Follow the Tracks #1 : Weekly Song Picks





“Selfmachine” – I Blame Coco






“Save me” – Aimee Mann






“Rodeo Queen (Live)” – ESCONDIDO






“Paper Aeroplane” – Angus & Julia Stone






“Jerry Weintraub” – Waldeck

Follow this playlist on SPOTIFY!

[spotify https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:user:kindovermatter:playlist:7xmo1PYxqFnrMyQrkViEPy]

Have a bliss-filled weekend, do something
that scares the holy fuck out of you.


Words Dance Book Box #1 : Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury




Today I’m sharing the first book in this printable & numbered series. Confession: I’m kind of hooked on making these at the moment (read: I’m totally geeking out over them.) Designing books, no matter the medium in which I do this, always feels so true & good.

Each box will come with 6 cards with quotes from the book that fit inside the box.

Ideas for using:

• Collect ’em all & display ’em. Let them be the legendary conversation pieces they dream of being. They were made for this.

• Print them up & leave them around town. Leave one behind on a bus or train seat. On a library or bookstore shelf.

• Have a lit lovin’ friend / lover / relative? Introduce them to the series by printing the first few up as gifts. A book bundle. Creative? Make a box set!

• Use them as gift boxes. Think jewelry. Or handmade soap. Magnetic poetry? Lip balm. Chewing gum? (Airplane bottles of liquor won’t fit, my apologies.)

• Get meta with it. See here.

Download here:
Words Dance Book Box #1PDF
Words Dance Book Box #1 Quote CardsPDF

(Roughly 3″ tall x 2″ wide x 1″ deep)



Directions:





I will be sharing #2 next week! If you don’t want to miss any of them, sign up here to get updates!

If you have any requests on what book(s) you’d like to see in this series at some point, I’m open to hearing them.

Burn after reading, xo,

 


Word of Mouth : Shrinking Women by Lily Myers




Shrinking Women

Across from me at the kitchen table, my mother smiles over red wine that she drinks out of a measuring glass.
She says she doesn’t deprive herself,
but I’ve learned to find nuance in every movement of her fork.
In every crinkle in her brow as she offers me the uneaten pieces on her plate.
I’ve realized she only eats dinner when I suggest it.
I wonder what she does when I’m not there to do so.

Maybe this is why my house feels bigger each time I return; it’s proportional.
As she shrinks the space around her seems increasingly vast.
She wanes while my father waxes. His stomach has grown round with wine, late nights, oysters, poetry. A new girlfriend who was overweight as a teenager, but my dad reports that now she’s “crazy about fruit.”

It was the same with his parents;
as my grandmother became frail and angular her husband swelled to red round cheeks, round stomach
and I wonder if my lineage is one of women shrinking
making space for the entrance of men into their lives
not knowing how to fill it back up once they leave.

I have been taught accommodation.
My brother never thinks before he speaks.
I have been taught to filter.
“How can anyone have a relationship to food?” He asks, laughing, as I eat the black bean soup I chose for its lack of carbs.
I want to tell say: we come from difference, Jonas,
you have been taught to grow out
I have been taught to grow in
you learned from our father how to emit, how to produce, to roll each thought off your tongue with confidence, you used to lose your voice every other week from shouting so much
I learned to absorb
I took lessons from our mother in creating space around myself
I learned to read the knots in her forehead while the guys went out for oysters
and I never meant to replicate her, but
spend enough time sitting across from someone and you pick up their habits

that’s why women in my family have been shrinking for decades.
We all learned it from each other, the way each generation taught the next how to knit
weaving silence in between the threads
which I can still feel as I walk through this ever-growing house,
skin itching,
picking up all the habits my mother has unwittingly dropped like bits of crumpled paper from her pocket on her countless trips from bedroom to kitchen to bedroom again,
Nights I hear her creep down to eat plain yogurt in the dark, a fugitive stealing calories to which she does not feel entitled.
Deciding how many bites is too many
How much space she deserves to occupy.

Watching the struggle I either mimic or hate her,
And I don’t want to do either anymore
but the burden of this house has followed me across the country
I asked five questions in genetics class today and all of them started with the word “sorry”.
I don’t know the requirements for the sociology major because I spent the entire meeting deciding whether or not I could have another piece of pizza
a circular obsession I never wanted but

inheritance is accidental
still staring at me with wine-stained lips from across the kitchen table.

                – Lily Myers
                    credit : Button Poetry


We are taking submissions for Word of Mouth plus a handful of other new features on Words Dance, check them all out here!


Literary Tattoos : Roundup : Inspired by the Poem : the bluebird by Charles Bukowski

Click here to read the poem : the bluebird by Charles Bukowski, from his book: The Last Night of the Earth Poems.



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(source : Frankie D)


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Click here to read the poem : the bluebird by Charles Bukowski, from his book: The Last Night of the Earth Poems.

Would you like to submit a roundup?

Click here to check out all our new features here on the blog!

Just pretend I folded this up & passed it to you under the desk,


Hope on the Peripheral by Ward Kelley


Hope on the Peripheral

Hope scrawls its name on the margins,
where it finds its room on the peripheral
skin of lovers in bed, where space is most
available.

“Your neck smells like eternity,” the lover
will whisper. The one with the neck knows
she is incapable of such hope, but will
never say this.

Hope dashes into the street, an escaping
animal, setting an example for everyone
watching from the condos.

“Sometimes I felt like I was flying,”
says the old married woman, describing
falling in love fifty years ago, “I believed
I would forever possess those wings.”

There is much reason to hope when the body
is young, perhaps even more when the body
is ending, and there are many more clues,
many more wrinkles, that the uninformed
believe attest to experience. Instead within
these folds can be found – in several places –
where hope left its name long ago, on margins.

                – Ward Kelley
                   from Words Dance 5, Summer 2004


i thank


i thank

the women’s magazine that
says it stopped running articles on dieting

the loopy lilac print from the editors squealed
“we don’t want to perpetuate female insecurities”

i flip through the scented pages
admiring the glossy waifs
who live on air and compliments
arms akimbo on a 20 inch waist
perky plastic boobs that would please any man
and a frozen-frosted lip that says “i am beautiful”

articles about your body
how to become anyone but yourself
sculpt a stomach like hers
a face like hers
a life like hers

we’ve created an army of dolls
put together wrong

and they flash lethal images
at average women who now assume
they must have gracious breasts and wide hips
with nothing between the two

so–please–starve me
of affection until a man
can run his fingertips through the desert valleys
between my ribs

but do not lie to me
or pretend to do me favors
by avoiding the articles that help you
fly off the shelves

and do not feign concern for my confidence
that you were once able to deplete
you have already done enough

                – Michelledion Matthews
                   from Words Dance 3, Winter 2003


The Beatles in Five Parts by Corey Mesler


The Beatles in Five Parts

“I say in speeches that a plausible mission of artists is
to make people appreciate being alive at least a little bit.
I am then asked if I know of any artists who pulled that off.
I reply, ‘The Beatles did’.”

-Kurt Vonnegut

1. 1964

The same year
The Beatles were on
Ed Sullivan
Sartre won the Nobel Prize.
I was nine
years old.
I didn’t know the universe
was absurd.
All I knew was that
something momentous had
just happened
because there were angels
on the TV.

2. Beatlemania

“Have you heard the music that no
fingers enter into?”

-Kabir

The Beatles
spun straw into gold,
knew the secret name,
took the pearl
of great substance and
found its source
in the oyster’s meat.
The Beatles
were the last great gasp
of the godhead,
before it became again,
you know, just
another way to the path
of light.

3. Kingmingoarkulluk

He squats in the corner,
one of the children.
The holiday swirls around
us. Someone puts on
a Beatles record, something
from the innocence,
and he leaves his nook.
We all dance. It is the
hour of festivity. One
of the children calls his name—
she says it with ease, grace–
and he nods his head
to the beat, Let me
go on loving you, tonight.

4. Let it Be

Paul and George step
outside for a quick smoke
between verses of
“I Me Mine.”
“Sorry about the godliness,”
Paul says. George looks
out across the macadam
and says, “Ok, Pauly.
Let’s make a record.”
And they go back inside
where the others are
noodling, darkened figures,
still sick with ariose
energy. Still, you know,
for a bit longer, Beatles.

5. The End of the Year of Darkness

Do I dare redress the balance?
Attempt to re-tilt
the axis of this hellbroth year,
with its capharnaum and annihilative
old gooseberries? I’ve lost my
father; the world has lost its way.
The holidays were a
magnifying glass held up to the
blackness. It
magnified the blackness.
And I sit, huddled in bedclothes and
the grippe of depression
swirling through me, watching
the clock move
inexorably on. It moves on without
me, without you,
without half the Beatles. What is
lost is lost. My
wife says it still lives here and she taps
me on the chest where
my heart would be if my heart still worked.
No, it still works.
I redress the balance.
What I create is good. A good.
The world may be a maelstrom and I a small boy.
But in my hand is a sharp knife,
of love.

                – Corey Mesler
                   from Words Dance 4, Spring 2004


Meaning by Shane Jones


Meaning

I’m making myself
believe.
Being hopeful.
Fitzgerald said
that to live
you must realize
everything is meaningless,
and at the same time
believe you can change that.

Last night
we laid in bed.
I know you were awake.
And so was I.
I looked at the ceiling,
imagining
jazz music
and a Paris nightclub.
I realized then
the importance
of your weight
next to me.
The amount of hope
I place in hearing
your breathing
and not my own.

                – Shane Jones
                   from Words Dance 5, Summer 2004



A LITTLE BIT OF SUGAR MADE THE WORLD TASTE LESS BITTER by C. Allen Rearick


A LITTLE BIT OF SUGAR MADE THE WORLD TASTE LESS BITTER

My great grandmother marie lavine
died at the tender age of 98

we all knew her as grandma sugar
her steadfast grace and passion
perhaps more immortal
than all the gods themselves

her humble abiding eyes
two portraits painted
like the proverbs of the cosmos
a universe not even Michelangelo could portray

her brittle skin stained a softer shade of coffee
and wrapped in a coat of creases
like an ancient oak tree
whose placid branches availed all who sought its shelter

and I remember the rare times I sat with her
as she spoke and sang with a beautiful voice
like a ballet of bells
tracing winsome rhythms across my mind

at her funeral, I was one of five cousins
chosen to help carry her casket
a casket which bore the weight of twenty-four years
of self-regret grinding in my bones
for not being around her more often
to hear more heavenly melodies, sage like advice
and experience a delicate intimacy
which could have wrapped my whole aura
in a flawless understanding of life, truth and

love.
                – C. Allen Rearick
                   from Words Dance 8, Fall 2005