still here...

I am going to start writing again. I must start writing again.
I have something to say. I think?

 

 

Without Expression

Things have been quite exciting lately. I have finally put my efforts towards intertwining my passion for writing and fashion into one lucid quilt of intrinsic beauty.... awwwww. It’s funny how when you really put yourself out there things can actually happen! That sounds boring doesn’t it? Well, it may be an obvious realization for most, but for someone who has been stuck in a rut for several years (*cough* me) it was a pretty awesome feeling to make some ground. School and work have impeded my ability to think about anything else besides 18-19th century literature, art history or paying the damn bills, so possibly venturing into an exciting new project that I hope to be a part of is pretty exhilarating; the doors this may open is enough to make me doing the ‘hands flapping and squealing like a little girl’ thing. But I won’t, because that would be shameful.

I went for a walk this afternoon. It was one of those, dare I say it, beautiful autumn days where there is this perfect balance between the warmth of a low sun and breeze of an artless wind. I sat in the middle of this park across from my house and just, well, picked grass for what seemed like an hour. You know how you’d pick grass when you were younger, and craft a perfect nest for no apparent reason? I use to do that often, not intending to house anything in the nest; I think it was just the only option that one had to create with pieces of dead grass. It was nice, just doing something so meaningless and thinking about nothing but creating this perfectly circular nest that would dissipate in the wind soon after I abandon it. I miss this sort of childhood splendor; perhaps that is why I cherish silly moments like that. When I stood up, and the big girl problems started creeping back into my mind, I didn’t feel so shitty about them. The point of this posting? Hell, I don’t know. It is a blog, there is never a point, just an arrogant sense of self-worth that people actually read these things and give a shit! Lol

Soooo I will leave you with something besides my meaningless picking grass in a field experience. Enjoy!

Terry Reid "Without Expression" (1973)

A Poem: September 1

September 1
By Jenna Reimer

I ordered this, this clean drumming
Of hardened skies: the ground plunging,
Flooded in black foam.
Black was my breath.
Black in the heart, in the head-
The bowel of a blackened furnace
Sat, stooped in my gut of black;
A pitied flame drowning in black soot.
Black lungs sucking in, pissing out black,

Spewing black nerves, black veins - swelling,
Suffocating in a snaky acid of black,
Black smoke.
Misery to this earth came,
Misery in these cool sheets came
In the black slot of home, of him.

And finally it had enough - enough!
The seeped silence of summer rejoiced, still birdless.
A bow divided the sky,
Bent in bareness

And bareness

But singing.

 

Sleeplessness, Sleeplessness

"If I didn't think, I'd be much happier." - Sylvia Plath

Wow, the words of Plath could not have been more appropriate for what I've been feeling this week; yes, this will be a "woe is me" post. Vomiting and laughing is permitted while reading.

I feel as if I haven't slept in days; I'm finding it incredibly difficult to even concentrate on writing this post. It has been one of those weeks of self re-evaluation, vicious thoughts of self criticism and hatred, where I have been completely consumed, and incredibly overwhelmed, with the idea of who I have become. Is this me? Is this what my life will be like? Forever? Is this it?! Are I not suppose to be happy, having fun and living an adventurous life like a young 25 year old woman should? I realized how inexperienced I am, inexperienced in just being a real person. Another quote that seems appropriate for my situation was said by Thoreau: "how vain it is for me to sit down and write when I have not stood up and lived." I like to believe my isolation, my odd and secretive relationship I have with myself, assists in my poetry; but it also hinders it.

I am going to reluctantly admit, I get extreme social network depression. Yah, I said it, and I wouldn't doubt there are people out there who can admit the same thing. Every time I log onto Facebook someone got engaged, is "so excited to go to a awesome party with tons of awesome friends", or uploaded photos of a fun night out, is going on a 3 week vacation to Europe. My most hated post I see far too often is people quoting those disgustingly cliche sayings like "life shouldn't be measured by how many breaths you take, but by how many moments take your breath away." *vomit in hands* Who are these fucking people? Look, I know everyone has their own problems, but I swear to god I must only be "facebook friends" with people who have these marvelous lives of pure and utter happiness? It drives me nuts!!!!! It actually makes me happy when the weather is horrible here because it rains all over these peoples joyous parade of loving life. Bastards.

Someone asked me the other day what I wanted, what do I expect life should consist of that would make me happy. I didn't know how to respond. I don't know what I want. Who does know what they want? I have no idea what it would take for me to look forward to each day, to go to bed and not sleep because I was excited about what the next day was going to bring, rather than not sleeping because I can't stop thinking about how miserable I am.
Of course, my first initial thought after being asked this question was if I was skinny again I'd be happy; yes, I was still sad, but at least I was skinny and sad. Nothing seems to be worth my interest anymore. I can't trust anything besides my eating disorder, I've completely fallen to its hands; it has been so long I just can't find hope into a life without it. Nothing is as reliable, safe, predictable as my eating disorder. However, I can acknowledge that I can't live with it forever, it'll kill me both emotionally and physically. What frightens me is that it doesn't scare me anymore. Have I given up so much that I don't even have the energy to engage myself into actively being human, where fear, love, hatred, sadness, happiness, all seem to be a useless commodity that is no longer required in my life? Maybe. Bitching about it is becoming so exhausting, but changing seems even harder.

Another Dimension: The Minds of The Quays





A new exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art explores the puppet-centered universes created by the experimental animators known as the Quay Brothers. Cool!

I have never been much interested in animation; yes, I have watched some of the more avant garde type stuff but never found it to be that appealing to me. To all their own I suppose. However, I stumbled across a few films on the infamous netflix that I am interested in watching, mostly because they are based in Paris. I came across these two incredible artists as I began to explore this artistic medium and found them to be quite intriguing. The Quays more often than not base their animations on the work of other writers and artists. Predominately taking their influence from East European art and literature, their films have been adaptations of texts by Bruno Schulz, Robert Walser, Franz Kafka and Lewis Carroll. Visually, their

imagery is a hybrid constructed from the depths of art history: Ernst, Bacon, Arcimboldo, Fragonard, Bosch and Escher all make fleeting appearances within their work.

http://www.moma.org/visit/calendar/exhibitions/1240?gclid=CK-lmsKH97ECFcZxQgodm0sAHw

I attached a youtube video of their most famous work "The Street of Crocodile"; from there you can explore some interesting interviews of the brothers and other cool clips. Enjoy!!!

Suzanne H. Buchan describes the narrative of another popular piece called Nocturna Artificialia as virtually “nonexistent: a solitary figure gazes out of his window, enters the nocturnal street, is transfixed by a passing tram, and suddenly, back in his room, falls from his chair and wakes up.” Their work seems incredibly inspired by existentialism. I will thus searching for their videos via appletv asap to purchase for later this week. The weather calls for stormy weather; a perfect match for creepy puppet movies.

The Thought Fox Thought of Poetry

I am alone this weekend and it has been an incredibly hot summer Saturday. Luckily my house is essentially made of cement (one of those old character homes) so it stays rather cool indoors. I was finding it hard to keep myself busy today, but I am thankful the day is finally coming to a close. Is it wrong that someone so young is anxiously waiting for the weekend to end? Probably. I feel so useless on the weekends. Am I the only one who feels like that?
Anyways, I just realized I haven't written a poem, or read any sort of poetry, since January/February. How sad is that? I am working on it.
I have no poem to post- I might have something up my sleeve in the near future- but I do have something fun to share in the meantime. It was Ted Hughes' birthday yesterday and huffingtonpost.co.uk posted a fun article with some photos, quotes and audio readings!

http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2012/08/15/ted-hughes-photos-quotes_n_1778125.html

Long time running.

Wow, I guess school and work have really gotten in the way of my poetry/creative writing, and general passion for anything. Funny how life comes at you hard and you neglect to do the things that make you most happy, all to satisfy the areas in your life that make you the most sad (work, money, debt etc). School will finally be finished in December, for good, and I am not quite sure what my plan is afterwards. I am looking forward to starting something new; I am tired of this job and more than tired of school.

But where to go from there? Where does a student with an English major head to? The options are endless, and the list of opportunities is long and far too ambiguous for me to decide on anything in particular. I guess I am reluctant on choosing something asap in order to meet others' expectations of what a graduate student should accomplish afterwards. I haven't even been the ideal student- constantly missing class in order to clock in more hours to pay the bills- so becoming the ideal graduate seems unlikely. I am still uncertain as to whether school was worth the mounting debt that I will now be burdened with for the rest of my life, all for what? The title of saying I am an English major? Who gives a shit?! What does that do for me that is suppose to make me so god damn proud?!

The questions from others' will transition from "so when are you finished? What are you studying? Where are you going with that?" to "so now that you're done what's your plan? Is that what you went to school for?" The stress will continue with trying to please everyone, making sure I become the person that everyone expects me to be; although I have failed miserably at that for several years. It will now, however, be in a different form that has a slightly less air of urgency to it. I regret going to university, absolutely. I feel completely comfortable with making that statement because I am quite certain I could have found a lovely job, where I was happy, making decent money, that didn't require a degree. I would also not be drowning in debt like I am now; I am still not quit certain how I am going to afford living on my own and adding an extra $600 payment a month to my expenses come January.

I don't know where this post was destined to go, or how it started. I don't have any potential self-fulfilling prophesy that is going to cure my feelings of disillusionment, uncertainty and confusion. I sometimes can't believe this is it, this is who I am, what my life is, and what  I will have to work with for who knows how much longer. How is it that I can claim to be in control of my own destiny, yet I am completely powerless to actively change my life in order to make it better? I don't really care, really. Am I so far lost that I  have become indifferent towards the concept of not just existing, but living. Cliche isn't it. Who knows. That is it though, isn't it? WHO KNOWS?! No one f-ing knows anything. Everyone is as delirious as the next and whoever claims to be in control of their circumstances and others is full of utter horse shit. We are all walking blind in a land that cannot be verified by anything other than our pure belief that we exist in something that is in a medium beyond our comprehension. Sounds ridiculous to me. Right?