me and lily

(no subject)

I stretched my legs to stretch my veins
and thinned the blood to travel to the hills
blackened the soles of my feet
to leave my fingerprints on trees
felt the air flow through me

I watched the dirt fly off of me
me and lily

i wanted to write about real things

I spent most of the day in my head.

I let go and opened up-- it almost made me choke up.
I watched, I observed every detail...I listened to the same cycles of songs while paying close attention to each word. They clung to me, I wanted to sing them as loud as I could...but I couldn't...I knew it would be liberating to try so I drove with my windows up and tried to let my voice and the feelings that were attached unravel.

I stayed cool by sitting by my window watching the cars drive by. I reminded myself of how lucky I am. I reminded myself how trivial my worries are. I told my mom how much I needed to hear her in order to feel better about my fears of failure. I told her how much I love her.

I lost myself in my bed while I watched the sun go down and the amazing blue light that started to fill my room. In that moment I wished the world would just take a break and pause so the light would stay with me just a little longer. It faded quickly. The light made everything feel new. That light you could mistake with the blue that lights up the sky just before the sun rises.

I closed my eyes for minutes at a time and tried so hard to manifest some kind of something, anything, to write...there was nothing there. I couldn't put the words together legibly. The thoughts came and went too quickly and were too uninteresting anyway. I'd open my eyes and suddenly remember I wasn't alone. I looked at everyone's faces and tried to read past their eyes. I felt unsuccessful in my attempts. I talked and then I didn't. I felt myself quake and wanted to burst... my heart raced...and paused..and sputtered...and raced...

I went out of my way to extend the 3 minute drive I could sing...with my windows down this time.

I lit candles and filled up the bath with hot water, bubbles, and bath salts...I was so content to be there. So strange how some days you never want to be alone and then alone can feel so right. I tried to hold my breath. I listened to my heart and the hum of the music from underneath the water.
Once I got too hot I let the water drain and turned on the shower. I stayed there in the empty bath with the water from the shower hitting my body..I would lift up my legs and let the water hit my feet, it tickled and the sound of the trickling water would change beats. softer...harder...quiet..loud...harder...just right.

I could have stayed there forever.

I reluctantly dried off. The towel was so soft on my skin. The bath oils and salts made me melt. Everything feels amazing. So here I am...still in my towel an hour later...
I wish there was a way recreate the light from earlier...but it's something that transcends me.

I want to read outside...I want to look at everything I forget to notice. I want to pick out a random person and try to imagine what is going on in their life...what they are worried about. Are they in love? Do they notice me staring? Will they see right through my fake smile and the quick jerk of my head?

Then I think.....why is it so hard to introduce yourself to random people you feel like you would want to meet? What is keeping everyone from meeting each other? There are so many people I will never get to meet and so many stories I will never hear, knowledge I won't gain. I want to introduce myself to someone new, out of the blue-- be spontaneous, be honest, tell them I wanted to introduce myself for the sake of meeting a face I would have otherwise looked at while walking never to see again. I'll probably learn something new or connect someone...or not-- either way, what's there to live for if we try so hard to avoid the people we feel we wouldn't want to know rather than let them into our lives...why is it so hard for people can't be honest with complete strangers...and think about what they can contribute rather than what they can't.

I watch people as they go by and our eyes meet...tell yourself next time you'll say hello...but there won't be a next time. The faces come and go and it's unlikely you will ever remember any of them...there are so many people out there will so much to give and so much to tell. I want to hear their stories and feel how they shake hands...or if they can hug me tight, the right way to hug.

I'm surprised I wrote all of this down. It's really refreshing despite how uninteresting any of it is...and how inarticulate it is. I always put other writers work up to avoid from acknowledging how much I dislike my own.

I want to feel the heat of the sun on my back. But not alone. I need to read and write my papers...I want to want to. I hope I can write them well.

I'm falling fast now.

Now I wish I had someone next to me to say goodnight and sweet dreams.

Sweet dreams.
me and lily


is kicking my ass right now:


Provide a brief account of Marx's critique of the fetishized commodity (approximately one of the roughly 4 pp. or so of your complete response), and then discuss how [1] Klein's discussion of the Logo, [2] Debord's discussion of the Spectacle, [3] Benjamin's discussion of Aura, [4] Horkheimer and Adorno's discussion of the Culture Industry, [5] Barthes' discussion of Myth, [6] Harris's discussion of the Futuristic, [7] Mercer's discussion of Racial Fetishism (choose just one of these) is, on the one hand, indebted to Marx's account in your view but also, on the other hand, departs from it in some key way.

Question Two

How does the treatment of the figure of the Spectator differ in Wilde's "Soul of Man Under Socialism" from its treatment in Debord's Society of the Spectacle? What political significance attaches to these different treatments in their respective texts in your view?

Question Three

How do the differing attitudes toward German Expressionism conveyed in Ernst Bloch's "Discussing Expressionism" and Georg Lukacs's "Realism in the Balance" provide a window onto the larger stakes of their differing views on the relation of aesthetics and politics?

I'm going to be reading about socialism and class consciousness for the next 15 hours. and then writing about it for the next two days. fuck my life.
me and lily

they flow and they ebb

Watch me as I stumble
Over pretty prose and epitaphs
They flow and they ebb
From you onto me

And oh the intricacies—they don't need a ladder to climb
Or a hand to hold
Or a hum of imperfection—perfection

They are firm in their place
Stable with grace
And the artistry of it all is a shame
To waste

We are in the company of fools and the foolish
The grim folly follows slowly behind
If you want to follow faster
Go right ahead
The words are here for the taking
They flow and they…ebb

And oh how we wish and we pray—
For the hum of imperfection to fade
We weren't blessed with the electric song
Of beauty….of shame…of charm

me and lily

(no subject)

The gap between lust and love
of touch and of taste and of pounding--
and of hate.
The sublime serenity
to you and to me.

The mirrored abuse--echoing
between the contours of our ribs
and the hollow space between our freighted hearts.

Killing ourselves slightly with each deep breath
and subtle quake

the shudder of our mouths
as we render
sweet contempts and atrocities.

The false testimony of a false promise.

This is it
this is all there is...

In memory and in hope.

The electrical vex of stop motion thought
the urge--fried at the ends
and the visceral energy of the orgasm.

The realm of the realm
within the realm
and out of the realm.

The fade in...and the fade out--

So we fade in...

and we fade out...

-Ashley Russell
me and lily

in a menner of speaking

In a Manner of speaking
I just want to say
That I could never forget the way
You told me everything
By saying nothing
In a manner of speaking
I don't understand
How love in silence becomes reprimand
But the way that i feel about you
Is beyond words
O give me the words
Give me the words
That tell me nothing
O give me the words
Give me the words
That tell me everything
In a manner of speaking
Semantics won't do
In this life that we live we live we only make do
And the way that we feel
Might have to be sacrified
So in a manner of speaking
I just want to say
That just like you I should find a way
To tell you everything
By saying nothing.
O give me the words
Give me the words
That tell me nothing
O give me the words
Give me the words
Give me the words
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