i've been reading a lot of 'thought catalog' lately, and to be honest, submitted a few pieces - not that i expect them to go up, but it's a good starting point. nevertheless, i've been so inspired by many of the writers on the site... some funny, some much smarter than me, some poigniant, and some just plain truthful. a few writers in particular made me laugh, cry (ok... mist), think, and nod. most importantly....
gaby dunn wrote this piece on the bystander effect, and reminded me of things i hadn't thought about in a while... invigorated a love in me for sociology... and showed me it was possible integrate my love for narrative story telling with my love for the fascinating side of humanity.
tessa schoenrock shared a scientific inventory of my purse - and let me tell you: we are the same person. amazing. she made me laugh out loud - and usually only i do that to myself. she made me fall in like, with her writing on things that most people know, but no one wants to say out loud... like being pretty can sometimes suck, which i'm sure garnered more than a few negative comments. but hell - is all so true.
and - the reason for my writing... bart schaneman made me first think about when i was 17. then i read his blog. and combed through entry after entry after entry... his language is outstanding... and pure truth. i can only dream of finding the words to no less than perfectly describe those moments of silent feeling, and recalled anguish.
so many of his pieces - poetry, stories, essays - meant so many things to me. maybe it was because we have experienced similar emotions, thoughts, experiences. maybe it was because he speaks to the still moments in time that few of us ever really reflect on. whatever it is, he does it best. the best i've ever seen. and so much of his writing said things to me.
but this. this, is pure perfection. this is exactly what means something. this is... life.
gaby dunn wrote this piece on the bystander effect, and reminded me of things i hadn't thought about in a while... invigorated a love in me for sociology... and showed me it was possible integrate my love for narrative story telling with my love for the fascinating side of humanity.
tessa schoenrock shared a scientific inventory of my purse - and let me tell you: we are the same person. amazing. she made me laugh out loud - and usually only i do that to myself. she made me fall in like, with her writing on things that most people know, but no one wants to say out loud... like being pretty can sometimes suck, which i'm sure garnered more than a few negative comments. but hell - is all so true.
and - the reason for my writing... bart schaneman made me first think about when i was 17. then i read his blog. and combed through entry after entry after entry... his language is outstanding... and pure truth. i can only dream of finding the words to no less than perfectly describe those moments of silent feeling, and recalled anguish.
so many of his pieces - poetry, stories, essays - meant so many things to me. maybe it was because we have experienced similar emotions, thoughts, experiences. maybe it was because he speaks to the still moments in time that few of us ever really reflect on. whatever it is, he does it best. the best i've ever seen. and so much of his writing said things to me.
but this. this, is pure perfection. this is exactly what means something. this is... life.
cherries - by bart schaneman
'I left my jacket on the chair but I can’t go back to her.
We stay in Portland and the rain.
We send messages with the subject line: New York City.
We get caught wishing someone had told us what we were in for.
The women you knew don’t care enough now to save you.
You spend your days waiting for time to make you wise.
You lie to yourself about anything you want.
You tell yourself people improve with age.
Take the risks that are available.
We look at our feet all day.
We concede what’s been done.
We let our troubles keep us scared.
Stay in touch if you can stomach the messages about new relationships.
Be happy for each other if you like pain in your moving on.
Pledge not to write about people and break your promise.
On the same day the unrequited love writes you
with news of the love of your life’s new boyfriend
you get a message from a girl who doesn’t speak English.
There are so many ways to say hey.
A lover that may or may not be sends you one word
in the middle of the night:
cherries.
To tell you what
I did when I was with you
would only widen the wound.
What could you say to make me stay in Korea when New York is waiting.
The nearest we come to traveling
is dreaming ourselves into
places we’ve never been.
They’re not parting shots when you’re already gone.'