i had a dream last night that i was in a van on the highway, my mom was driving…suddenly cars that were going the wrong direction began to come towards us, there were dozens of them, there was nowhere to pull over so my mom kept veering to avoid hitting them—she didn’t slow down, just barreled ahead, swerving left and right, until we had avoided all of the cars and there was an exit to take and my mom pulled over and i jumped out of the car and yelled, ‘I’M ALIVE! I’M ALIVE!’
i woke up from the dream, climbed out of bed, threw my bedroom window wide open, and stared at the front lawn. i was alive.
i drew a comic a few years ago where i said ‘i’m not sure whether i feel everything or nothing,’ and now i understand that what i feel is everything.
1:27 pm • 20 May 2013 • 3 notes
picked up a honeytone mini headphone amp from the thrift store (i can now practice electric guitar 24/7 without annoying anybody) and The Smithsonian Collection of Newspaper Comics from half price books
4:43 pm • 17 May 2013 • 7 notes
* FORTHCOMING FROM MONSTER HOUSE PRESS *
Dearly beloved Columbusite Ryan Starinsky’s first chapbook of poems / prose poems, thinking of everything, is forthcoming from Monster House Press later this month!
* TWO POEMS FROM THE CHAPBOOK *
walked outside [of Bat Chapters while the last band was still playing] and her bike was locked to his bike [which was locked next to my bike that didn’t have any bike locked to it] so i left, biked home.
during that second, i could feel my head weighing heavier; the tide, strong and slow like a locomotive approaching another stop. my eyelids open and close, soft like doors, undocumented to all but myself, as if we were meant to remember each moment when we actually realize something we hadn’t known before.
what i see now are things at ease, things that rest and never bleed. these things keep me here staring, a small voice reminding me to do something, like change the clocks, sound of an older man yearning for his untroubled body back, his sharp mind; the way he remembers himself—even still defending wars and friends, telling me he believed in them.
we’re walking on a tangent in a field of flowers wearing the sun’s skin, where everything just looks beautiful. (sure, once a vision of the long haired mailman now crossing the yard, pretending to blend in.) what will just be when we know where we’re going, when we walk with purpose.
i remember when you stood in another room describing us as tumbleweeds. the last words i can remember feeling. you were blunt, you were true and i bought it. after that though, things felt different, the silence was enough to know who you’d been talking about.
having the time to focus on the darkness, hiding that reverence you let brush against your arm, never trying to hold it in your hands. like finding a cartoon birthday card of a kid holding his father’s axe, reminding me of when i was young and untouched, buried in a shoebox. we belong to our minds.
i like ryan’s writing a lot and am excited about this. also glad he’s coming back to columbus this week.
10:59 am • 14 May 2013 • 12 notes
look, a photo of my ‘monkee’ stick ‘n’ poke made it into david leighty’s thesis
7:41 pm • 9 May 2013 • 3 notes
i told alex not to call me ‘miller’ during band practice once
he said, ‘what should i call you?’
i said, ‘i don’t care, call me ‘mud”
and for some reason he started calling me ‘mud bunny’
then gibs called me ‘mud bun’
then gabe thought it was ‘mud blanket’
but when alex told me the story about gabe thinking it was ‘mud blanket’, he thought gabe had said ‘mud kid’
12:39 am • 26 April 2013 • 4 notes
i have all of these stick ‘n’ pokes and sometimes feel like my body looks like a piece of scrap paper that someone doodled all over
also feel like i should have twice the amount of tattoos i have now
12:27 am • 26 April 2013 • 2 notes