June 2009
36 posts
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"I heard a fly buzz when I died" a tribute to em...
I heard a fly buzz when I died I saw the fish splash into the sky Went to church to forgive my sins drank the blood only to find it was kool-aid instead
Wrote my will read it aloud but a buzzing fly alone in the crowd Finished with a bow and turned my eyes to ground an overture an encore a stark realization death had me found And with my last gasp & glance a fly to hold my life and my...
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stream of consciousness poem
settling my self into a chair of inadequacy and beat emotion. i loathe my fingertips and wished they would play symphonies. i try to type but feel myself washing up under your shoes step by step. And I’m sticking like gum, yesterday chewed and spat out onto a concrete conscience where i met my hubris and kissed its sandals.
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follower versus non-follower
You might think this is an article about Twitter. Thank goodness it’s not. No that there’s anything wrong with Twitter, it’s just not going to be the focus of this em d stine rant. Today is more about what I think about influence in art, like “oh my god, his clouds are cumulous like monet.” or in writing, “that had such a da vinci code element of...
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My Travel Story in New Desert Times →
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post script. i'm in love w/ love
Love is such a lovely thing to write about.
On Twitter for a while, I was keeping a “How to Love a Poet” list. I’ve been in love once or twice.
But love always seems to come in the wrong package. Somebody loves you and you most certainly do not love them. You fall in love only long enough to fall right back out of it.
I think that might be the worst, you’re able to...
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pneumatic melody
If I write you a line will you play me a jig?
people love the pretty poetry that drips from my tongue and falls to the page elegant inkdrops
but
I find with you I can’t siphon my thoughts to my pen. the images ill-formed the word run dry.
so
take a gander if you please to the poetry hapzard hidden in my head. decipher my thoughts play my lines, let the tunes hum around your head and...
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urban quicksand
this street dissects my footsteps. it knows the seedy details of disposable motels fridays & cigarettes the sidewalk sticks to my feet. gray concrete conscience. I spit “hail mary’s” at it urban quicksand redemption, fuck me friday forgiveness.
I drag my bones into my place of worship, mumble “usual” at the bartender and slip into the ladies.
this skirt has seen...
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"may you live in interesting times" a chinese...
At this point, it’s irrelevant if it was actually a Chinese proverb; it’s actually said to be a Chinese curse. Because it’s a double-edged sword. Someday when we’re old & wrinkled, we’ll cackle to our children “When I was your age, I was living through the Greatest Depression that our country has ever known. It was awful. Everyone lost their job and surfed...
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“All the world's a stage, and all the men & women...
they perform, they dance fingers & toes poised— smoothed over [ekphrastic ]facades— three-dimensional watercolor embodiments their eyes—bronze-lidded synecdoches careful to preserve the image-delusion & even emily tiptoes over papier-mâché eggshells when she exits the stage elastic smile stretched over her face & pinned over her ears
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p.s. [that means post script] the virtual looking...
Mr. Bes Zain of http://thereasoner.com a blog that gets loads more readership than lowly Emmy Appleseed touches on a fair few many points that tickle my fancy.
We exist in many dimensions as people and most will never know who we really are… so we like to give people glimpses into what this aspect of me might be like. Like Bes said, we have different parts of our personas thrown up all...
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The Real Way To Understand Someone Offline In The...
With so many people going online more than into their kitchens, it is becoming easier and easier to see why it would be important to see how people can be measured through their online activities. Let us see how we can find out more about a person in order to understand who they really are in the offline world.
Let’s look up someone on <a href=”http://twitter.com/besz”...
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it's tomorrow but i wish it were yesterday
and my breath stinks like gasoline even though i only ate potato chips. the tears have stopped and all i have left is this gasoline breath.
this kerosene face. gleaming like the night on i-seventy west. west. west. west. must go west. leave it all in the dust but it reflects in the rear-view mirror of my dented Honda Civic. Harry. His name is Harry. Together, Harry & I crunch over memories...
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on writing [con.tin.you.ed times two]
it just seems like a good week to continue talking about writing. a friend, mr. bes zain of http://thereasoner.com recently asked me what it is i inhale before i write… teeheehee.
for some the act of writing does not come as easy. for me, i can’t say it’s something that i routinely struggle with, in fact, emmyappleseed is usually just a quick stream of consciousness-like task. i don’t really...
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on writing [con.tin.you.ed]
The very first thing that every writer learns is to write what you know. I do this terribly often, I feel sometimes as if my life is an open book or an open twitter [laughs and points, she just said “twitter” teeheehee] because very often i write what i am i am blue. therefore post about blue.ness i am thinking about tarot card readings and so on and so forth. today i am thinking...
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on writing
This is the longest post I have ever written, that’s quite the opposite actually, it’s the shortest but it’s taken me the longest amount of time to write absolutely nothing. Granted, I’ve started and then deleted at least 2 posts because well there are some secrets lurking behind the beautiful act of writing. And you can see it in the obituaries of some of the best writers...
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fate vs. free will & how a tarot card reader...
I admit it. I had my tarot cards read. February 14th of all days. A girlfriend and I went to this little place called Herbs & Arts down in good ole Cap Hill in Denver, Colorado & had our cards read by the “Best of the West Sidewalk Psychedelic” as in, a popular Denver magazine voted this lady the best in the whole area. Well, I didn’t need that little plaque to know that...
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a sonnet by em d stine
“And I’ll sit and wonder of every love that could have been if I’d only thought of something charming to say.” –Death Cab for Cutie I wander myself at the library, a blank page of manifest prose that scrawls neurons on my lips-black and coarse— unbound books spellcheck my apology. It is an epitaph to preface me. My lips tell the story my eyes won’t compose lexemes hang from my mouth like...
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Creat.ive+Critic.al.: Doubt & Identity in Liminal...
If doubt lies in the continuum between belief and disbelief, then the continuum between inscribed spaces – spaces that are understood, identified, labeled, categorized – are themselves a place of doubt. These liminal spaces are those that are not “unknown” (since they are, in fact, known to those who occupy them), but are instead unknown to those who have the ability to identify them as such.
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“Every city has a single words that defines it, that identifies most people who...”
– Liz Gilbert
EAT, PRAY, LOVE
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Do you believe in love? a poem by em d stine
You didn’t answer my question. Love is facsimile, a copy-commodity.
And your parents? Their noses never touch.
Have you been in love? They just sat there, between eyes and mouths.
Have you been in love? It was tangerine, then it was skin.
I pull the skin off my fingers when I’m curious. It turned my blood orange for weeks.
You once told me you saw it on a postcard. They waded through...
My Guest Blog on the Reasoner, a blog by my friend... →
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an epitaph by em d stine
Susie’s post brings me back to a crux moment in my adolescence. I had just come back from graduate school, tail between my legs, and no plan of what to do next. I remember my old nanny fam asked me, “Emily, what do you want to do?!” And I said, “WRITE! I wanna be a writer.” And so they said, “Then Write!”
That easy. Just write. Other things will follow....
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"unemPlOymEnT" an essay of sorts by an old friend...
I could paper an upscale north Fort Collins gated community with “Nanny For Hire” flyers. This is first on my list. No taxes, payment in cash, can read and write while kids nap. I could clean houses. Except, no experience. Wait, does my own house count? Construction. Licensed therapy. Food service. Child care. All noble professions, but not my profession.
A graduate student at Colorado...
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things i am not
There are certain things I am terrible at. For starters, SOMEBODY will always be pissed at me for something. I’m not sure why. My intentions are usually very pure and I live by the mantra, “be nice. write poetry.” I guess my biggest flaw lies in letting all that go. Like a friend recently told me, I need to work on Emily’s Golden Armor and not worry about the weather.
...
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Em D Stine, POP CULTURE Anthropologist
Not to be confused with a sociologist, they study society. Anthropologists study culture, its mores, its past, its present and pretty much everything in between. Studying American POP CULTURE as an anthropologist [em d stine w/ an aside, pop pop pop diddaly, what.choo know!] would be studying what they call in the field “backyard anthropology” cuz you don’t need a passport or a...
