poetryslamming | ( fic: paper calendar )

Title: Paper Calendar
Length: 668 words
Rating: Mentions of sexual situations
Summary: Some days torn out of Alexa Hase's calendar.
__________

2018

( J U L Y 1st )

2 oranges and ½ an apple for brunch.
Fingers smelling like some osteria in Italy.

Last night: Got home around midnight. Was a good girl. Slept until 08.00. Feel pretty rested today.

Just read “How Wong-Fo Was Saved”.
Marguerite Yourcenar is the bomb!

( J U L Y 14th )

Keep going into the bathroom with the intention of showering, just to get distracted by Bukowski. Why the fuck do I have his poetry lying around here? It’s not exactly toilet literature.

I was a terrible and jealous lover who mistreated and failed to understand them and it’s best that they are with others now for that will be better for them and that will be better for me - (Yours, p. 135)

// Basically me every Saturday morning

Just you fucking wait till Saturday night!

( J U L Y 20th )

Caught between week and week-end. An ordinary day followed by a wild night, unparalleled, exceptional.

1st ever threesome.
Shit.

( A U G U S T 11th )

11.30. Cake at Mom’s and Dad’s house.

I’m gonna visit Timm in a sec. I know it’s fucking Saturday, but the bastard can at least take me to In&Out on my birthday. For fuck’s sake.

( A U G U S T 31st )

Spent the entire day in Timm’s basement. It was sunny outside, but we stayed in like a couple of pasty basement dwellers. He painted and slept and painted and slept. I wrote for four hours straight.

He’s a good critic. Isn’t afraid to wound my fucking ego. Tells it like it is. Timm is actually some modern-day Zarathustra.

Who the fuck knew men like him existed? Not me, that’s for sure. He’s the only person in the whole fucking world I don’t feel like punching right now.

We’re going out tonight.

( S E P T E M B E R 4th )

1st day back at creative writing.

University smells like tryhards and snobs. Rich people’s kids doing unproductive shit.

At least I’m yelling at the top of my fucking lungs.

Today’s efforts:

the one you love is well within their right
to kick you in the nuts and call the police
when you hurt them

( S E P T E M B E R 17th )

I HATE MONDAYS

( O C T O B E R 2nd )

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air. (Lady Lazarus, p. 11)

Sylvia Plath is so fucking authentic, it makes me feel like a fake in comparison.

Hey, someday I will give bloody, painful birth to a poem and it will land in this world with the realness of “Ariel”.

Please, Herr God.

( O C T O B E R 10th )

Okay, so believe it or not (not sure I actually believe it myself), but I just fucked a complete stranger in the bathroom at IKEA.

We had eye sex throughout the whole carpet department and kept bumping into each other on the way down to checkout. Paid for our stuff, went to the bistro and fucked in the bathroom.

Ate good meatballs afterwards, too.

( O C T O B E R 25th )

(1919, My Century, p. 58 - Günter Grass)

I’d study history only to unearth all the women who have risen up against the patriarchy and fought against inequality everywhere.

Just for that.