graduation!
standing near the tax prep office
blowing bowing floating
plastic sky lanterns
with no lights
and red writing
filled with crumpled recipet papers
thrash as trash stuck in the tree
behind a black woman
who stands, silky teal
costume. Spikey head
dressed not in the
way Frederic Bartholdi
imagined. but rather
beat down.
give me your
(taxes) poor.
huddled masses
cheap. yearning.
franchises (free)
she dances for 10 dollars an hour.
Happy.
I could not be more excited for summer.
Looks like I’m going to Rwanda.
Can’t wait to start our house’s garden.
Can’t wait to spend even more time and adventures with some of the most amazing people I know.
Oh and did I mention I’m gonna be fucking graduated in like 70 or so days.
i’m still kinda scared shitless about what i’m gonna do afterward, and hopefully none of it requires an actual job.
all i can say is i’m excited, and happy.
So I’m going to Rwanda this summer. I just need 1700 for a plane ticket, all other expenses have been covered by scholarship $$. It would be my last adventure as an undergrad. It would be the most amazing experience. so here i am, trying to gather up enough to go…
Save wine bottles, make your own tables.
Simply insert bottles in to openings in pieces of wood. In addition to use as table tops, the pieces of wood (in this case, they’re scrap wood sealed with a wax finish) can function as serving trays.
Brazilian designer Tati Guimarães designed this collection. We featured her metal frame that holds corks — for use as trivets, or to hang on a wall — on Unconsumption here (way back in June 2009!). Check out her site, Ciclus, for additional information.
See also: Earlier Unconsumption post on shelving made from wine bottles and pieces of wood.
For other items in Unconsumption’s wine o’clock series — an occasional series of posts highlighting examples of wine-related repurposing — browse here.
a week later
I’m getting too high in a house that isn’t mine.
sitting on the roof smoking. getting too high.
throwing up
visions of war-haunt me.
heart shriveled pruning up, drying out.
No one cares in their white sneakers.
All distractions all the time.
I want a place where men do not scream about Ol’Miss but
about their government.
young kids against walls getting felt up by cops.
drunk women crying. is anyone happy?
pension plans and male testosterone
chewing at flesh, drop the f(eminist)-bomb
and you get two reactions: sexual or distaste.
can some not afford thought?
75 cents. why
bikes and booze and breasts and dicks
and 75 cents? i’m finding it hard
to eat as much. there’s freedom in
escaping to patios to write this all down.
