastrophic.”
— Augusten Burroughs


Posted by anya on July 31st, 2013 filed in Uncategorized
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move to trash

Posted by anya on March 5th, 2013 filed in Uncategorized
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begin with the beginning. begin with a letter, a word, two words, a punctuation mark. begin without the thing you thought you needed to begin. begin with hating the beginning. begin with admitting to yourself that this is both stronger than you’d like it to be.

Being here is skewing my sense of what is normal. Things don’t feel the same way that I expect them to (we’re back to Matty, aren’t we? so much time spent waiting in my wallet.), and I think I’m still reacting to that. It started with the immediacy of no longer having you around – and then today I was listening to a monologue and it described how it happened and I felt just slightly more broken (broken down) after having heard it. like the deepest sigh you can imagine, amplified by the residue of not enough sleep and too much time spent milling over everything. and then there are the rifts of a different kind – the stuff you don’t think about, the banal stuff that just makes you go ‘shit, it’s changed, hasn’t it?’. It’s all so strange, this melancholy that follows you everywhere except the ocean. the highs and lows and highs and lows. and maybe what hurts the most is how predictable it all is.


tambahan: show up in the middle of the night. don’t knock. don’t turn on the lights. don’t say a single word. lie down and put your arm exactly where it belongs. fall asleep. stay.


what did I want to name this

Posted by anya on March 1st, 2013 filed in Uncategorized
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driving down the bypass, or perhaps on my way to get the bike, i cannot remember. but it was good. i was thinking about how incongruent all this is, and whether perhaps i am trying too hard to make it all fit. is it possible for the heart to feel so much more than it is entitled to? It was bound to happen, but tonight just happened to be the time and place. the exact moment when… when you remembered why you had forgotten and when I remembered why I still remember. I don’t want to be dramatic, I just want you to know that I understand how fucked up this whole existence is. and how I’m never sure which one of us wins. and how I wish that the playing field was somehow more even (but would you have noticed me if it had been?). or perhaps that the playing field had just given you a chance to make something of yourself that didn’t have to be realized through the insecurity of someone else. through the insecurity that portrays itself as love, and you fall so quickly. and when you’re there you can’t quite figure out how you got there. all there is is this keyboard, and this space, and this lateness. it’s past three now, and this is the best time to feel alone.

hey you

Posted by anya on November 6th, 2012 filed in Uncategorized
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what is alll this tequila sunrise, i wish i was the one you… complete this fucking sentence

but not today

Posted by anya on November 1st, 2012 filed in Uncategorized

Мне нравится, что Вы больны не мной,
Мне нравится, что я больна не Вами,
Что никогда тяжёлый шар земной
Не уплывёт под нашими ногами.
Мне нравится, что можно быть смешной —
Распущенной — и не играть словами,
И не краснеть удушливой волной,
Слегка соприкоснувшись рукавами.

Мне нравится ещё, что Вы при мне
Спокойно обнимаете другую,
Не прочите мне в адовом огне
Гореть за то, что я не Вас целую.
Что имя нежное моё, мой нежный, не
Упоминаете ни днём, ни ночью — всуе…
Что никогда в церковной тишине
Не пропоют над нами: аллилуйя!

Спасибо Вам и сердцем и рукой
За то, что Вы меня — не зная сами! —
Так любите: за мой ночной покой,
За редкость встреч закатными часами,
За наши не-гулянья под луной,
За солнце не у нас над головами,
За то, что Вы больны — увы! — не мной,
За то, что я больна — увы! — не Вами!

3 мая 1915 / цветаева марина

have a miserable birthday.

Posted by anya on June 18th, 2012 filed in Uncategorized

“The denizens of Shoreditch Mildmay Park should have inverted commas tattooed on their temples because everything they think or say comes with the bunny ears of irony, doused in ironic vinegar. Shoreditch The Volgine is too cool to care. This is the alternative land where things are made worse on purpose; where bikes not only don’t have gears, the don’t have brakes; where trousers don’t have ankles; a land without socks. I am lost in it, geographically, culturally, symbolically, chronologically, and ironically.”

i lost another bet

Posted by anya on January 2nd, 2012 filed in Uncategorized
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not surpising. starting another year off with something/one that does not belong to me. I wish i could type quicker and think better and love purely and remember how things were. I wish i could be a little bit more honest with myself and with you, and I wish i could answer your question by screaming that it is right heeeerrrreeee. tomomorrow will blend into today and i will remember the red and the yellow and the things that you said and what I could not deny to be true. I wish i hadnt opened the window and let go and asked for tea and wished for things to be better than they are. I wish I could hang on. Instead of resolutions I have ifs, the mode of being, the reason for fights and late nights and getting home at five in the morning and wishing I had said yes. and wishing i had danced, and wishing i had known how to be less lonely, and wishing i could have held onto this moment for ever and ever and ever and ever. and hoping you got home safe. and turning off the lights a little bit earlier than i planned. and keeping promises. and not wanting to ever go back. and wishing that i had said things differently. and wanting this everthing to go away. it is a new year, but it is the same person it has always been, and that makes me just a little bit broken.

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