Elle: The boys kicked our asses at Settlers of Catan.
Michelle: Yeah. *hangs head in shame*
Elle: It's just because they are dorks and play the game online and read strategy books.
Michelle: Yeah, ON HOW TO LIE!
I can’t deny, my boy, Jay-Z, said it best: “You gotta get that dirt of your shoulder.” Brushing that shit off right now, Hova. #nowplaying
Not already having “Your Unbelievable” by EMF in your digital music library. #ImportantThingsYouRealizeat3am
Revelations 1687: You can convince a girl to stay by offering her frozen, raw meat. (But, Elle, would not be that girl.)
I’ve been writing some really odd and/or terrible poetry lately. Which means, my fiction must be excellent, as the two are never in balance!
I like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite new a thing. Muscles...– e.e. cummings
Poem: Vicarious Thrills
Sylvia sat in a plush leather chair, stuffing peaking out of its bottom right corner. How many souls have been poured out here? Sylvia nervously smoked a cigarette which she held between her thumb and forefinger, a habit from her marijuana days. She was telling her psychiatrist about a man she used to fuck. But the psychiatrist kept asking about her father. Sylvia didn’t want to see the...
My heart is aching for my best friend. Her struggles are my struggles. Keep your head up, girl!
“Your mouth is poison. Your mouth is wine. You think your dreams are the same as mine. I don’t love you, but I always will.” #TheCivilWars
#Dilemma: Should I stay in and write or get out and go to the gym?
Early Valentine’s Day celebration in the LaRalston/RaMarca house! First work, then Atlantic Fish for dinner! Mmm, Chilean Sea Bass.
I breathe myself so deep sometimes, but it is all so shallow. And people wallow in self and regret, and they bump like pinballs on the street. I touch my face just to make sure it’s real, and I look behind mirrors to make sure it isn’t a joke. If there is more depth to this existence, then I understand why I am still searching. Satisfaction never comes, just like the white horse, because it...
The Tragedy of Leaves
I awakened to dryness and the ferns were dead, the potted plants as yellow as corn; my woman gone and the empty bottles like bled corpses surround me with their uselessness; the sun was still good, though, and my landlady’s note cracked in fine and undemanding yellowness; what was needed now was a good comedian, ancient style, a jester with jokes upon absurd pain; pain is absurd because it...
If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression of...– Sylvia Plath
There’s only a little bit of you left inside my head. You’ve burrowed yourself down deep, like a tic, into that inoperable part of my brain. Impossible to remove; not easy to cleanse. I know, because I’ve tried. I’ve tried to remove you with silence, words, pills, even a knife. You might get some satisfaction out of hearing that. But it’s just a little...
OMG. Who’s listening to #TheCivilWars? This album is blowing my mind! So delicate, moody and romantic. I’m in LOVE! #fb
Back, Back, Back...
I spent some time with old photographs tonight. Good memories, forgotten memories, awkward memories, funny memories. So many made me want to go back, back, back. But I’m only moving forward, forward, forward… Maybe, if I could just PAUSE a moment. Wait.
There are worse crimes than burning books. One of them is not reading them.– Joseph Brodsky (via lifeofliterature)
I’ve recently become obsessed with fireflies and butternut squash bisque. Oh, and maybe, wood and bacon, too. #strangerbytheminute
You were never anything more or less than what you claimed to be. I just refused...
Truth in Fiction - Hiding Behind the Imaginary
I’ve been working on a memoir-ish essay piece for the past few weeks. I probably won’t post it here, as I’m hoping to see it in print on actual pages…sans internet. So, I feel that if/when that happens that should be its first official unveiling to the world. Or, at least, that’s my story. The truth is that I write fiction for a reason. I write fiction, so I can...
Just opened a writing doc titled”Don’t Laugh.” The only live I’d written: “I think of bacon.” Pulitzer right there, folks.
Wood Would →
Aww. *blushes* Someone found my prose-poem fascinating enough to feature on her blog. Sharing the LOVE. achangeisgoncome: Author: elleinprocess.tumblr.com Wood. I knock on it, for luck. But then I realize this table is made of plastic. Plastic. Damn. How unlucky is that? I was looking for something natural, but this is all man-made. Like silicone breasts and swimming pools.Man-made. ...
Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public...– Cyril Connolly (via achangeisgoncome, ilovereadingandwriting)
I’d like to stop lying to you. I’d like to let you know me. I’d love to let you...– Me (via achangeisgoncome)
Decided to do some “Flash” writing, fiction&poetry, in hopes it will help w/ the novel #WIP. Taking on this challenge: http://t.co/AdbzbDk
Right. It’s weird that I want to keep writing about “wood”? Yeah, that is weird. Right? SMH
3D Street Artist Paintings by Edgar Muller
This is AMAZING! Might be the coolest thing I’ve EVER seen! This is sheer brilliance.
Read Me: Flash Fiction/Prose Poetry I wrote. Thoughts? flashfiction365: Title: Wood Would Author: elleinprocess.tumblr.com Synopsis: What would wood do? Read to find out. Word Count: 175/500 Read More
Writing is nothing more than a guided dream. -Jorge Luis Borges– (via flashfiction365)
Absence - Pablo Neruda
I have scarcely left you When you go in me, crystalline, Or trembling, Or uneasy, wounded by me Or overwhelmed with love, as when your eyes Close upon the gift of life That without cease I give you. My love, We have found each other Thirsty and we have Drunk up all the water and the Blood, We found each other Hungry And we bit each other As fire bites, Leaving wounds in us. But wait for...
Freedom by Jonathan Franzen. #fridayreads