Possible art on the way to school.
The bench that I sat on disappeared.
This was in the loop tunnel.
Also: I slept with the guy from the strokes!
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About Me
- Anastasia
- WE ARE Failed poets, artists, philosophers, geniuses, cigar aficionados- in other words we are the Chicago Heights Literary Mafia. a combination of underground organised crime and literature. an amalgam of spectators turned plotters. It's not about sexism, racism, rankism, ageism* or any other "ism" (good or bad). it's not about what makes us different or what makes us the same. it's how we don't care. it isn't about religion, music, t-shirts, art, street cred, or even literature sometimes! it's about you and me and something stronger than guns to bring us together. we late night wanderers and tea drinkers know of one thing stronger than the derringer: the pen. WHY? Things get neglected. interocean avenue, fording the river on the oregon trail, rent-a-poets, awkward silences and nervous laughter, the acceptability of dogearing pages, tri cornered hats(really haberdashery in general), poetry as the art of literature, the scarcity of benches--never should it be limited to literature.
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