tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6099362478566258952024-02-08T09:34:49.192-08:00Red lipstick and laced marqueesBritthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09546934451452643563noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-609936247856625895.post-56881030117552558942009-10-17T18:12:00.000-07:002009-10-17T18:38:08.627-07:00Insomnia<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://wwwdelivery.superstock.com/WI/223/1647/PreviewComp/SuperStock_1647R-93943.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 350px;" src="http://wwwdelivery.superstock.com/WI/223/1647/PreviewComp/SuperStock_1647R-93943.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My eyes flicker to the broken wing of the horse fly on the vanity. sandpaper. It's noon, no maybe it's 5:00, who cares, pour my bath and leave me alone. Cold porcelain teases my skin, it feels good but it starts a shock through me. pain. I can't tell if the lamp is on, what is making that shadow? An insane murderer, ready to pounce. It's only Lucy, she comes often. Sometimes I smell Saco Bay, beaches and suicide and whatnot. A quarter exposes my red lined eyes to myself. It's not like I can help it. The Bible stares at me underneath the horse fly now, bring it to me, Lucy. Shoot, the lamp went out, no the sun came up. Now I will dream. black. Moonlight Sonata and whiskey linger on the bed. A slam jolts me, oh, it's only my pulse. That Mandarin bracelet is stuck to the door knob. I was born blind, but now I am never, unless you count blinking. A ballet of howls and termites are my sheep. Lighthouse fireflies lure my whispers, I'm not crazy you know. truth.<br /></span>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09546934451452643563noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-609936247856625895.post-11905242169407869012009-10-15T07:08:00.000-07:002009-10-15T07:21:04.370-07:00Oh my desire to go to Edith Wharton's estate.<a href="http://frontier.cincinnati.com/blogs/litchick/uploaded_images/wharton2-767944.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 1023px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 721px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://frontier.cincinnati.com/blogs/litchick/uploaded_images/wharton2-767944.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>A familiar face stumbles<br />onto her. Intoxicated. She supports,<br />Drunken complaints.<br /> <em>“Ms. Wharton, will you sign my copy?”<br /> Her name plastered in the air,<br /> no smudged glass to look through.<br /></em>Lights, not language. He is a trophy,<br />liquor and foam dribble down her<br />collar. Half conscious he sings.<br /> <em>A mailbox overgrown with elite parties. Paper<br /> blessed by her pen’s touch. She knows.<br /> Champagne in one hand, New York in the other.<br /></em>Three steps on the front porch. She turns<br />his key. Perhaps he will write a whiskey<br />lullaby, prize-winning.<br /><br />Statements in her locket, the billboard is painted white.</div>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09546934451452643563noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-609936247856625895.post-51565837062629541742009-06-21T16:28:00.000-07:002009-06-21T17:04:51.452-07:00I must think this out...<span style="font-weight: bold;">A pen</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold;">a banana</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold;">a blue piece of paper</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold;">an old bottle of coke</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold;">my glasses</span>, <span style="font-weight: bold;">a broken</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">calculator</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">and an orange sharpie</span>. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Oh, and a shoelace without a shoe</span>.<br /><br />I was challenged by a friend to use the above throughout my next blog entry. Although I'm not completely sure how I'm going to do so yet, I think it could turn out very fun. This is only going to be a first try, I may revise later. For now, here goes!(By the way, most of these events are true, some I had to make up...try to find the made up events)<br /><br /> Yesterday was quite an adventure. I started out my day on few hours of sleep. I only had the chance to grab a banana for breakfast and I was out the door. I don't know if it's just me, but it was rather difficult to peel and eat while driving. I was headed for church to sort rocks and other harmful things out of a flooded, 2 foot deep mud pit.<br /> As I approached the exit ramp, I noticed an old bottle of coke tumbling across the intersection. I wished for a pen to jot down some lines that it inspired. That tends to happen, great ideas pop into my head while I'm driving, not fun.<br /> After that, I arrived at the church. Being extremely dedicated, I was there early even in the buckets of rain. When I was finished parking very crookedly, I looked down to see a shoelace without a shoe. It was odd, I mean who just loses a shoelace. And that got me thinking more interesting thoughts. I reached into my purse past my glasses to a miniature notebook. I opened the cover and scribbled on a blue piece of paper. In my tiny notebook, there are four colors of paper; blue, pink, yellow, and green. I liked that blue was next for some reason.<br /> Inside, a boy was trying to take apart a broken calculator. Probably to retrieve the batteries, but why not just get new ones? Could there be such a sport as "battery hunting"? My attention then focused on an elderly gentleman. He was in an orange sharpie colored sweater...in late June. I played with the idea that his wife had passed and that was the sweater she knit him before their last Christmas. I am easily distracted with details, which is sometimes a flaw.<br /> By the time I actually walked to the mud pit, I realized I had thought of several poem foundations. Not that these are done, but more like under construction. I wish my days could be more productive like this all the time. Or maybe it is and I just don't realize it.Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09546934451452643563noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-609936247856625895.post-82302490631216085812009-05-24T11:59:00.000-07:002009-05-24T12:04:25.581-07:00So True.At twenty years of age I'm still looking for a dream<br />A war's already waged for my destiny<br />But You've already won the battle<br />And You've got great plans for me<br />Though I can’t always see<br /><br /> (Chorus)<br />‘Cause I got a couple dents in my fender<br />Got a couple rips in my jeans<br />Try to fit the pieces together<br />But perfection is my enemy<br />On my own I'm so clumsy<br />But on Your shoulders I can see<br />I'm free to be me<br /><br /> When I was just a girl I thought I had it figured out<br />My life would turn out right, and I'd make it here somehow<br />But things don't always come that easy<br />And sometimes I would doubt<br /><br /> (Chorus)<br /><br /> And you’re free to be you<br /><br /> Sometimes I believe that I can do anything<br />Yet other times I think I've got nothing good to bring<br />But You look at my heart and You tell me<br />That I've got all You seek<br />And it’s easy to believe<br />Even though<br /><br /> (Chorus)<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/l1YLXWANhvI&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/l1YLXWANhvI&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09546934451452643563noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-609936247856625895.post-24674856122619486772009-05-12T13:01:00.000-07:002009-05-12T13:49:42.002-07:00Multi genre writingSo, I am trying to come up with some creative writing genres for my multi genre writing project. I need something more than the autobiography, short story, too-broad-for-anything type. I chose Edith Wharton for my topic, which allows plenty of creativity. I really want to get a hold of her letters. To research into her life that much will help me capture her voice. I don't know much about her somewhat-scandalous life, but I want to learn more. I have an extensive list of questions that are still unanswered. Hopefully some different ideas will come to me soon. I think I will create some type of shopping list or receipt of hers showing some interesting items she bought. Let me know if you can think of anything at all.Britthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09546934451452643563noreply@blogger.com2