Second featured open-mic and slam of the semester. Monday night! Join the event page for more updates.
"If it’s both terrifying and amazing then you should definitely pursue it."
Erada (via toostoked)
ARE YOU TERRIFIED OF SENDING YOUR ART OUT INTO THE WORLD/TO US then you should definitely do it
thanks, erada, we’ll take it from here.
(Source: maddierose, via featheronaflume)
DEADLINE IS NOW MARCH 20th
send us your things! reblog to tell your friends. when you’re done, high five yourself for a job well written, you cuties*.
*we are a nebulous energy cloud powered by the enthusiasm of a campus writing organization/this is not an inappropriate seduction technique to get you to shower us with your work/but for real send us your things
We put up a new page on the blog where issues will go. The first one is up there. The submission page isn’t updated yet, but that’s because we’re putting together something new for this month but also ths semester
(hint: you should get some short stories going)
(hint: it’s almost halloween)
(hint: no more hints, go write)
The Victorians honored human hair
because it was the only trait of the body
that remained after death. I shaved my legs
in your shower. I hid long strands of myself
in your pillowcases. That is all that is left.
Thinking of someone else during sex
is a cardinal sin punishable by nothing.
The heart is wanting. The heart
is perpetually two-years-old. The heart
is bad at sharing. The heart is a hungry
gas tank. The heart is not a metaphor.
When the teacher asks you what grade
you think you deserve, you will always say B+.
90% of Americans will vote for Obama
because the night before the election, he will
slow dance with his wife and kiss her forehead
and we will want so badly to believe that
they actually fucking love each other.
Writing a list of ways I could be better
and writing a suicide note are the same thing.
The heart lives in a packed elevator.
It doesn’t know what floor its waiting for
but it wants it wants it wants to get off.
The Victorians believe when you write a poem
from an airplane that moment becomes suspended
in the sky forever, like a ornament in God’s mobile.
So now you know: somewhere between Phoenix
and Las Vegas, a thousand miles up, there you are
like a grocery list pinned to blue.
"There are things that divide us, and they can feel like they’re just bridges that are never gonna be crossed. But education is the key." [x]
(Source: drunkknope, via featheronaflume)