I wanted to see where beauty comes from
without you in the world, hauling my heart
across sixty acres of northeast meadow,
my pockets filling with flowers.
Then I remembered,
it’s you I miss in the brightness
and body of every living name:
rattlebox, yarrow, wild vetch.
You are the green wonder of June,
root and quasar, the thirst for salt.
When I finally understand that people fail
at love, what is left but cinquefoil, thistle,
the paper wings of the dragonfly
aeroplaning the soul with a sudden blue hilarity?
If I get the story right, desire is continuous,
equatorial. There is still so much
I want to know: what you believe
can never be removed from us,
what you dreamed on Walnut Street
in the unanswerable dark of your childhood,
learning pleasure on your own.
Tell me our story: are we impetuous,
are we kind to each other, do we surrender
to what the mind cannot think past?
Where is the evidence I will learn
to be good at loving?
The black dog orbits the horseshoe pond
for treefrogs in their plangent emergencies.
There are violet hills,
there is the covenant of duskbirds.
The moon comes over the mountain
like a big peach, and I want to tell you
what I couldn’t say the night we rushed
North, how I love the seriousness of your fingers
and the way you go into yourself,
calling my half-name like a secret.
I stand between taproot and treespire.
Here is the compass rose
to help me live through this.
Here are twelve ways of knowing
what blooms even in the blindness
of such longing. Yellow oxeye,
viper’s bugloss with its set of pink arms
pleading do not forget me.
We hunger for eloquence.
We measure the isopleths.
I am visiting my life with reckless plenitude.
The air is fragrant with tiny strawberries.
Fireflies turn on their electric wills:
an effulgence. Let me come back
whole, let me remember how to touch you
before it is too late.
— Stacie Cassarino, Summer Solstice
If you would like a digital copy of my now out of print collection, Supernova Factory, send me your email. The copy doesn’t have the beautiful cover designed by clarev (above) but everything else is there & ready to be read by you & your wonderful eyes.
UPDATE: after the tiny but significant flood of folks asking for a copy & a short text exchange between myself and aleatoricism, we have decided to send this little star book baby to a second printing! SO PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT A COPY BECAUSE WE ARE TRYING TO GET AN ESTIMATE ON HOW MANY WE NEED TO MAKE. UM I LOVE Y’ALL WITH MY WHOLE STUPID SMILING FACE
made an impulsive decision this afternoon to help Dalton bring this magical little book to life again! like he mentioned above, let him know if you’d like a copy so we can figure out what a print run might look like.
heart eyes about Dalton’s work forever, and about Dalton as a person. this book is one of my absolute favorite things and you all deserve a chance to be able to hold it in your hands
sanctified, rick ross & kanye & big sean
~ all i wanted was a hundred million dollars and a bad bitch ~
someone please come pat my head and tell me that even though I am moving friday and dangerously close to stress barfing every five seconds, it’ll be just fine
It has been a long time since I last wrote, but I’m trying. Once again, I am vibrating with things I’d like to say, words I want to give because that is the most I have sometimes—a presentation of my emotions cemented as fact. It is a testament to being here, I think, a firm resolution in a love that often feels boundless.
This winter was kind to me, despite its bitter appearance. My edges grew softer. I did not burrow myself quite as deep. The wolves stayed away, and continue to keep their distance. There is a light somewhere. Spring’s warmth meanders in and fists unfurl.
We buzz together in this home I have built for you. Beneath the floorboards, we are humming something sweeter than before. I’ve been trying to map it out again: the chronology of circular drives and train ticket stubs and morning routines, but all I keep coming up with is patience. We have taught each other patience, and here is the reward. How close we have been so many times to curling away from each other, only to laugh ourselves further into love.
Perhaps, unsurprisingly, I spend most of my time these days being grateful.
someone be my email penpal and tell me about people you smooch and send me some sad songs to cry to and let me ramble about Stuff
Hiiiiiiii we are very excited to present the first OTC project of 2014. $7 gets you five prints by five Serious Babes: Jenna Fletcher, Nora Berggren-Jensen, Stephanie Mill, Clara Zornado, and Holly Kerchner. Printed 4x6” on Kodak ENDURA professional photo paper and packaged with all of our love in a lil brown envelope from Stars Hollow, Chicago, IL. Get it here!
Very happy to be involved in the first ever OTC Serious Babes print pack
watch out, the Babe Parade 2k14 is comin’ for ya
(ps: buy this!!!! money goes toward the artists + the OTC fund to send snax to the artists + helping us make more cool stuff)
For our last project of 2013 we helped out our music-bloggin’ pals from OTIOBR and Heart & Soul with their year-end collaboration. Inside this zine you’ll find the top 25 songs and albums of 2013 according to each dude, plus an interview with rapper/musician Mona Lisa, and a 2003 throwback presented by your very own e-clare and ramona. Find it on issuu here fo free and learn some new jams and songies.
THE OTIOBR // H&S YEAR-END LIST HAS ARRIVED. THANKS V MUCH TO THE OTC CREW. THEY ARE BEAUTIFUL HUMAN BEINGS AND/OR APPRECIATORS OF DOGS.
2003: WHAT A YEAR
I designed this entire thing except for shape input and critiques by otc/catie/adrian (thx all) so like, check it. also I am one half of e-clare and ramona, so like, that 2003 throwback features me. also otc is back with a goddamn vengeance, so like, dogs for sure
DOGS FOR SURE
(plus hey hi, my alter-ego’s name is ramona and I’m the second half of Genius behind the “man I feel like a woman” feature)
Two years later, and I’m still so glad you’re the one I get to smooch.
in which the worst part about anonymous messages is not knowing if they are about you or just for you, some kind of comfortable space to tuck things