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Notes App Prose Forever - Blog Posts
i know that i will be able to handle the fallout of following blindly what i want and what feels right to me even when that proves to be an incomplete reasoning
1. shimmy your bangs to hide the patch of skin on your cheek you dug your nails into last night
2. tell her, thank you but you don’t have skin
3. walk fast and hard so the clicking of your heels on the marble floor will drown her out
4. ask her to define ponzi scheme
5. tell her that one of the fish from their display tank jumped out and is not jerking around on the floor
6. ask if they get the caviar from the fish tank
i’m looking for love where i want salvation
i’m looking for salvation where there is none to be had
there is no need for a savior
i’m in a room alone writing
tonight this room is full and warm
Talk Fast And Hope It Dizzies Me Blind
And don’t look at me with pity — god don’t look at yourself with pity either. The corner of my desk reserved for letters never sent to you is now smothered by books and candles so they can’t look at me anymore. I make it a point to not think of you. I don’t picture your smile with fondness anymore, It’s bitter now. I don’t wear your bracelet anymore, I haven’t for a while, because I haven’t been yours for a while. I remember the first time I took it off and constantly checking my bare wrist for the gentle weight of the metal that I now refuse myself and you.
P.S. I liked that dumb movie that you told me was dumb. I thought some things that you liked were dumb too but I loved that you liked them and that made them not dumb anymore.
Recently I visited a neurologist, she stood the same height as I do except she stood in designer black loafers. For the entire appointment I tried to place her accent and landed somewhere eastern European. After probing me and testing my reflexes, she said before leaving the room, “Straighten your posture, speak to someone about your prolonged black mold exposure, and stretch often. Goodbye.” I almost wept that she was wrong and she needed to do more tests. I wanted to point to what hurt and have her inject it or snap it back into place but I didn’t know what to point to. So, I said “Thank you very much, goodbye.”
spent-my-entire-paycheck-on-psychological-theory-books syndrome (and matcha)
When I was younger, maybe nine, I fell off of a white, cloth rocking chair in my living room. My eye was the first thing to make contact with the hardwood floor. I had my first ever black eye, my parents took a picture to document that it wasn't their fault; that I did this to myself. My father told me I wore the bruise so sadly like a performance for the picture.
No matter how many words I write or rewrite in an attempt to convey what is incommunicable, it makes hardly any difference
I reread, annotate, beg and cry but I cannot understand this anymore than you do, assuming that you understand this at all
I find myself in writing from hundreds of years ago or graffiti on some wall I happen to walk past. But when it is just me and my words, I can't fabricate this into something that is comprehensible
The very nature of it is nonsensical, contradictory and so maybe I am bastardizing one of the sole pieces of myself in a plea to understand it and make it palatable
Guts - Nina Catherine
Guts - Nina Catherine
Guts - Nina Catherine
Guts - Nina Catherine
Mama, I see crows when I shut my eyes
Cold is the worst feeling. I decided that when I was eight years old. Just looking at the wooden floor, it feels as though I could sink right through it and fall into the earth. But when I lay my tired body down onto it, it hardens and becomes what I know it rationally to be, another impermeable wall. I look up from the floor and through the door frame ahead of me. It’s dark in that room, my mother is asleep and she’s been asleep. About an hour prior, I frantically shook her up. With tears in my eyes I pleaded to her, “I don’t want to die Mama. I’m scared and I see crows when I close my eyes. They fly over my head and shriek and I don’t want to die.” She pulled the old cream-colored covers over her head and sunk further into the bed. I was never brave enough to ask if I could sleep in bed with her, I was never brave enough to sleep at her feet or next to her bed on the floor. I lowered myself onto the wooden floor just outside of her room. For hours I traced the part of the door’s frame that I could reach from the floor. I breathed in the dust that decorated the hall. I pressed my ribs into the floor to feel the wood beat my pulse back to me. I never got back up to retrieve a blanket or pillow from my room for fear that my mother’s door might’ve been closed when I came back. She always made such awful sounds as she slept but they were like a lullaby on those nights. I remember how cold it was more than anything and I go back there every time I shiver or my skin becomes goose bumped. In the winter I go crazy but I say that about summer too. I don’t like these extremes, the suffocating heat or the cold dry winds.
My father called early this morning. He told me someone had died, I didn’t know what else to say so I quoted Genesis 3:19, “For you are from dust and to dust you shall return.” I’m not sure if that was the right thing to say, he tells me it’s sad but it’s time. Before he hangs up he tells me that he loves me. He leans close to me, close enough to see my pupils. They reflect his image back to him and that is when he loves me.
Hi! I’m Nina and I write
Guts - Nina Catherine (Amazon ebook & paperback)
July Was Suicide
My father is a pragmatic man and i’d like to think that I am similar to him in that way. One day last summer we went on a drive together, it was mid july and suffocatingly hot. I parked under a tree, rolled my window down and turned to look out of it. I asked him if he thinks it was immoral for him to father me. He isn’t confused in the slightest, he knows exactly what I mean. He is my father after all. He says, “there’s so much war and pain nina and you didn’t ask for this.”
You want magic and I can’t say with my chest that I think you’re wrong in wanting that. But I can say that you’re fatally stupid, which might be the best thing to be. Maybe it isn’t even magic you want but rule and order. You want hardship to bear fruit. For things that go up to come back down.