Dream about the heart-shaped leaves
on the thin branches of the purple tree.
You know the one.
Where the butterflies
sleep amongst the flowers,
Blessed by the tears of the clouds.
Dream about the heart-shaped leaves
on the thin branches of the purple tree.
You know the one.
Where the butterflies
sleep amongst the flowers,
Blessed by the tears of the clouds.
As I write this, my tastebuds pucker, saliva gathers greedily at the inside corners of my cheeks. In my mind, I see the almost hysterical orange-red color, the slightly greasy surface of Catalina as it oozes out of the little round hole in the white plastic bottle cap. Catalina is a gift my mother gave me before I left home to raise myself at 13 years old and, though it may seem strange, I don’t regret this gift.
Remember, dying ain’t pretty, and you can’t let the kiss of death linger too long. Pretend that you love him. Pretend that you are Milton’s little girl. Pretend that the pain is too much to bear. Do not laugh at how botched your aunt looks. Instead, kneel and pray—pretend to if you cannot.
It is equally easy for me to fantasize about being a writer as it is to fantasize about being a plant person. These fantasies of lifestyle and values echo each other. It is romantic until you must edit. It is romantic until you must weed.
This moment is outside of time
Ironic cause that’s what i’m needing
To teach you
Pleasure I have in my veins
This planet rewinds everyday just
To feed you
How can I be of service?
Burn me up, Wave me
Listen here patiently
Lessons entwined in my roots
Plant me within your mind so nervously
I want someone to see me./
I want someone to know/
it ain’t easy.
Shade talks with poetry editor Max Hamilton about confronting grief through meditation and writing.
Allen co-stars in the new film “Run,” which premiers on Hulu Friday, November 20.
The second installment of our Model Literary Citizenship Survey
What does it mean to be a good literary citizen? If you’re like me, you have a complicated relationship to the word “citizen.” As a citizen of the United States and a feminist living in […]
Recklessness looks a lot like bravery.
Last summer, I was one of many wide-eyed emerging writers who attended a craft seminar during The New School’s Summer Writers Colony where Elissa Bassist, the editor of the Funny Women column on TheRumpus.net, discussed what it means to write humor in New York.
“It had to be written quickly, as these things are.”
“a hung out hexology” by Laura Heckel 1 reality is that i have only seen the doctor once after my surgery and that is because i haunt him. 2 i had drains in my legs and […]
Growing up, my parents never really took us anywhere. Everything normal families made a fuss about, like graduations and birthdays, we spent at home. Their excuse was always how tired they were. I hated that […]
When 12th Street set out this 2014-15 school year to glean the New School for all possible creative talent to showcase in the journal, we were unprepared for the amount of high-caliber submissions flocking our […]
About the Event: POLITICS AND LETTERS COME TOGETHER FOR AN EVENING OF READINGS BY ELISSA SCHAPPELL, TÉA OBREHT, AND STUDENT CONTRIBUTORS TO 12TH STREET ISSUE 5, PUBLISHED BY THE NEW SCHOOL WRITING PROGRAM. Date and time: Wednesday, May 9th, […]
Yesterday was Wednesday, so I of course read the NYT Dining section. I generally read it online, but since I was Long Island-bound, I got myself a copy for the train ride. Eventually I found […]
There is something to be said for a change of environment. For the past couple of weeks my writing has been stuck, stagnant. The answer was to get away. I am a creature of habit. […]
Two weeks ago I wrote a post about storytelling and a savory sea urchin. It was a love story—or, rather, my way of relaying a story someone had told me. It was soft, slow and effective. The […]