It’s true— but then what about this picture, E? Yr too beautiful to not know—that this is getting a lot of attention.
"selfie". feel like i should write a short poem to accompany this about the desperation and need for attention surrounding the selfie in modern culture but instead i’m going to smoke a cigarette and sip my herbal tea and go to bed. but i will add that the desperation and need for attention surrounding the selfie is no more or less than the desperation and need for attention surrounding the writing of a poem.
RE: [Hobart] It Takes One to Own One—Rejection!
Thank you for sending us “It Takes One to Own One”. We appreciate the chance to read it. Unfortunately, the piece is not for us.
Thanks again. Best of luck with this.
"Sometimes you’re 23 and standing in the kitchen of your house making breakfast and brewing coffee and listening to music that for some reason is really getting to your heart. You’re just standing there thinking about going to work and picking up your dry cleaning. And also more exciting things like books you’re reading and trips you plan on taking and relationships that are springing into existence. Or fading from your memory, which is far less exciting. And suddenly you just don’t feel at home in your skin or in your house and you just want home but “Mom’s” probably wouldn’t feel like home anymore either. There used to be the comfort of a number in your phone and ears that listened everyday and arms that were never for anyone else. But just to calm you down when you started feeling trapped in a five-minute period where nostalgia is too much and thoughts of this person you are feel foreign. When you realize that you’ll never be this young again but this is the first time you’ve ever been this old. When you can’t remember how you got from sixteen to here and all the same feel like sixteen is just as much of a stranger to you now. The song is over. The coffee’s done. You’re going to breathe in and out. You’re going to be fine in about five minutes."
Unknown (via fatethatfallls)
I’m hanging out with a roommate and this full blown dyke who keeps calling herself Elaine Kahn but I’m so sure she’s not.
We moved into a house together, or a room together, and now we’re already moving out. (Reminds me of Frances Ha, which I watched last night. I was apprehensive and expecting it to be ‘indie’ but it was actually really good/meant a lot to me. Also saw Girl Interrupted for the first time recently. Realized I am Winona Ryder in it…relate too well to disturbed women or women ppl think are weird. Would totally date Frances Ha. Anyways—)
The dream starts originally with me and my brother Hippy Jonny taking a swim in a small fresh water lake/pond. Where I notice most of the danger and threats and he continues to swim almost completely unaffected. Not really—but—he doesn’t notice it. There’s a porcupine fish/puffer that keeps knocking into me as we swim in circles. For some reason the water here is just kind of moving like a jacuzzi naturally. It could be a hot spring. The puffer gets so pissed it starts to charge us, fully expanded but with it’s fin. It doesn’t stop us from enjoying the pond for a while.
Eventually we get sick of it. To much life in the pond/pool/water hole and none of it we can identify.
Jon moves on, I get out first though, finding my clothes still churning in the water. I pick them up, wonder if they’re mine or Jon’s.
It’s a graphic T, long sleeve that looks like Zelda, so it’s especially confusing. I don’t remember any of us owning this. I wouldn’t expect Jon to wear it.
Ponds, lakes, rivers are all huge parts of my dreams. Wish I could locate the giant/epic river dream I had last. Definitely happening during a huge period of growth. This time it looks like stagnation.
Jon tells me, “You should have built it better to keep all the fish out. We can’t see now…”
The other dream:
Roommates with a woman who calls herself Elaine Kahn. Briefly talked to Mike Young of NOO last night who used to live in MASS, Thurston Moore, Townes Van Zandt, Elaine Kahn, Chelsea Martin, Elizabeth Ellen etc, which was rad. Shout out to Mike—)
In the dream I’m really enjoying living there but the woman wants to move out immediately. Maybe I’ve shown too much interest in her art and now I am threatening her.
There’s a scene where I’m asking to see her work. ’A magician never reveals her secrets,’ kind of bullshit answer.
She’s already cleaned all of her furniture from the commons.
I look up and notice a painting which is a view into everything she’s doing. (or I’m doing?) She’s in some second floor storage where her name is painted across the top of a treasure chest with her name painted across the top really sloppy. Like Salvador Dali. She’s cracking it open. It reminds me of Ollie’s art, my brother’s friend from Tokyo. Does a lot of mixed media and collage. Messy signatures.
She’s talking down to my work the whole time. I don’t know what it is but she doesn’t really buy any of my publishing credits and needs me to do even better—
on second thought, who is this bitch? and why does she get to comment on my art? She just bites everything and takes credit for shit. You’re not Elaine! You’re some kind of dumb ass poseur trying to steal everyone else’s ideas. I don’t know who it represents. (Maybe some part of me?)
Eventually I realize she’s a thief. See everyone for who they are. There’s a 3rd roommate and realize suddenly just how full of shit this artist is. How so many are…
Anonymous asked: If a fellow writer here on the internet wanted to strike up a conversation with elizabeth ellen, what would be the way to go about it? It's difficult to share a bottle of Makers over the internet.
send me a selfie, something good you’ve written and/or be super fucking original. (i was going to add “or just email me like a normal person” but that’s actually not very original. lol)
Bro, you just did it. Do it off anon—
I dreamt that I missed you-
You always know.
And so I woke up to a text from you at 2am quoting my favourite poet.
Anonymous asked: What's the strangest item a man has handed you to wipe his cum off with?
starve it for me
keep it locked in the
feed it to me
keep it locked
in my age.
the way wood
when left alone
for long enough.
cry for me like
old doors do.
I want to see you,
red haired/red eyed
like what’s left
at the filter
feel like shit
but always come out
looking so pretty…
just be nice to me,
I’m trying really hard,