Bec's Blog

Inept

rebeccahynek — Wed, 05 Jan 2011 08:31:52 +0000

our clavicles clash against our skin, begging for escape as though skeletons were actually keys unlocking exits and routing toward the glory in our torrential sunshine momentstowards constellations that never add up on the canvas of our flesh I draw you in with a string, touching the panacea of freckles together, a map of stars on a pale skylinereaching the sharp corners of your fragile face my doubts dilute the blood of love, stopping the pulse of the ache in your hands the streets tip on your smile, the vascillating earth beneath us makes us drunkards reaching and rocking the foundations; into unbreaking, stultifying concrete high on mismatched innards. we exhale the tightness in our throats, as though drowning in the atmosphere. we share nothing but time. You looked at me as though I were normal. I thought you knew me. yet we are anything but in tandem, our bodies hang midair, caught in each breath I am amplified in your timidity, an ever-expanding exuberance to the contrast of your eyes, harsh and unrelenting. a punishment of sorts, where clocks scrape the edges of minutes, rocking us to sleep. we colide in a vacuum, refusing to acknowledge defeat you are a rogue equation, a fragrance amongst the doldrums of mathematics, unwilling to accept a theory.Unwilling to accept a theory or to sort through the hypothesis of stangers. You insist on a right angled madness and bet on a left-sided coin

You cannot become me!

rebeccahynek — Wed, 05 Jan 2011 08:30:04 +0000

Dear Destructive,
You are a concrete winged gnat, flying into my deficiencies at 3000miles per second.
I build Styrofoam protection, sheltering me from nothing, not awkwardness, or pizza, or myself.
I bend back the stems of people I’ve talked to and examine the undersides of our conversations in a vacuum. I stick myself to parts of people’s feet, sure that my ungainly steps are all they will remember.
You make me into a sea-bottom trawler, wringing in my failures. I am fetid brown, diseased yellow and insignificant.
I am all these things; and less.
When I reach the stars, you make them into slippers and I hate you.
I hate you!.

and I cannot let you become me.
YOU CANNOT BECOME ME!

The Caf

rebeccahynek — Sat, 22 May 2010 03:47:41 +0000

This is the result of an excercise at uni where we had to observe a part of campus and report back in a ‘traditionally non-academic style’:

The Caf

The observation of the surrounds of a university cafe.

-But not a cafeteria, make clear the abundance of suits, of long ques and waiting.

students scattered to the sharp edges of my visage… struggling, chipped cognitions (conditions?)
awaiting a return to the drugdery of sitting, waiting, staring.

Learning?
Stressing.

Definitely stressing.

Interaction. Bubbly interaction. Communcation. Weekend Vacation. Procrastination. Work.

Study?
It bubbles and froths over.

The time continues, and flows and fragments. Builds bridges that sanity can’t cross.

Chairs scraping, bodies moving, reading, thinking…..
                                     …Lost?
       Connect and disconnect.
       Alone and together.

Names… a series of letters, a series of numbers unknown to me.
UNKNOWN.

There are too many eddges, sharp corners which splinter, sending fractures creeping spider-like between should be…
and IS.

  Learn and eat.
    Sit and Struggle.
       Sress out….
        STRESS OUT.

There’s Room

rebeccahynek — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 15:02:18 +0000

You.
You and I in a room and its so full, yet so empty.
We are nothing and everything, and we are surrounded with guilt ridden corpses and silence that wont stop.

I…
Am sorry I didn’t know how refracted my inner workings were, but they’ve sent me on a loop to 2005 and i can’t tell the time.

I thought I had been here, and that I’d seen everything I never needed to see, that it was the end, that it would end in blue.

But….
I realised that I was nieve as bamby, as self righteous as a priest and as ambiguos as the helplines that tell you ‘its worth it’ in the end.

but the end is gutter-trapped styrofoam and is as inexplicable as this poem, writ trapped, in a lonely room full of people on the beach.

A total contradiction.

Unbalanced

rebeccahynek — Sat, 12 Sep 2009 11:25:45 +0000

(balance)

I would like
to say
I’m balanced,
but it doesnt fit.
I’m flat
and two
dimensional
where it counts.

Otherwise
im stratospheres of
colour and shape.
I’m yellow
and blue
at the same time,
but I still
can’t manage
to mix a green.

(unbalanced)

My ability
to end up
with five dollars
and fifteen cents
in the bank
is littered
in a cacophany
of failure.

It would
probably help
though,
If I started
with more
then five dollars
and twenty.

(balance)

I get told that
im one-sided
and biased,
that
*explosion-of-burning-seared-skin*
can have a
sunset of colours,
a multitude
of reasoning.

that its
the middle
of U shaped politics,
If you arent for the
*kill-explosion-racism-massacre*
then u must
be biased
and unbalanced.

If you’re against
*razor wire torture*
you must be a
”radical extremist”.

(unbalanced)

I may be
unbalanced,
I may be inclined
to reject gossamer skies
of blood.

I may be
fire engine red,
but red is
a primary colour,
and i am primary
and elemental.

I may be
rummaging around
in the bottom
of Pandora’s box,
but the box
has never
folded through
overuse,
and the people
have historically
fought back.

I only wish to join them.

Be-Mused

rebeccahynek — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 05:48:23 +0000

Dear Muse.

See, I know what you think. You think sunrises and sunsets are indifferent and synonymous. You can’t tell the difference between light and dark and therefore, therefore you are always grey.

I wish just once that you could notice life outside of yourself and the past. I wish you could put my want for change into words without dredging up my failures. I wish you could see the sun and remember all the recent memories where days are rainbows.

But Alas everything is static in your eyes. Whitewashed, faded and grey. When you’re not working, things are simply being experienced, and there seems a lack of need to work with you at all, but inexplicably at those times, I miss you.

I was therefore wondering, dear muse… If a compromise is possible; If we could become monochrome?

You know I dream of polychromatic sunsets of inspiration and three dimensional prose, but I am trying to tame my goals so as to make them as naieve and unrealisable as a reformist, or as irrelevant.

Yours in aspiration of even the slightest glimpse of colour…

Self.

Hello world!

rebeccahynek — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 05:22:50 +0000

Heya:) This is just a blog to attempt to start getting some of my writings out into the “real world” and out of journals that never see the light of day.

I see the personal as political, and the political as personal. I see both in the context of being a pinko leftie.

Im just experimenting and growing as a writer in the hopes that one day I can publish something:)

all constructive criticism is more then welcome!

~Bec