Cat's Ashes and The Architects of The World

five tone moon

Death: 3-D, In Theaters in the Sand next September.

Hello Papa.

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

made up words of little red dinosaur upon being woken up by the ringing of the telephone.

walnut street

White paint bungalow owl garden

Zipped up, pinstraight yellowing walls

Morning glories silver scaling the garden walls

Ricketing square canvas frame stair

Tottering dollops clay brown wet wells

Voices rising and running in stair wells

Knuckling knives, chinaware kitchen

Melon green, jellies jam latch lock cupboards

Ants and olives in kitchen cupboards

Dead rock tumbling blue clicking bed

Pull white cut covers over, paper sheets

Three p.m. rainy Sunday spelunking in bed sheets

Dumb drunk copper bleedings, open

Gusty train rumblings rattling windows

Pebbles skitter through lunglike open windows

ashbrux asked: How is a raven like a writing desk?

They are both nouns, and are generally considered as bad omens.

Anonymous asked: How do you feel about orchids?

They are fickle, overwhelmingly not-worth-it and alien, too. I like the word a lot.

I am at the state fair looking at pigs and goats and alpacas and tractors and I see a bunch of damnable kids carrying bags of the saddest damnable goldfish. They’re swinging and shaking and I’m looking at these bags of sad fish and I’ll be damned if half of them aren’t already sloshing around in there dead as ever. I am just hoping this makes them cry. I am hoping their moms will go to the pet shop and buy them a little tank of quick happy little silver fish and teach them the goddamnable power of love. I can see it now, she tells her little creep of a son with creepy little monkey toes and a compulsive hand sanitizing habit to “put in just a little pinch” of food and he does so and she cheers and claps, and she’s making a huge surreal hullabaloo and her eyes get all dark and she grows and grows and grows taller and she’s just clapping and squealing and the boy chews on his thumb.

"She sits on a bench in front of a playground. She’s peeling an orange. She’s peeling this orange so goddamn perfectly. She slips her thumbnail under the top cap of the orange right where Antartica would be if the orange were a globe and then starts this grand little spiral downward. She doesn’t throw little sinewy tears of peel to the grass, no, she peels the orange in one long curly strip. A long curly strip that you could roll back into the shape of an orange. You could roll it back into the shape of an orange and put it in a bowl with other real oranges and fool somebody. This orange is empty."

— 9/7/2010 New Fiction, Jessica Jenkins

"Most of the bored sons and daughters of the trust fund hippies in my relatively bourgeoise mountain town bought their weed from a Neo-Nazi compound complete with German Shepards and a barbed wire privacy fence somewhere in Pocahantas County, WV"

— 8/30, Fiction Writing Excercise

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

tall tales, short lies

first paragraph of a potential foray into short fiction

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Epistle to Galatea

Galatea, I stay up late

looking for synonyms in my digital thesaurus,

synonyms for words like “hilarity” and “gallantry.”

You were very beautiful.

Sometimes I forget prehistory –

that there were baubles and art before your myths.

I have a postcard of Pygmalion kneeling at your feet,

you are part stone and I wonder

what thought goddesses put into common sense.

I bought the card in New York City

where many girls forget prehistory –

all caught in baubles and art.

I conclude that goddesses put very little thought into common sense,

and very much thought into their likenesses.

The Great Poetic Testing of Hypotheses. It's a big red bow of ticker tape. You can see humanity in its eyes as you approach it with your overlarge scissors at the grand reopening of "I was just taking a personal call in a goddamn phone booth and the motherfucker just shot me in the head." In some weeks and months and days you will find that, indeed, you are dead. I am Jess. I am an English Creative Writing Student at the University of Iowa. Ask me stuff. Be interested, be interesting.

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