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first selfie in the new aptlast night in my dream i overheard someone telling someone else i had “dragon eyes” which, in my dream, made me feel really flattered, but then i woke up and realized i don’t know what that means at all

something about patriarchy and science versus community based work and emotional support. something about “evidence.” something about “biology.” something about how of course the director of nimh is a straight white dude from ohio. something about academies and elitism and systems and labor. something about how community mental health workers are probably predominantly female, and, not unrelatedly, underpaid. something about how the more you know the more you want to be part of the revolution. the more you want to guerrilla train community health workers to provide therapy and abortions and make childcare collectives and do it all ourselves. the more you wonder why (you feel) you need a masters degree. 

nothing makes me feel more like a child than that PANG of jealousy that one small detail can invoke

rereading a paper i wrote as a sophomore in undergrad was a good procrastination thing to do this morning because apparently my interests haven’t changed at all in 6 years

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"All these emotions, everything that’s said and all your experience, that’s what inspires the first flicker of a song. It’s hard being a human being."

oh tay tay

"Sometimes the right thing to do is to shape your feelings, sand their edges down, make them manageable. Right now, it’s better to make the world give you the space you need. Read Derek Walcott and think about history, think about movement, think about storms."

 

monday night, spring break

go to a literary festival reading event. but get there early, too early. walk around the neighborhood. go to the park where you waited for the last date you went on with the last person who gave you heartbreak. sit in the same bench you waited in around this time last year. take a picture of the sky. it is sunset streaked and beautiful. go back to the venue; your friend’s friend is waiting outside. you say hi and your friend arrives and the three of you go get pizza and beer. when it’s time you go inside. it’s a scene you love and hate. “why are there so many cute girls in outfits.” you stand and listen to poetry being read from the stage. you drink whiskey. you dance next to a man who has been a favorite poet of yours. your friend has another friend who has a student who has slept with him. “he wasn’t that good.” this is comforting because you are not surprised. you eat candy. you take a picture of your face in the bathroom. you move on to another bar. all three of you order kombucha and roll your eyes at each other. it’s good. you remember how you resolved to send your poems out or make a chapbook or do something with them last summer. and then you got the heartbreak and all you did was run and sleep. you could barely look at the sky. maybe this summer the poems will come back, you can unwrap them again and find yourself there in the pages you shoved in your desk drawer for later. maybe his face is finally far away enough in your brain to blink back. you blink and blink.

tumblr have i told you i have a tori tattoo? my first one. i’m a little embarrassed by it but that’s also why i love that i have it. ink your younger selves to your future selves so you can never deny those versions of you existed. archival praxis. it’s not from this song though.

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vanityfair:

“I opened up about spending some of my life in a tent. And here I am falling in love in a teepee.” 

The 16 Most Profound, Philosophical Utterances from The Bachelor.