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Some Thoughts on the Rethridgerator.

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Why We Need Feminism

I push, I shove,
Forgetting how to empathize.
His tush I love
More than is probably wise
And now my fate
Has sealed itself rotten.
So how to state
I fear being forgotten?

I fret, I pace
I’d rather not sleep.
Forget his face
Before you’re too deep.
He said please go
Tomorrow’s a long day
And you said no
I must have my own pleasure’s way

I fight these pills
They fog up my mind
To spite the thrills
I would otherwise find
In heart and soul
Along with my skin
I’m part, not whole
This healing body I’m in

Neurotic Insomnia

Is tomorrow the day
I’ll wake up and say
“It’s really okay
That I am just this way” ?

World Order: Fries < Onion Rings < Tater Tots

I am in love with the idea of the man I used to date, no longer ought to love, but am too nostalgic to let go of.

I need to become a project finisher; that is how I will become a playwright.

I vow to start writing down my crazy anecdotes; my memoirs will not be memories but news stories written in quick succession. 

Perhaps, however, I need to focus a little bit more on the career rather than wishing he would grab my rear, indulging a lust he can’t control. 

if you want to fight, I’ll grab your balls; you grab my rack 
So do just what you want to, have me as you will.
But don’t expect I’ll come running back
if you don’t have sass and skill. 

The Drafts That Could Still Be: A Writing Discovery

I have discovered something about myself. 
Should it be discovered or uncovered?
Rather than ask the questions I have in my head
To another person
In real time 
That could garner potentially hazardous consequences for the future
Of such a meek and budding relationship
As is any relationship on the brink
Of being anything more than it is
Where the two souls are alike
And amiss and a-twitter
Because they can’t seem to communicate
Even though one knows the other intimately in structure
But not in content
That is where the insecurity rises up
The fear that I can read the inner strings of his heart’s song
No, that can only be sung by you 
In the form of words, notes, tears
Many instruments have you
And many instruments have I

One of these instruments is through bravery
I can instigate a battle, I can
But just because I want to know the answer
And have the capacity to ask the question
Does not mean that it was mean to be inquired
Yet, anyways

Instead, I shall make it a story.
I constantly fear that my writing about what happens in my real life will make the people I love angry with me if they ever find out. That includes the content of this blog, the contents of my diaries, the contents of my plays, and some of my songs. Some are in code, some are poorly in code, and some are so exposed it’s like that moment you realize the pantsless dream you’re having is actually your wedding. Which is why they cannot be seen. 

But I seem to have forgotten something about myself. Let me remind myself, and you, dear reader, of what it is.
I, as my mother says, have a vivid imagination. 
I can predict the highest achievement 
And the most tragic defeat
The exhileration courses through my veins 
As sparks shooting through a cannon’s barrel 
Sometimes I am kept away by this electricity
I cannot hold it inside
I burst out with delight and force 
Somewhat haphazard in my release I will admit
And I maybe singe some of my constituents sometimes

Instead, strike that match onto the page
Rather than sending a burning arrow to another heart so soon.
Let the vivid imagination
The world that I long to create to be my own
Let it come alive in my stories 
Until those characters I am to play along with as myself
Arrive in my scene

Until then, all the drafts that could have been
Better yet, those that could still be

The 69 Greatest Quotes About Sex

“But when a woman decides to sleep with a man, there is no wall she will not scale, no fortress she will not destroy, no moral consideration she will not ignore at its very root: there is no God worth worrying about.”
— Gabriel García Márquez

Thought Catalog

Sex is a part of nature. I go along with nature. Marilyn Monroe
A liberated woman is one who has sex before marriage and a job after. Gloria Steinem
Sex without love is a meaningless experience, but as far as meaningless experiences go it’s pretty damn good. Woody Allen
In my sex fantasy, nobody ever loves me for my mind. Nora Ephron
I like threesomes with two women, not because I’m a cynical sexual predator. Oh no! But because I’m a romantic. I’m looking for “The One.” And I’ll find her more quickly if I audition two at a time. Russell Brand
Sex is more exciting on the screen and between the pages than between the sheets. Andy Warhol
I’m a heroine addict. I need to have sex with women who have saved someone’s life. Mitch Hedberg
Women are systematically degraded by receiving the trivial attentions which men think it…

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I’m having a hard time with a project of mine.
It took me long enough to figure out what medium to start writing it in, but I can’t write the pinnacle scene. The reason I’m writing this show is to raise awareness about the origin of a certain aspect of rape culture; I can’t, however, seem to write the scene that it happens in. 

Because I imagine it as a dance, but I couldn’t for the life of you tell you what it looks like. 
Or, rather: raw, violent, manipulative, cunning, seductive, petrifying, and electric. 
But how do I write that into text? 
I do not believe she makes any sound.
Unless I actually feel it in music… Is this where my opera begins? Thus far the piece has been in verse format (indeed, I have included some text I wrote on this blog; the show ends with “Athena Learns the Truth”) and I’ve been wondering if – in order to have control as the playwright over the subtext of the dance – I’d have to write the music underscoring the movement. I am a composer, after all.
So far I have tried sitting at my computer, lined paper, plain paper. I have drawn a few stage pictures that may be helping one way or another.

My question is:
Where is the line between showing violence and perpetuating violence and encouraging violence?
How ‘interpretive’ can it be without also romanticizing it?  
Why subject humans to a violence that maybe only some of them will understand, and those that will are probably already the ones who understand what I’m trying to say? I do not want to preach to a choir; I understand that it’s hubristic to assume that I have the capacity to change minds; I also believe I have the capacity to change minds. 

Just have to keep sitting on it, I guess. Maybe soon at a piano. 

Let The Beauty We Love Be What We Do.

“Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don’t open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.” – Rumi

Portrait of Anton Chekhov — Isaac Levitan

I probably would be known to tap that.

Biblioklept

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