The State of Carly.
“Are you doing okay?” “Oh, I’m fine. I’m just in a state of Carly.” “A what?” “A state of Carly.” “I’m afraid to ask.” “It’s a state of confusion, happiness, sadness, melancholy, joy, contemplation, simplicity, not giving a fuck, giving too many fucks, eating too much, eating too little,...
I want to unbutton myself until the only thing left are the boiled bones who mark my end. - Carly Yansak
Instead, I feel.
If I could explain how I feel, I would. But I can’t. My thoughts are pounding the doors and beating my tongue but they stay exactly where they are while I watch you drown in words and twirl in verbs and writhe in so much prose that I envy the mirror of your pen. Instead I feel. I feel and watch lines on shapes come alive and jump out in brilliant definition, a definition I...
A Fictional Conversation.
The irony of my life lay in it’s mismatch. Laying in bed, barely being able to function from a hang over, my Vonnegut novel sits next to me and my Van Gogh print peers down as I think: How can I effectively tell the story of my ecstasy binge? “I’d remember sarcasm,” a voice answers my thoughts. What the fuck. I’m home alone, both of my roommates are female and...
My phone rings with a name from the past, a name I’ve been talking to frequently this week. “Carls, what’s good?” “Oh, nothing. My life has gotten so fucked up in the span of 24 hours that it’s actually amazing.” Laughter pours from the other end and I think I can hear his head shake. “Carly, I love you. You are one funny, funny girl.” ...
If I were to be profound, would you listen? Or would you clamor for disdain and sarcasm and the things that never bump in the night. If I were to tell you truly, what would you say? Probably nothing. You’d scoff and wonder why I had the audacity - and I’d tell you. I’d tell you I got my audacity the moment you stopped having yours.
This is totally going on the cover of the first harlequin romance novel I write. With Fabio photoshopped behind me, about to spread I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter onto my shoulder so he can lick it off.
I'll try. (pt. -2)
An excerpt from something that will be written sometime. ———————————————- “I need you to not fall apart,” she starts, her voice firm as steel. “If you fall apart, I’m done for. I know you’re not the most collected person I know. I mean, you’re a fucking mess. But...
Carly Tells A Story.
Last night, I did something I had never done before. I took up a microphone, shuffled into a spotlight and stood agape in front of a crowd of strangers. Yes, I attended open mic. In a sense. For this was no poetry slam, no comedy hour. It was an open mic for story tellers; an event where we were all invited to come up and talk about the chosen subject for the evening. For a month, I knew I was...
Where Only You
I want to crawl inside your skin and hide there, denying reality I can’t handle and never finding sockets of disappoint. I want to feel kept away. Saved from the days my eyeballs bleed and my head whispers a thousand failures. Writhing away in your shadow, I’d tell you - oh god I’d tell you - I should have never left. And as you extended an arm to give me...
About that mystifying enthusiasm a million years ago for turning over as many...– Kurt Vonnegut, Galapagos.
* drowning in inked black, the air hides. it gasps through another medium. a wordless pocket letting you spill without cohesion of commas and thoughts of vocabulary. [ *I took this. And that guy, his name is Hector. ]
Tag With #Love.
I write things to understand them. I just never understood this until I realized everything I wrote about you, I tagged with #Love. Then I understood something more. But it wasn’t about you - it was me, the condition I’ve rendered myself, one can only hope is irreversible. If not, I’ll just continue to tag you with #Love.
An Uncanny Parallel.
Things you don’t have when you’re a waitress: - A social life - Feet that don’t throb - A sunny disposition about your work Things you don’t have when you’re a writer: - A social life - Fingers that don’t throb - A sunny disposition about your work Hm. Would ya look at that.
The Vanity Show.
mini skirts and patterned tights, red lipstick to finish the night. perfect outfit, perfect face enticing you - take a taste. lights flame high, bass pounds low. it’s after midnight, it’s the vanity show.