Still no rush, but I am checking
in on the suicidal you and wondering abt
your work (both free of me entirely — memoir
and such — and somewhat selfishly in
the edits, although your personal
work is occupying more interest).
R u asking to read my work? — if you wanna read
a story & let me know what you think?
Also, the poem, the poem
that you sent me — I’m gonna look at it this
afternoon when I’m in…
Never any rush.
[a day goes by]
OK, you merciful, beautiful bastard!
I am nothing if not a service to others and BE SLAMMED
[And I think of Dorothy Allison’s book movie with Jena Malone. Black and white, tho. Please no color; no Kodachrome.
[[See: Simon & Garfunkel.]]
I’m responding now cuz I had a shit ton of
reading for intertext which is a ___
class. But I read ur poem and holy shit it’s
ART.
I need more content from ppl I respect.
My poem got absolutely trashed in
workshop this morning.
People are fucking conceited, selfish, unaware, and dismissive of what they don’t
understand. They fear knowing anything outside of their frame of reference and cope in the
worst ways imaginable. But Rimbaud would find that beautiful, no?
and thinking of Rimbaud my
tears dried, and I kept on reading
your text… and forgot how to grieve.
To be unknown is to be feared: my standard sadistic love of
all art for it! And the kind cruelty I hold for all those I truly respect. You were always
so articulate in class. But. Hopefully, share a sinner’s smile.
Let’s publish so other
artists hear how artists text
and how artists speak to
other artists and how it’s art.
Cuz it’s all art.
PLEASE, for the love of fuck worry about your spectacular self before me,
as I have said, and again, I am dwarfed in your brilliance
and find my light in your shadow
O, Rimbaud. I think, O Rimbaud: Comet-eyed poet, you set language ablaze and
vanished before the embers cooled. Your wild syllables still wander the world,
beautiful and feral, refusing every cage.
You are a dream I will make reality. And if you don’t personally (while vividly and living) publish your manuscript,
I will literally DIE out of tragedy…
Hahaha. Wouldn’t it be tragically cliché if I used a pocket full of rocks, or ran
my car in the garage or… no, let’s not mention any names, any muses, because that,
too, would be cliché.
Not that I’m THAT worried. But like. Fuck idk I’m drunk again, and kinda shocked, though it does break the villanelle format, which I agree with, since I hate formats.
I don’t even know what a villanelle format is…
Regardless
Sleep so well
You owe me nothing. PLEASE
Don’t overtext yourself for savory scum like me.
K. Nite.
While I get satisfaction from knowing I’m valued, there is even greater
value in knowing someone else sees it, and the greatest value in knowing you are
swamped and still see me as a little Lily worth attention. Never feel obligated
to feed my ouroboros EGO
Will send tmr —
I’m exhausted. But Oh No, I’m about to zzzz, and now I think
of snakes and tails and snakes eating their own tails and mummies waking alive
in Egypt
Excuses, excuses! I’m incapable of
seeing myself as valuable, but I do
truly value you. Regardless, I do hope you share
it tmr and don’t just lead me on
with teases REGARDLESS
sleep well.
I need your
pseudonym.
neer
I need a last
name letter, how about
“O”?
I wish it were an “O” though, my dad wanted to name me
Nero and I’m kinda worried about how
quickly you clocked me. SLEEEEEPPPPP.
Send me your email… It’s not
popping up. Perhaps you’re
fiddling as the city goes up in
flames.
[email protected]. It is midnight here in
Ireland, and I’m brushing my teeth tho, so
I’ll read it asap tmr.
Hahahahaha. Nite.
OK? neer lee.
Don’t forget to send it thooooooooo…
Will. Sent.
I’ll be slicing (w/love) ur memoirs asap. Ur version of
introspection; you’ve gotten the poem out of ‘me’ and that’s something I’ve
always thought was impossible. I am
ECSTATIC to digest your content and learn from it like
holyyyyyyyyy fuck
I’m a bit drunk and distracted by
the ppl in the communal housing but
Christ… You still do owe me
your poem, insecure as you may be, don’t
hide ur shine from me, or I’ll press you
like coal
You are too much. I’ll get the poem
to you later… im drunk on Truly are you
drunk on Bailey’s? When are you
coming home?
Ermmmm, Guinness, gin, Jamison, my own ego, I’m
drunk dw abt it — I’ll be home 2nd semester. Don’t
worry
We will drink deep together
Did you read “Stranger in a
Strange Land?”
Fun but terrifying.
