oh… you ‘blog’?

May 25, 2010 Posted by the writer

Somewhere over the evolution of humanhood the word ‘blog’ was invented. Apparently it stems from the word ‘weblog’ that floated down from some other far away land of ‘ummm… i don’t know… what do you think we should call it?’s.

Like ‘tapirs’, for example.

This is my 246th consecutive post. I’m not really sure what ‘blog’ means. But I am writing my ass off and learning shit loads.

For inspiration I started flipping through old posts that I have no memory of writing… Can you recall an exact conversation from 250 days ago? If you can… I’m totally jealous! I don’t remember the alphabet most days.

Anyways, in the gretchen cello archives I found my very first post. And I realized, I never published it… I did a second draft that went up. ┬áHonest on my life, I have zero recall of ‘drafting’ something, saving it, then starting an entirely different one.

That’s actually exact opposite of me… little miss one draft.

Fascinating.

I’m going to make sure this doesn’t occur again while I’m sifting through archives trying to rationalize something called a category.

And I wrote a poem yesterday that I really like…

hazel eyes where the sun’s always rising

I sleep better.
With you. I should let you know.
Say how my vibe of inside relies
On unasked questions. You can have one thing.
What would you wish for?
Not put off by scoffs. Act too toughs.
What you’re mistaken.
For chase is my running.
Slowing up to our done. Escape route
One. As in a single victory.
4am is the loneliest hour.
A lonelier time than two.
My breath is bleach. Burning to reach
Your quiet window.
Wooden panes. Flushed
With light. A chanted declaration.
Songs about memories. I do not possess until…
The first day I saw you.
Your thesaurus lips that teach how to kiss.
In ways.
Unlearned.
Unheard of.

About the writer

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gretchen's brain is preoccupied with words.

2 Responses to oh… you ‘blog’?

  1. avatar Michael says:

    This is really pretty.

    I find it hard to admit that I blog without sounding like an asshole. People always seem to follow that with, “Well, what do you write?”-which is kind of like asking what sort of air I breathe. Sometimes it’s a Metallica video, sometimes it’s a baseball score, sometimes it’s a rant, sometimes it’s flash fiction.

    It doesn’t have to be Fitzgerald, it just has to be of enough significance to exist somewhere other than inside my brain.

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