Emma Aylor

Author of Twos (dancing girl press, 2014).

eaylor at gmail dot com

about.me

"I feel unbearably weary. Some of it is good weariness; the weight of love, of trust complicit with the most satisfying of friendships. Some of it is the weariness of crying myself to sleep because I could not write something I wanted to write well. The last cobwebs of thought before slumber remind me, You can write something, but sometimes, you are not supposed to.

You can live one way, but sometimes, you are not supposed to."

— Kara VanderBijl, “Different Corners

Alexandra Levasseur
chelseahodson:

Inventory #591: Coral nail polish
——-
REGARDING INVOLUNTARY MOVEMENTS
I sway towards harm. Harm responds. 

chelseahodson:

Inventory #591: Coral nail polish

——-

REGARDING INVOLUNTARY MOVEMENTS

I sway towards harm. Harm responds. 

"I’m not sure what to make of this data—what conclusions, if any, to draw. What I know is that it accumulates and disappears and accumulates again. No matter how vigilantly we keep track—even if we spend four months in a geodesic dome on a remote volcano with nothing to do but keep track—we experience more than we have the capacity to remember; we eat more than we can retain; we feel more than we can possibly carry with us. And maybe forgetting isn’t so bad. I know there is the ‘small green apple’ from the time we went to a moving sale and he bought bricks, and it was raining lightly, and as we were gathering the bricks we noticed an apple tree at the edge of the property with its branches overhanging into the yard, and we picked two small green apples that’d been washed by the rain, and wiped them off on our shirts. They surprised us by being sweet and tart and good. We put the cores in his car’s cup holders. There was the time he brought chocolate chips and two eggs and a Tupperware of milk to my apartment, and we baked cookies. There are the times he puts candy in my jacket’s small pockets—usually peppermints so ancient they’ve melted and re-hardened inside their wrappers—which I eat anyway, and then are gone, but not gone."

— Rachel Khong, “All You Have Eaten: On Keeping a Perfect Record" (Lucky Peach, spring 2014)

chelseahodson:

Inventory #600: Painting by Ingrid Allen
——-
REGARDING ARS POETICA
I’m walking downtown for dinner, I’m wearing my most athletic silk, I cut my hair with a knife like when I was a red baby, I’m remembering now how easily I could have been taken, I was wild or left in the wild or left on a doorstep and now I’m walking downtown for dinner, I’m impressed by red meat wearing other colors, I’m walking toward a slab of something smelling like the sky, I’m a coyote in a red dress and I’m gonna eat everything.

chelseahodson:

Inventory #600: Painting by Ingrid Allen

——-

REGARDING ARS POETICA

I’m walking downtown for dinner, I’m wearing my most athletic silk, I cut my hair with a knife like when I was a red baby, I’m remembering now how easily I could have been taken, I was wild or left in the wild or left on a doorstep and now I’m walking downtown for dinner, I’m impressed by red meat wearing other colors, I’m walking toward a slab of something smelling like the sky, I’m a coyote in a red dress and I’m gonna eat everything.