Comments Posted By Robyn
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alaska in the car, and we keep replaying the same modest mouse album to keep warm. driving without heat to save some gas between here and seward, but it isn’t easy, the tempo doesn’t make our blood jump like it used to; you are remembering airports. we should’ve taken a picture of it, you say. i mouth ‘what’ but the air in my lungs is too weak to push the word out. coats like blankets on our laps; mine, because the fabric is so thick i can hardly bend my arms to reach the steering wheel, if i wear it proper, and yours, because you are trying to sleep.
» Posted By robyn On 02.05.2012 @ 11:01 am
but this time it’s different.
sitting at the dining room table by yourself, eating salad straight out of the bag, looking up for the first time in maybe three or four bites, and there is your calico, looking back at you, young paws but graying whiskers.
and it feels like looking into the eyes of a tiger, not just one at the zoo, but one in africa, roaming, one that has seen you and is consciously sparing your life, and for this, giving you a greater gift than god ever has, and you, afraid to break away from
(how many people are ever granted the beauty of observing the details that lie in cat eyes?)
so intense for you, and so lazy for her,
sitting on your table just across from you,
a burning closeness, at that, obscenely intimate, or some kind of power that is unwarranted, because
a wandering jay has brought your cat’s attention back to beyond the windows
(and just like that, a cat again)
» Posted By robyn On 02.03.2012 @ 12:13 pm
goldfish thrashing against the edge of the universe in their plastic bags, on your passenger seat, ignorant how seasickness pertains to motion more than simply water;
and these fish are in the kind of motion controlled by stop signs and left turn arrows, so unlike the gentle crawling from their fins, so unused to kinetics pressed upon them by an outside force;
you live too far away from the fish store, and they’ll be belly-up by morning.
» Posted By robyn On 01.29.2012 @ 2:58 pm
the type of person that you did not know you were.
outside of a safeway like it ought to be a safehouse, hands held out, every now and again, to the people who were not adept enough to avoid you; but not so poor you cannot afford earphones, playing songs that bury you, sadness like it something private, and certainly addictive–
the type of person your mother never guessed her son to become.
» Posted By robyn On 01.17.2012 @ 8:34 pm
the morning after something unexpected.
you, alone, nestled on a couch that faces a blank TV, toying with an apple in your hand, hungry, but not realizing it–
pressing the edge of your fingernail into the thin skin of the honeycrisp until the wet of the apple drips down to your wrist, a sensation you are too far away to feel, a mess you’ve made of the pattern you created because you weren’t paying attention, because
the phone rang
(in an eight-hour span, you’ve grown to recognize two doctors’ phone numbers, a sick accidental unwanted memorization, like a child you are too poor to abort)
» Posted By robyn On 01.13.2012 @ 8:27 pm
independence day sparklers still on your floor.
and the wooden floorboards, expanding in the heat off the furnace, and the startling-sudden loud crack-ing of stretching birch timber fibers—-
my grandmother swore to hear her lost lover’s footsteps every time she warmed the house.
» Posted By robyn On 01.11.2012 @ 5:57 pm
like a burning man’s resolve that his last thoughts will not be some desperate prayer that his lungs should give way to the smoke before the heat, but instead something profound, or lovely, or something worthy of mentioning in his eulogy;
like a burning man’s resolve, you, jumping on the loose ice of a spring lake, not far from shore, but certainly nowhere shallow, and you, falling through, trying not to scream, and fascinated by your own involuntary reflexes (how can they be your own, if not voluntary? how can you, now, at a time like this, be such a woman to think about these things?) and you again, disappointed and reaching towards what is solid, and pulling yourself up onto it, the ice that will not break this time, you, stripping off as much wetness as you can bare, shirt, undershirt, (this is a different kind of cold, now, cold skin meeting cold air, at least this is one you are more familiar with, how not-cold the cold water was!, how disgusting, how )
walking back to a car you no longer have the keys for (like a bartender too judgmental, promising not to tow as he lifts your license off you, replacing it with cab fare, your keys, taken in by the lake) and walking through rough dirt and rock and hardened snow with naked feet by a fault of your own (shoes that sunk down farther than you)
with a burning man’s resolve, for a second so light not even you had the time to realize, you began to sparkle.
» Posted By robyn On 01.11.2012 @ 1:58 pm
The trunk belonged to my grandmother. It had a special meaning to her but not to me. I decided to go through its contents and possibly pawn it for money. I had no attachment to it.
» Posted By Robyn On 01.04.2012 @ 7:25 am
There was a mysterious trunk in the dark room. I didn’t know who it belonged to or what it was doing there. But somehow, someway, it was calling my name. I was gravitating towards it. It was like it had some magical power that pulled me close. Just as I approached the trunk a loud bang came. from behind me.
» Posted By Robyn On 01.04.2012 @ 7:22 am
the trunk of an elephant. they’ve always weirded me out. not really. i just wrote that because i can’t think of anything else to write about a trunk. oh wait! i have a trunk in my dorm! with cool band stickers on it. i added a new band sticker to it a little while ago (my friend’s band) but they kicked him out of the band, so we’re going to have a ceremony, during which we shall remove the sticker. and maybe burn it.
» Posted By robyn On 01.03.2012 @ 7:34 pm
marble and myriad chaser, in a black cadillac, in khakis, as though you’ve constructed your whole life around accommodating the assonance in sentences that will be written about you, like a blind chef to the kitchen, dependent on his confidence that he can feel the degrees of the fire in the oven, or stove, you don’t really know, because your mother microwaved frozen meals, but you think of this man, imaginary, presumably, and in passing thought, in times like these, when, in turning off the engine, forgetting, for a second, the confidence that you must carry always, the confidence that tomorrow night is gonna be a better one, less hookers and more hipsters at the bar you’ve paid to get up on the stage for an hour and showcase your many wondrous talents, the tips into your case as you wait outside the bar afterwards just enough to break even and a little more, keep a cat’s eye marble in your back pocket to help you sit up straight when you tire of this life.
» Posted By robyn On 11.27.2011 @ 4:20 pm
today, in class, learned about sky burials.
tonight, at the dinner table, asked me:
why can’t we choose
who to become food for?
and she would like to feed the dolphins,
and I would not like to explain we’re the wrong kind of meat
or how customs are non-transferable, they aren’t locked by geography, but they are locked by your society, and how, here, it is not a safe place to think these things:
this is her second time in third grade.
» Posted By robyn On 10.22.2011 @ 8:37 pm
The feeling is mutual. PT school hates me. I hate it. Its actually more of a love hate thing I suppose. I hate it but love it because I know it will be good for me someday. PT school just flat out hates me….so on second thought, perhaps the feeling is NOT mutual….
» Posted By Robyn On 10.18.2011 @ 9:58 pm
man walks into a bar.
the waitress says, “you’re a drunk.”
and i’ve laughed at your jokes long after you’ve spilled them (stains onto the carpet) like this effort of expulsion of air from my longs might be interpreted less along the lines of voluntary muscle and more along the lines of ‘i love you’ and i’ve forgotten punchlines again and again so that you may re-tell the same few jokes that you can hold on to, and i’ve told you new ones, to see if you might like it the other way
but these days
the ironic autobiographical implications of your words have gotten lost on you, and i don’t feel much like
explaining the punchline.
» Posted By robyn On 10.18.2011 @ 3:43 pm
The best advice I can give anyone: appreciate your life where you’re at. Never be in a rush to grow up. Don’t rush to fall in love. Don’t compare yourself to the standard that others may set. You are who you are. You take the chances you want to take. You know yourself better than others know you. Now go live your life.
» Posted By Robyn On 10.15.2011 @ 8:17 pm
Stacks of money? Boy do I wish I had those kind of stacks. Desperate college student writing here. PT school is robbing me blind.
» Posted By Robyn On 10.10.2011 @ 9:37 pm
Quite the setting, this lonely lake house. Its peaceful, relaxing, and leaves me here to wander through my thoughts. I enjoy this lonely little place. Its a good lonely – the kind you need after too many social events, too much mental crowding. Its perfect – the exact setting I need.
» Posted By Robyn On 10.06.2011 @ 11:05 pm
I warned you that this would happen. I am NOT a relationship girl. I don’t commit. I probably could if I wanted to. But I don’t want to. I’m one of those rare people that is truly honest-to-God-ly happy being single. You didn’t listen to me. You thought you could change me into a relationship person. But you couldn’t.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
» Posted By Robyn On 10.06.2011 @ 10:16 am
I suppose I’m alright. I suppose this life will be adequate. I suppose I may not be the perfect girl with the perfect face with the perfect life but I suppose that’s fine. Because I suppose there will never be another one like me. And I suppose that makes me original. :)
» Posted By Robyn On 10.03.2011 @ 10:44 pm
the ability to say: I liked you when you were young.
before you were
more than raw bones and raw personalities, before straps slid off your shoulders in hotel rooms, before you wrote in eloquence and long looks across the room,
I knew you
when you were beautiful.
» Posted By robyn On 09.28.2011 @ 10:55 am
forming stars out of sticks on the ground, campground, playground, english is your second language, but you are young, and we all know the design of stars–
» Posted By robyn On 09.28.2011 @ 10:51 am
I didn’t grow up in church, so I never had an accountability partner. Someone to tell my sins to. I held myself accountable for everything that I thought or did. But about a year ago, I met my friend Stevie. She’s the first Christian friend I’ve ever had. Now, just the thought of her makes me more accountable for my actions and thoughts. I’m very blessed.
» Posted By Robyn On 09.14.2011 @ 10:05 pm
An accountability partner is something I have never had. I didn’t grow up in church, so I have always made myself accountable. In the last year or so however, I’ve made a wonderful new friend named Stevie and she is the first Christian friend I’ve ever had. She is truly a blessing to me, and just t the thought of her makes me more accountable than ever before.
» Posted By Robyn On 09.14.2011 @ 9:55 pm
–still, it hurts all the same.
» Posted By robyn On 09.13.2011 @ 5:54 pm
there are a million ways to heal. there is realizing that your problem is quiet in the scope of the world, there is always someone aching with a tragedy worse than what you will ever know, there is relocation of the physical body, and meditation, and–
» Posted By robyn On 09.13.2011 @ 5:53 pm
‘all we are is all we are’ and other -isms sprinkled over your body, you do your own tattoos, three a.m. until seven, and you say it’s because you can always sleep on the bus—
and you do,
you do it just to get lost
but it’s been so long now
unfamiliar numbers (routes, roads) are becoming more scarce, and this scares you, there will be nothing else to keep you in place after this
and the credits roll, and the audience leaves, except for you–
until they ask you to)
» Posted By robyn On 09.07.2011 @ 4:06 pm
honesty. self-admittedly a first world child—-buys into the concept of tea addiction like cigarettes (trades one bad habit for another like a thrift shop exchange, like there might be some loss in the absence of something bad)
» Posted By robyn On 09.03.2011 @ 8:08 pm
dog sleeps on the floor like the only thing left to do is lie down; children play in the street like they know what it means to disregard the yellow lines, and from this far away, i can only hope they will preserve maps of our town in oversea metropolitan art museums, after the war.
» Posted By robyn On 09.03.2011 @ 7:55 pm
cures for science (mad scientists) lost somewhere underneath the floorboards (hollow-wood caves) the last place of prayer, a boy’s schoolyard treehouse–
» Posted By robyn On 09.01.2011 @ 1:10 pm
Back To Stats Page
sure, those old habits die hard, but the young men die easy–just the other night, on the news, this one guy, he crashed his car into–get this!–the shitty cigarette store his momma said he was conceived in–and that’s how big a deal this was, she was willing to admit this on the news, it was big-time, too, CNN or something, where the fluff pieces are really sad pieces, cause then you’ll think it was impactful and all that crap and tune back in at a later date–so anyway
I guess my point is
ever heard the term ‘too ugly to be pessimistic’? I mean, you can go down to the bar anyway, but you’re not gonna get laid that way.
» Posted By robyn On 08.19.2011 @ 6:55 pm