Defenestrations


  1. Petition for More Days in the Month of April

    This month has been, and will continue to be, incredibly stressful for me. Part of this is due to circumstances beyond my control, but yet another part is due to my difficulty inability to say no, especially when people are offering to pay me to do something.

    The result? I find myself looking forward to what will quite possibly be the busiest and most stressful few weeks of my life up to this point (if you exclude the bar exam and all law school exams, because why would you include those anyway?).

    By the end of this month, I’ll have been in a wedding, and been there however I can for my sister and the rest of the family as my 7-month-old niece has heart surgery (scheduled in two days). Those are the things I have no control over.

    But then, while those things are going on, I’ll also have: written 28,000 total words for one gig; written 18,000-20,000 for another; edited, fact-checked, and evaluated some 800-1,000 articles for yet another project; and edited two manuscripts.

    Oh, and let’s not forget the various things I do that doesn’t actually make me any money, things like posting here on Tumblr. Those things will likely diminish in frequency and scope — unless more days are added to the month of April.

    Hence the petition. Now if only I could figure out to whom it should be addressed and delivered ….

  2. aliterationmag:

aliterationmag:

A plane… a bird…
You know you do it; every writer has. You write yourself into your characters. You romanticize your blind spots. You poeticize mistakes until the line blurs between foolishness and good fortune. You write the story the way it should have played out.     Going through life, we take our defeats for granted. We pretend we make no mistakes. We lie to ourselves and believe every word. We forget reality, forget possibility.     Why? Why do we write only the best, or only the worst, of what we see in the mirror? Why either superhero/ine or supervillain/ess?
To you we posit that the honest rollercoaster ride of reality is more intriguing, more telling of the human condition, than flight or freefall fantasies of hindsight. Every day is an exercise in dissociation; we want to see the clockwork ticking behind hindsight, the mechanism of more false promise than understanding._____
Poetry: The cover     — Veil reality until the truth is less important than belief.Prose: The Kryptonite     — Tear down everything we come to base our beliefs on.Visual Arts: The revelation     — Take off the mask. Make us wish for it. Make us fear it.
Submissions close 10PM EST April, 15th
Make your way to aliteration.org and drop off slices of harsh reality.

There’s a little over a day remaining for submissions — keep ‘em coming! We love what we’re reading and we are greedy for more.
Visual artists: GET ON THE BALL. =)

    aliterationmag:

    aliterationmag:

    A plane… a bird…

    You know you do it; every writer has. You write yourself into your characters. You romanticize your blind spots. You poeticize mistakes until the line blurs between foolishness and good fortune. You write the story the way it should have played out.
         Going through life, we take our defeats for granted. We pretend we make no mistakes. We lie to ourselves and believe every word. We forget reality, forget possibility.
         Why? Why do we write only the best, or only the worst, of what we see in the mirror? Why either superhero/ine or supervillain/ess?

    To you we posit that the honest rollercoaster ride of reality is more intriguing, more telling of the human condition, than flight or freefall fantasies of hindsight. Every day is an exercise in dissociation; we want to see the clockwork ticking behind hindsight, the mechanism of more false promise than understanding.
    _____

    Poetry: The cover 
        — Veil reality until the truth is less important than belief.
    Prose: The Kryptonite 
        — Tear down everything we come to base our beliefs on.
    Visual Arts: The revelation 
        — Take off the mask. Make us wish for it. Make us fear it.

    Submissions close 10PM EST April, 15th

    Make your way to aliteration.org and drop off slices of harsh reality.

    There’s a little over a day remaining for submissions — keep ‘em coming! We love what we’re reading and we are greedy for more.

    Visual artists: GET ON THE BALL. =)

  3. Siren on Shore Leave

    poetrybomb:

    In the time you were away, I drew
    arrows like breath to lungs, 17 strokes
    ran rivers through sordid caesurae,
    and I was not alone.

    Never said I needed you — I
    thought you knew. Crossed lines
    tend to fray each other, even
    in the pulling towards.

    Like tip-of-the-tongue words, frustration
    snarled and fanged. Feral
    complacency of happenstance
    distorted fate, but I drew daring
    like tongue to lips — 32 scars
    forging fresh
    shortcuts through fault lines —
    and we were not apart.

    How waves of kisses licking erode
    staid shores, you knew. I loved you less
    for what we were than
    for what we could become; where
    calm pressed patience
    in the spaces between forage
    and found.

    Strength rests not in remembrance,
    in refrains unburdened of meaning
    through force of repetition. Why
    look back on yesterdays static
    and finite, with uncountable tomorrows
    glistening yet to be?

    You spoke in tongues
    of regeneration; your light pointed
    straight to places promising
    more profound pulses. We transcend,
    I reckon. In the time you were a
    way, I realized — we have
    all the time in the world.

    Your guide lamps
    through distortion; a beacon breathing
    hope, regret expelled. Here
    footways on pathfalls; somewhere —
    home.

    by Jennifer R.R. Mueller
    jayarrarr.tumblr.com

  4. Revolution

    We molded resistance
    into mutual fortifications, where
    among bed sheets twisted
    through fevered fornication we
    became the rug-burned ends
    of tension’s last resolve.

    Our tongues lay trails
    to treasure troves of toes
    curled in feral footfalls, pleading
    passion never spent
    by mere momentary release.

    Fingers print patient
    paths that forage
    and plunder, paying due attention
    to the oft-ignored: the braille
    of goosebumps; the choreography
    of an arched back; the poetry
    of a whimper.

    © 2014 by Jennifer R.R. Mueller

  5. Want to rearrange your bookshelves? Sadie can help.

This is her helping. Much help.

    Want to rearrange your bookshelves? Sadie can help.

    This is her helping. Much help.

  6. Synecdoche

    But we’re not part of breathing,
    I suppose — no need for fingers
    tangled in tresses, for silences stilted
    by gap-toothed gasps. No need
    for mercy, after all. We know

    the rhythms of wavelengths
    beat by begging tongues, belabored
    by the bitter branching between
    because and resolve. The brow,
    ever furrowed; the mind,
    ever bent.

    Toward neon-lit doorways, perhaps,
    we tread, skulking
    among the tremorous reaches
    of dawn’s quick and early
    grasp. Dark we find feeds
    and fills imagination’s trenches —
    we make our own way.

    We cannot be lost,
    where once we had each other.

    © 2014 by Jennifer R.R. Mueller

  7. What a Surprise!

    In other news, I’d like to take a moment to thank the Tumblr staff for featuring me and my blog in today’s Tumblr Tuesday post honoring Poetry Month.

    When I saw it, I was like:

  8. We’d Love to See Your Work …

    In the fourth issue of A Literation. Click here for the post on this issue’s themes, and submit away! Submissions are still open for another week.

  9. Pages of Power

    Confession: I don’t own an ereader — at least, not any device such as a Kindle that would be devoted exclusively (or near-exclusively) to downloading ebooks and reading them. It’s not because I can’t afford one, nor is it because I have some romanticized preference for bound paper. Rather, it’s because I’ve never found any need for one personally. Books have never done anything wrong by me.

    I remember sitting on a plane nearly a decade ago next to a dude with a Walkman. His carry-on housed a massive collection of CDs in a zippered folder with sleeves, and every time he wanted to listen to a different album he had to take out the folder, find the CD, slip it out, remove the old CD from his Walkman, replace it with the new one, close the Walkman, press play, replace the old CD in its sleeve, zipper the folder, and put it back in his bag. During our brief flight I think he did this three or four times. I had an iPod, and I probably listened to pieces of 10 different albums without moving anything other than my thumb. At that moment, I was completely sold on the iPod — because before this technological development, I had been that dude. I remember spending hours before a trip just trying to figure out which CDs I would take, and whether the folder with 25 sleeves would be enough or whether I should take the larger one with 50.

    I don’t have this issue with books. I don’t read 10 pages of a book and then think “gee, I’d really rather be reading this other book,” and then pick that up and read it instead. When it comes to books, I’m a serial monogamist. Because of this perhaps peculiar way of reading, I’ve never really harbored any desire to carry my whole library around with me. I seldom need to carry more than one book at a time — and I’ve never found a single book (other than perhaps Infinite Jest) too cumbersome to carry with me anywhere.

    But this misses the point, doesn’t it? Indeed, anyone who attempts to engage in this whole raging debate between books and their digital counterparts ignores the massive privilege involved in making such a comparison at all. To compare books and ebooks implies you know enough about both to make a valid assessment of their relative pros and cons. And to make such an assessment means you have the wealth and means to afford ebooks and, perhaps more importantly (since many ebooks are quite inexpensive compared to their dead-tree editions), you have the wealth and means to buy and maintain a device on which to download, store, and read those ebooks.

    Most people don’t. The reason ebooks are no threat to books is not because some people are scared of technology. It’s not because “epaper” is somehow inferior to real paper or because ereaders are easily damaged compared to books or any of that nonsense. Ebooks are no threat to books because most people can’t afford ereaders but can afford books.

    I haven’t bought a physical CD in years because I have no need of them. But regardless of how you purchase your music, you still need some way to play it — so music differs from the book, in this sense. If you buy a book, you can read it without need of anything at all other than perhaps a set of reading glasses. Downloading an ebook — even if it’s a free download — means first investing in some sort of device. That’s an investment the vast majority of the world’s population cannot afford.

    Most cities have free libraries where you can check out books and read them for free. Many places also have bookstores where you can buy used books for a fraction of their cover price. Through libraries and used bookstores, books reach the masses in a way ebooks never will. Beyond that, books can be traded freely by individuals, passed on to friends and neighbors in a way ebooks cannot.

    Debate the relative merits of one form over the other if you want, but recognize that most people don’t actually have the luxury of choosing one over the other. For that, if for no other reason — books aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

    © 2014 by Jennifer R.R. Mueller

  10. Hegemony

    Equal parts hisses
    and bloodstains, her kisses
    hurricanes, her smile
    only quiet like the eye
    of the storm she cursed up.

    Of all the things she refused
    to care for — defiance etched
    in quick-bit nails, in boots
    safety pins and duct tape mended,
    of all her hard unflinching stares
    and clenching night terrors —

    she cared for you. Became
    lacy-soft and graceful at the turn
    of your gaze, sundresses fluttering
    behind bare feet on swing sets
    in June. She was light

    for you. You wanted
    to love her, but
    you didn’t think you could.

    © 2014 by Jennifer R.R. Mueller