I’m not exactly sure why I’m rebloggin this, but it seems profound to me.
(Source: howtotalktogirlsatparties)
my twatter name is zachzachariah or something along those lines and my actual name is zachariah middleton I think on it. so follow me and I might follow you, although, I’m trying to follow 15 or less interesting people as opposed to many boring people.
For some reason I have ascended self-deprecation today and feel strangely confident in my writing and thinking abilities. I am once again the ruler of my own head. Getting back on bikes, reading/judging other artists, feeling confident in my ability to dispel rumors of poetry’s obsolescence.
I’ve been a fuckin pig this week. I think it’s about time I learn to not conflate alcohol with “having a good time.” Those things can exist without each other and waking up without a hangover is a worthwhile pursuit.
So this is from Hanoi, Vietnam. This is the first time I’ve been able to log into Tumblr since I left. When I get home I’ll try to start updating all the stuff I posted during the semester that I didn’t have time to edit. Anyway, I thought I’d give you a little poem that I wrote here as a tease.
Abroad
For Lana Del Rey, Johnny Cash, and James Wright.
Hanoi is heaven with the right pair of shades.
Ones that block out 100% of every type of light.
Don’t worry about seeing things.
We are all only tourists,
the stakes are low.
Find a club.
The bottom floor is for dancing,
the top floor is for hookah and booze on ice.
Take your shoes off at the stairs,
take a seat at the low table.
You have a Canadian girl in one arm
an Australian in the other.
They aren’t very attractive, but
if you’ve learned one thing in life,
it’s that you don’t care.
Where did this cigarette come from?
Where did it go?
The Canadian is close-talking so you lean in for a kiss.
The Australian loses interest and leaves.
The Canadian wasn’t quite as terrible, anyway.
You see the Americans you came with leaving
You nod good bye.
One more Jim Beam, please.
You take the Canadian by the hand.
You take a walk around the block;
a cloud burst wets your hair,
makes your skin shine.
You walk back to your hotel.
In the lobby the bellhop smiles.
You step into the elevator and press the red 5.
Her arms are over your shoulders.
You hang your head.
I’m heading to South Korea, Vietnam, and Hong Kong on Sunday. Can’t wait. I’ve been wanting to do these countries since I was in high school. I’m not going to be able to post while I’m gone, but I’m hoping to get some good writing done while I’m there and in my personal tradition, I will be taking 3 disposable cameras so hopefully I can take some pics as well. I’m going to eat so damn well, you guys… That’s really the only thing I can think about at this point.
When I am feeling romantic/ depressed (two feelings which are inextricably connected for me) this is the song I listen to. My Cruise is a little low tonight, but this song makes me forget that a little bit.
I’m going to jam my foot up the ass of the next person I hear confuse the words “farming” and “gardening.” Just because you have a half an acre on the edge of town with three chickens does not make you a fucking farmer. I’ll be working in the cherry orchards near The Dalles this summer. If you want to see what a farm is, come on by. I’ll take you on a 14 hour shift with dust and tractors and INS agents. Also, having a hobby farm doesn’t make you a “just” person.
