Literature of all sorts including, stories, essays, novellas, and series.
Words Across World(z) - On Woman In Berlin and Its Relation to a Recognition of Grand Civil Rights. And Stuff. - Jeremy Munro
I'm pretty much all about diverse diversity. I'm all about a perceived repeating of myself too. Also I'm all about the plight of people in Berlin the in the final days of and immediately after WW2. Especially the German women. The mass rapes, the violence of the Soviet's putting down a hard earned revenge on the innocent masses, well everything went full circle there. They were paying in kind for the wrongs inflicted on their people. Wrongs that have been ignored by the West I'd say. This is pretty polarized for me. Normally I'm not so cavalier about throwing wrongs and shit. I'm just saying, some crazy shit happened then, but in the mire of human beings thrown to their almost teleological end, there were some crazy insights like this one “Talking in the line, I find myself coming down a level both in the way I speak and in what I say, immersing myself in the general emotion – though this always leaves me feeling a little slimy and disgusting. And yet I don't want to fence myself off, I want to give myself over to this communal sense of humanity; I want to be a part of it, to experience it. There's a split between my aloofness, the desire to keep my private life to myself, and the urge to be like everyone else, to belong to the nation to abide and suffer history together.” Funny how someone in a different time and with a completely different set of circumstances can come to the same thoughts as me. Funny how this woman, who incurred rape at the hands of Soviet regulars and then had voluntary sex for protection with a First Lieutenant and later a Major could think something thought across the board by many people like her. But anyways. Its cool how people can have the same ideas.
you saw me lie and admire the somber sound of wood on wood. you noticed deceitful eyelids before i ever considered them. wind and water and waiting tore things apart. sand changed you.
i am the lamb and you are the lion and after unspoken gods come back to earth, we will lay down.
Here's an opporunity to create. Saint Anselm is currently involved in Enough Is Enough, a campaign against bullying, violence, and abuse. As a collective effort, we were asked to produce some sort of artistic, literary or musical response to the mission this campaign has set forth.
Enough Is Enough has provided us with some information they'd like to convey. The boundaries are grey and the space is unlimited; do with this as you will. I'm excited to see what comes out of this!
with the snow and the wind and the confused chirps on birthdays, i wonder what it would have been like if i had left. not working with older, beautiful women and younger ones. not wandering through woods and mud and grass with officers at night. not making love to pulp fiction and watching it instead. not cruising through suburban new hampshire roads at three in the morning and not finding the frank lloyd wright house buried behind tree branches. not kissing in the snow and crying in the snow and falling in front of menacing statues of canonized saints. not laughing my ass off to archived conversations on skype. not listening to clean guitar rifts at the wee-hours of the morning in apartments that weren’t mine but felt like home.
the snow was sad and pitiful and desperate. i dressed in the cold and the quiet and hoped for something daring to happen at the witches’ hour. beer and bullshit and dome lights. fog. ice and feathers. like old times.
after two weeks of being gone and after she had already made her decision but kept it to herself, he hugged her tightly, pressing his face against her hair. “you still smell like you,” he whispered, almost to himself. she couldn’t help but hurt for him. the night ahead of them was going to change their entire lives.
Bradley House Lounge
5:30 Thursday the 29th
Food and Refereshments provided.
"Happiness can be found even at the darkest of times if one only remembers to turn on the light." - Dumbledore
Wednesday, October 12, 7 p.m., NHIOP Auditorium
Trip to see Aeschylus at Theater Kapow.
Saturday 2PM showing. leave from Dana Center at 1PM
"Ten years ago, Agamemnon, King of Mycenae and leader of the Greek army sacrificed his own daughter to appease the gods and to help the war effort. Now, victorious after the ten long and bloody years of the Trojan War, he returns home to his kingdom and to his wife, Clytemnestra. His glorious homecoming is the spark that ignites a cycle of vengeance that threatens to consume and destroy his entire family." -Theater Kapow
So first of all I hoping I'm posting this to the right section, cause to be honest I have no idea, this is some kind of recount of my night...
My roomate and I were heading back from the coffee shop with the full intention of enjoying our calzones while watching Howl's Moving Castle (awesome movie btw), when we run into a couple people we had previously met. Fighting the urge to be anti-social we strike up a conversation, which goes from Canada to boots, and of course parkour. My roomate has no idea what parkour is. Peter, Phil, and I all agree that it is imperative that she finds out.
train. bus. almonds and a cool breeze. new hampshire summer air sweetly scented like pine and mountains of oak and musk and fresh flora. so crisp and real and unlike what i came from and what i will eventually go back to. mailing letters past the due date that read of girls drunk on fatigue and insights on howls and Howl and the present effect of alcohol on her social skills. self conscious about the corporation versus the art and how the two are inappropriate toward each other, foreign intruders (of redundancy) who don’t belong in an office mail box. basket? holder?
muscle and muscle and muscle and naps, an ampersand holding them together with fierce shiraz adhesive glue; veins and contours that taper into a form so familiar and missed and sad. gay men married to beautiful women. san francisco 1955. with the steams of and grinds of and maybe a wink of a working eye and the trickery of a phone number. a set up. a scenario of entrapment. roasts & blends.
i ache for the constant thumpthump of my heels on the concrete and an industrial, impersonal exhaustion and the verb of my eye with my fingers and my camera. i miss seeing things that bend my mind and make me stop and itch and ask what the hell the point is. new light, domestic abuse, falling houses and piles of salt. i liked all the angles of the narrow-walled galleries and the expensive coffee. i liked the nightly drinks and time spent with professors. old crow and cards and walking into a room of glossy-eyed philosophers. closer.
i had one of those lucid dreams again that i found myself tugging along the late hours of the morning. it was raining, like real life, and the water droplets that hit the oversized puddle by the shed sparkled like firecrackers, glowing with reds and blues and golds. somehow the rope would get loose and the dream would take the form of things i purposely don’t think about, like losing him and wanting to reconnect with them. i saw a flickering of a lighter and the plume of smoke and my heart ached for something i hated. in him and in me. and i stirred... and i’m left thinking about the fragmented remainders of what the dream wanted but i regain a hold of that rope and pull pull pull the damn thing until the slack is gone.
The other day I walked from the gallery I work at to lunch. I saw the attractive girl walking up. She was smoking a cigarette. I didn't look at her at first deliberately. Then we looked at eachother. Then we looked away quickly.
The tile mosaic floor spread out before me, it seemed like it was going on forever. In a few hours this place would lose its relaxing charm and become a mecca of youthful activity. During the day though it is calm and little frequented. We always sit against a wall, in a fake corner. I wasted entire days just talking.
it’s f-o-u-r and i’m humming songs about mariners like the birds outside. i’ve taken my placebo but the stress beat its ass and i’m now i’m just waiting for the sun to rise. in my head. i’m drawn to the water but even more to the fire; seen it been there done that. i’ll let it burnburnburn.
i stumbled and gasped. it felt good, like blood rushing to a scape; stinging and pulsing and alive. a little reminder of who. why. where we are.
i’m a native of the sea but i grew close to waterfire.
Three Pictures of Humanity
by Jeremy Munro
# 1 – The Hipster