Comments Posted By Robyn

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half of what i know is not what i think it’s often what i want what i don’t see half the time it’s not what you do it’s the cliche it’s the half glass of purple chocolate with a gorilla it’s the chalk in the toothpaste it’s half of the story and half of the puzzle there are so many halves of half it’s forever.

» Posted By Robyn On 08.22.2012 @ 1:37 am


owls and stars and cereal boxes, these days have become blurred into a series of events: you, slouched against the sink, looking at me, saying, are you not going to help?, and I don’t understand how you have become so hurt, so easily,
like the night at the drive-in you cried and wouldn’t tell me why, open windows, backseat passengers peering in, louder than the speakerboxes, my dreams were in black and white that night
(phrases like ‘i am oily with memories today’ and i know i am losing you, the impermanence hurts less when i favor making observations only through my peripheral)

» Posted By robyn On 08.19.2012 @ 6:50 pm


the unexpected eternity of a moment (driving eastward, the direction that puts setting suns into rearviews, and it is before the streetlights come on: in the black distance, there, envisioned, is a gentle coast, one in which I am a child, and my mother is burying me in sand; sculpting a mermaid’s tail) and I know she is existing, far away, with no recollection or connection to that moment, maybe this is how alone feels.

» Posted By robyn On 08.12.2012 @ 8:53 pm


i feel trapped. what does that mean? It means I’m stuck. unable to branch out. is i a trap of the mind or trap of the body? either way, suffocation of freedom. This isnt what life should be about. Or is it? Isthe ticket to life the ability to break free of the trap? The temptation and chaos, obscurity of pure, is the trap. all we have to do is beat it and we win!

» Posted By robyn On 08.01.2012 @ 3:18 pm


an airplane fashioned out of our grandpa’s old house keys, and all we can say is, he must’ve moved like a gypsy;
(what we are too afraid to say is: does anyone still know of the woman that crafted this for him? oh, and the different glues between the keys, he must’ve been a secret sentimental, holding onto the work of somebody long-gone, how he must’ve turned it over in his hands far after his fingerprints covered hers
the only peace of home he had never meant to lose)

» Posted By robyn On 07.14.2012 @ 5:05 pm


met you through echoes:
never the whole of you but the remainder of radiowaves, the afterimage you pressed on satellites, phone conversations with haphazard words strung together like the shuffled cards of a deck, left to piece each other together without the variable of refraction, disembodied voices we weren’t prepared to hear even though we dialed:
the strength we had to make the effort sponsored by the hope that we would never really have to fulfill our actions, the what-comes-after when the call isn’t dropped, and somebody says Hello, and in this way I observed you distantly like studying the light of stars (the seconds in delay between when you speak and when I hear)
distant relative, once was enough

» Posted By robyn On 07.01.2012 @ 5:10 pm


Tomorrow. The lazy day. The fun day. The whatever-you-want-it-to-be day. I don’t know what else to say. :(

» Posted By Robyn On 06.29.2012 @ 10:43 pm

youth in the rain:
it is like the broken origami of a paper plane come to rest at the foot of a man who has never seen
inorganic flight
he bends down to pick it up, the edges of a schoolboy’s day, neither following the creases inward nor flattening them; if this is uncertainty, then he does not want to know what the knowingness feels like,
stopped in the mid of his day from moving unquestionably forward, and the man who had been walking behind him bumps into him, and end
(we are again as we were)

» Posted By robyn On 06.29.2012 @ 8:47 pm

youth in the rain:
it is like the broken origami of a paper plane come to rest at the foot of a man who has never seen
inorganic flight
he bends down to pick it up, the edges of a schoolboy’s day, neither following the creases inward nor flattening them; if this is uncertainty, then he does not want to know what the knowingness feels like,
stopped in the mid of his day from moving unquestionably forward, and the man who had been walking behind him bumps into him, and
(we are again as we were)

» Posted By robyn On 06.29.2012 @ 8:42 pm


Grape jelly, my favorite in flavor, but the worst for spreading. Likely because its not made from grapes after all. But some artificially conjealed substance originating from pig knuckles or something. I dont really care. Its delicious. I also imagine myself eating buiscuts and gravy BUT theay must have…guess?… Grape jelly on them.

» Posted By robyn On 06.07.2012 @ 4:46 am


days unsavingly dark.

at least, you might’ve told me so out of the corner of your mouth, windowbird, too scared to go outside and too in love to move away from
(the complaints they send about your voyeurism, over in the kitchen on the phone i tell them you are wheelchair bound, sunlight starved, i tell them you are asleep most of the time)

first thing you sold were the curtains; ebay or somewhere cheap or maybe goodwill, honey, i’m sorry, i don’t really pay attention when i watch you anymore;
i should’ve known, then, i guess, but all this time you’ve been looking out i’ve been looking down

» Posted By robyn On 05.29.2012 @ 9:19 pm


there’s a dilapidated farmer’s market down by the highway—the stretch where the cars all turn off at the last city exit and from there, another interchange, and from there, nothing—
(but yellowgrass and sunflower fields and some occasional tractor, and when you look with a really soft focus, you can almost see there might be an upward slant, as though the curve of the earth is small enough to see)
right before the end of the world, there’s a farmer’s market.

» Posted By robyn On 04.20.2012 @ 6:38 pm


Something in my heart. A flicker. My finger tip pricked with the heat coming from within. I always felt this way before it happened. Exhilaration. Preparation. Power.

» Posted By Robyn On 04.02.2012 @ 10:05 am


Streaks down windows, dappled and wet. Nothing really could seem real, but too real. Trying something new. Living.

» Posted By Robyn On 03.31.2012 @ 10:36 am


Cages. Not real ones. Ones made of trees and buildings. Of grass and concrete. No escape. No escape. Chasing, cornering, hunting, running, hiding. I tried. I did. They keep coming. Fear, paranoia, destiny. I’m trapped.

» Posted By Robyn On 03.28.2012 @ 7:43 pm


might’ve wished you’d stay;
might’ve wished you’d go;
air guitar lessons in early morning, late july, rotting driftwood composing your front porch, back porch, anger came so easy then, when the stakes were low;
loss was impermanent, and out of my mind, like you are now;
free of something, at least.

» Posted By robyn On 03.26.2012 @ 5:07 pm


He slammed the hatch and walked around to the driver side door. When he climbed in, I looked over at him and smiled. We were doing it. Finally. After all these years, all this work, we were leaving. Nothing could stop us now.

» Posted By Robyn On 03.23.2012 @ 10:35 am

a collaboration between old men, old flowers; and a list of things that are dying after having been plucked from the ground for a temporary usefulness brought on by an outside force, intrinsic, unstable but insoluble,

» Posted By robyn On 03.22.2012 @ 12:11 pm


It was broken. Incomplete. Nothing could ever repair the damage he’d seen. His heart was annihilated, and no one would ever know how badly.
Her tears rolled softly down her round cheek. Alone.

» Posted By Robyn On 03.21.2012 @ 8:35 pm


The show was terrible and we knew it. But every week we trudged through writing and meeting and acting and shooting. And every week we got paid to do it. Paid by the viewers. The millions and millions of inane, idiotic, ridiculously simple viewers

» Posted By Robyn On 03.20.2012 @ 12:35 pm


the overcontrolling urge to force you down, like i could make you a staple in my diet; i just wanted a little silence so i could maybe go to sleep, insomnia

» Posted By robyn On 03.17.2012 @ 3:20 pm


Swing with a swinger in the park on a swing with mood swings so it swings you over the swing into a parellel universe where everything swings so our still is their swinging and our swinging is their still because they have two competing moons, so they just keep swinging (which gives them excellent cor muscle strength).

» Posted By Robyn On 03.07.2012 @ 3:14 am

‘i didn’t realize.’
washed-over bathroom-wall graffiti & the dirt piled against one corner, lazy maid in a bachelor’s pad, and a man whose trashcan is full of used condoms & travel-sized mouthwash tubes, disposable toothbrushes, and inscripted along the uppermost edge of the bathroom door (she put back on her high heels, stood all your towels, folded over four times each) ‘i didn’t realize.’

» Posted By robyn On 03.06.2012 @ 7:10 pm


first learning to study body language in a morgue.
at least, we should position these people to look peaceful.

» Posted By robyn On 03.02.2012 @ 10:57 am


no, you’re right.
it is terrible, and it is my mistake.
yes, i do take full responsibility, and i promise to have this fixed by morning.
i’m sorry sir, i just don’t understand.
my talents are pretty limited, unfortunately, and i do not feel comfortable being contracted for that line of work.
not even for those benefits, no.
i’ll just live with my debt, thank you; have a good day.

» Posted By robyn On 02.28.2012 @ 5:48 pm


art galleries are fun. also a gallery as in a kitchen on a boat. I want to live on a barge. Gallery kitchen, isn’t it? can’t you get them in houses too? I don’t want to live in a house, I want to live in a boat. Then I can visit art galleries all over britain – well, the ones near canals.

» Posted By robyn On 02.22.2012 @ 7:51 am


A curse can be cutting, confronting and not cool.
A curse by someone is not needed.

» Posted By Robyn On 02.21.2012 @ 2:26 am

I curse you technology.
Damn you and your curse-ors!

» Posted By Robyn On 02.21.2012 @ 2:24 am


gloss on your lips and over your words like ignorance is a right, not a privilege, and the poor people of israel ought to choose to ignore their heavy streets the way you ignore the bombshelters hidden in the backyard of all these properties you keep meaning to sell, one-day, broke real estate agent not really feeling desperate yet, just luxurious, buying twelve-dollar vanity products for your lips, careful not to let your tongue lick away what’s there whenever you talk

» Posted By robyn On 02.18.2012 @ 11:46 am


low-cut shirt and a loose variety of some other sins in your closet, but none that can match what is wrong with your sway:
(the way your hips move,
so vulgar, up the stairs)
sleeping pills and bud-light on your nightstand, coffee on your bills, this the first time that you’ve left your flat in a week, and look, you’ve quite forgotten how to wear clothes properly;
don’t notice the second-glances of men.

» Posted By robyn On 02.15.2012 @ 5:57 pm

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