Short fiction piece

I just finished a piece of short fiction that I don't feel terribly embarrassed to have written.

It is 12 pages. 3,726 words long. And it is pretty depressing. It was a work of will to just get it finished.

But, writing it was liberating. As if the story was this entity, urging me to finish, to tell it, to make it real. It was exciting to finally have a story I was excited about, that I felt was worth telling. The kind that compelled me.

I know it's not anything spectacular, but that's ok. It was one of those things that just needed to be, no matter whether it was a work of literary mastery or not.

To read it, head here.

(Although I warn you, it is not a light read, either in length or content)

"The Fascist v. the Faulty," (or) Me and My Cell Phone

This is me.

This is me with my mostly-destroyed "phone."

I dropped it a few days ago, and the face plate popped off and refused to be resecured, despite my best coaxing.

Since then, it seems like every time I turn around (or drop it again?) some new piece unfixes itself: the keypad, the volume button on the side, the strip of plastic over the microphone. The screen followed — I somehow managed to reattach it, but it's still rather fritzy.

Did I mention that sometimes, if I hold the beast just right, my skin completes some circuit and I get a tiny shock to the face? It stings a little bit, but I'm hoping it'll prove to be some weird form of facial (as per here). Hey, as long as it's going to be shocking me, may as well remove a few wrinkles — am I right?

This phone is just the latest in a long line of nemeses I have acquired. Most are electrical gadgets, ranging anywhere from old laptops to older sewing machines. Others are things of which I simply can't keep track (toothbrushes, class notes, keys, and combs being at the top of that list).

I'll admit, a lot of this is my fault. I'm definitely not the gentlest with my belongings.

It's possible that this beastly gadget may have been helped along the road of destruction by my two-year-old niece, who put it through a rack and an iron maiden (and possibly some water-boarding, as well). I can't deny that I allowed her to handle my phone fully knowing the torture she was likely to incur. I also may have dropped it in the snow, lost it on a number of occasions, stepped on it, sat on it, nervously fiddled with it (i.e. pulled it apart), etc.

But I can't officially confirm or deny any of this, of course.

I'm like the tyrannical despot that demands too much out of her citizens, then tramples all over them while living the life of luxury. My belongings are just bound to turn against me eventually.

When I get a replacement, I'm planning to take this "phone" apart, mount each layer side by side, and frame it. You know, as an example to all other subjects thinking of staging a coup. And maybe out of some minor desire for revenge (sweet, sweet revenge).

Maybe some day I actually will lead a luxurious life; then I'll be able to afford things nice enough to be worth taking good care of.

Until then, I'll just keep the bamboo shoots ready and the guillotine well-oiled.

Some thoughts on poetry.

I have been writing a lot of poetry lately.

Which makes sense, right? Seeing as I am in a poetry writing class.

I have also been reading poetry. I like it; some Sylvia Plath, some Louise Glück, a bit of William Stafford.

Sometimes is it hard to digest. It makes me think too hard, and my brain doesn't get it. It doesn't click.

Other times, it feels good to just read poem after poem, enjoying the shape of the words in my mouth, in my head, the way these silly little symbols on the page appeal to my senses so readily, with such ease.

When a line or image clicks within me it makes my guts tremble a little: this is what it is for. That feeling of connectedness, of commonality. Even if I have never experienced or have no reference for what they would tell me about, perhaps in the reading I feel it. Their meaning, emotion, a sadness or a joy. Some shadow, bent to fit in my world view, of what they once meant or knew.

Reading poetry is hard. Harder than watching TV or a movie, or calling a friend and conversing. You read the same poem several times, and often even then it is coy and refuses to reveal its meaning.

But it is rewarding. Why would anyone write it, or read it, if it was not? It is condensed glimpses into other lives and souls.

If I wanted to really give you a self-portrait of myself, my life, I would not use paint or graphite or ink. I would use words, words words, they are magic. They are enchanted. They can build anything. They can break it, too.

I you really wanted to see me, to know me, you might look at my poems, at the ways I indulge myself when it is just me, a pen, some paper, and the words in me head. The lines of letters are skeletons upon which I will hang my meaning, flesh it out into a picture of me, a view.

It will not be truthful. I lie about myself. We all do. But it will be something. A facsimile, sure, but one that is closer to real than most else.

And isn't that what so much of literature is, anyway?

Using lies to tell the truth.

Reformation

ELYSSA SQUIRES

It wasn't yours.

It wasn't your paint.

You bent the rules

and busted open silos

you knew held no grain,

but hid away liquid pigment.

It spilled across the earth,

clung to rock and rest

colored it living:

you declared it

a Prayer.

It was not our clay.

But we ignored the rules,

plunged our limbs in the earth

up to the joints.

Fingernails widened into shovels

and pulled the malleable soil.

It would not grow vegetation

instead, be grown into a sculpture;

we declare it

a Monument.

These aren't my words.

I broke the rules

I dashed them against my will

and squeezed them to points—

They are the tools I wield to cut into the vault

where words are stored,

written in dust.

I sweep them into a verse.

I declare it

a Curse.

i'm a poet, did you know it?

I bought a small pack of thin notebooks, and have been writing poetry in them. I really want to start writing more, and a poem a day is not too much to handle.
This is my first, from February 20th.

Dreamed Seams

Embraced in cotton, all is surreal
thoughts skim, like oil across
the surface of conciousness.

Retinae flutter beneath lids
viewing, seeing what is not.
Mind exercising, reviewing what was,
making sense.

What I know then, is not existent
but so real. Tangible, colorful, more so
than waking.
This is the making:

The making of dreams, dreams
All is what it seems, sewn
at seams, light as air,
deep as seas.

My eyes move to view what can't be seen,
catch a glimps of what is true;
they can glean
a fragment of what makes up my mind,
myself, and I collect these,

In the pocket between waking and dreams,
and stitch them together, like so many
patches, an attempt to see,
the Whole,
What I am,
What is Me.

time flies on...

So I think it's starting to really sink in that I have a pretty limited amount of time left at home. I am sad about this in a lot of ways, but mostly I just feel a motivation to kick it in gear and get all the family-loving and free-time-hugging in that I can.

I am really excited about going back up to school, though. I have been thinking about it, and I have been getting a feeling that there is something I'm meant to be doing in Rexburg. Not that I would necessarily be the president of anything, but I definitely want to be more involved. I want to start a mini-company with Tess maybe, based around handmaking, refurbishing, and upcycling, and selling the awesome stuff we make. We have also talked about putting out a monthly zine.
In any case, I'm not sure exactly what my contribution will look like, but I am pretty sure it will involve writing. I'd like it to, anyway. I do have a lot of ideas; I suppose I will just have to see which pan out.

And just a reminder, in case you needed it (I know I have): God is mindful of you. And he loves you. Like, a ton.
That warm feeling you have?
Means it's true.

Until next time, much love.

ps: if you have any cool ideas, I need a name for my company/zine. leave a comment with suggestions! leave one, really. even if it's totally silly. it is needful for you to do this. now!

busy and loving it.

My lips are so chapped! They feel like two sticky halves of velcros strips rubbing against each other. Las Vegas is so dry. It's getting cold here. I am always surprised when it starts getting cold here. I sort of forget that it does that, you know?

Man, have I been busy!
I'ver been working a lot of hours at Tilly's and with Natalie. I also got my first paychecks (plural, I know. exciting!). So now I have the means to get a badly needed hair cut (YAAAY). And also, I need to pay tithing! I have been owing for a while now. It sure would be easier with a checkbook, so I wouldn't have to go and get cash out alls the time. I should order one.

I am really glad to be working more. It was hard to feel good, about myself or most anything, when I felt that I was useless and not doing anything. Not impossible. But still, it's much easier to feel good about myself at the end of a productive day.
I'm hoping I'll be able to start saving some real, serious cash soon. I would like to be able to pay for at least one semester upfront when I go back up to school.
It is very cool, though, how this whole faith thing has been working out. I really am so grateful! I know that Heavenly Father has an active, aware influence in my life. I can feel angels walking with me. I am grateful.

I love you all.

and old poem.

I was looking through an old notebook today and found this. I think I wrote it a little less than four years ago (and boy was I angsty!). Thought I would share it.

Asphalt Glow

When it rains, everything goes blurry.
clouds hang around the horizon,
cluttering up the mountains like foam on root beer, making
the point at which earth ends and sky begins
indistinguishable.

Everything is so slick.
The ground becomes a vast, streaky. bubbling, warped,
perpetually morphing mirror.
In the day, it is gray and dark, reflecting
the sky with all its dreary honesty.

but at night.
At night it disregards how bright and cheery,
dull or weary
things may be. At ground level,
the only thought is for the asphalt's perceptions;
it takes what it sees and forms it, reforms it, transforms it into
some magical kingdom beneath the asphalt.

orange smudges
bright, everywhere
against a backdrop of stark
black.
reds and greens occasionally bloom across the pavement,
in our world
commands to stay put or continue on our ways.
In the world beneath the asphalt,
they are streaks of magic. they could be
fireworks, or faeries.
they could be symbols,
the meanings of which we couldn't begin to comprehend.

Or maybe. in that warped and fascinating world, they
are just telling a warped girl
who's waiting with impatient foot on pedal
waiting for some shining light above to give some direction:
to stop or go,
to remain ignorant or to know;
to be stunted, or grow.

Enjoy!
love you.

my day in 10

1) Shaved my legs. Picked at two ingrown hairs, got mild razorburn on my right leg. But what was once hairy and scary is now smooth and sleek!
2) Cleaned my bedroom. This included vacuuming my carpet, making my bed, and dusting. How accomplished I am!
3) Bleached a few black things I have inherited from sisters. One, a tunic top, turned out really cool and almost heathered looking. A pair of capris were a bit spotty and questionable. I'll have to check them out when they dry.
4) Ate caprice salad with Brittany.
5) Read part of Preach My Gospel in preparation to sit in on Jinny's second missionary discussion tomorrow.
6) Karalee came over! We listened to Carol Tuttle's Radio Program from this week. It was about money, and other things, and was most excellent!
7) Helped Tyler with (did for her?) a Strawberry Shortcake puzzle. Also made her into monkey soup. And gave her a horsey ride. It was an eventful afternoon.
8) Attended Institute. I was only ten minutes late (!). We discussed Matthew 13, mostly, with the parables and the Gathering of Israel. I loves me some New Testament!
9) Watched some of the season premier of Pushing Daisies. Lee Pace is too yummy!
10) Was interrupted when Mom and Brittany arrived home from mutual. Assisted in kitchen clean up. Had a good convo with Momma.

It was a good day. Tomorrow will be better.
Goodnight, all.
I love you.

Many much moosen!

Ok, so it's been a while since I've updated and I definitely have some things to share.

So, for my Birthday I bought myself two tops from Buckle--and they are way cute! One is an awesome marbled green/brown/rust top. The other is flowy with flutter sleeves and is this awesome teal color. So, that was fun.

I have two gigantic mosquito bites--they are so vicious! Hopefully one of these days my body will figure out how to handle bug bites and pollen without freaking out quite so much. My allergies have been bugging a lot, too.

Drew and I are no longer dating. Just fyi!

So on Monday, I got up and got ready and everything, and left for work at around 7:50. I was walking down the sidewalk by the girls dorm, and I suddenly heard this weird clattering noise--like someone was running pretty fast and oddly behind me. I didn't get too much time to think about it before a moose shot out from behind me! It was crazy! After I figured out what it was, I said a quick prayer of thanks that it didn't charge me or anything. It wasn't very big and its antlers were small as well. It kind of ran onto the grass by the next dorm complex, then turned back onto the sidewalk. A bunch of kids for EFY were standing on the sidewalk. A couple of the girls screamed and ran, while three guys stood there and took pictures. The moose just kept on running past them into the Taylor courtyard and right on through campus. I don't know where it ended up--I'm just glad that happened in the morning when there weren't many people around on campus! It was very odd to see, but cool all the same. Idaho is such a funny place!

I'm pretty anxious to be heading home. It's only 3 weeks from today--which is crazy when I think about all the work I still need to get done. I'm having fun though, and I'm definitely not as stressed out as I was last time I wrote. It is nice because in all of my classes I'm just having a final project, not a test, which means as long as I get everything done my last week of school won't be too crazy and crammed with studying.

I just got done with the poetry unit in my Creative Writing class, and I was pretty satisfied with how a couple turned out. I've decided to include them for you all to (hopefully) enjoy.

I love you all, and for those of you in Vegas, I can't wait to see you in three weeks!


Phoenix
Electric, and so
can animate.
Or burn. Raze:
Incinerate

Lightningfirelash
—set that forest ablaze!
Glowing ashes will, alone,
verdant saplings raise

for that soot will teach more
than the oak ever knew
Of how It Was, Is:
Lived, stood, grew

Into something aliver
Despite how amort—
salubrious, and so:
Strengthen, support.



Seal Carcass on the Beach: Newport, CA
A bulging eye, both gazing and glazed; it stared
Intently with the blindness of death, no brain
Inside that skull, just a mess of gray, blood, veins:
Or so I imagined as I squatted and stared

Back into that void, and wondered where the spark
Fled to when extinguished. The body was half
Smothered in sand, the breeze delighted to waft
Its fishy stench up, out, over the spark-

Ling waves. With each break of brine the seal
Would rock slightly, steam rising from its body
In the cool January air, evidence of its rotting.
But what power the dead held to seal

me in place like no living creature
Ever had, in zoo, national park, or even
the stuffed statues of the natural history museum
all those glass eyes. All those dead creatures

so much neater than this mass of decaying flesh .
in our world of morgues and street sweepers, garbage
trucks to collect our refuse, so rarely must we live
amongst the waste and messiness that flesh

out this world; perhaps it is the absence
of such that makes its rare appearance enthrall
so thoroughly, and fascinate: reminded of the slow crawl
of life to our eventual abandoning and absence.



Saguaro
desert growing fingers,
small hairs of spines
cool glass bead in hand,
water droplets.
I stand, arms up,
never tiring, always burning.
o simple so quaint so profound.
Leading the lost:
upward bound.



Playing with Black Cats
The firecracker exPLODED
Upon me! Heat meeting
volatility in my hand—
finger + thumb = Violently
divided by a SNAP.
the fuse was: too short. and
— I knew it. but still . . .
it had to be lit.