The Super Queen

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This isn’t solace, merely an interpretation
in this urban wilderness kingdom.
The queen metamorphoses
into a brand new semi-formal ensemble
that trumps the teacup poodlewomen.
Her black, black cocktail dress, whirl-pooling
the ocean of soft flesh and fabrics
which hide their carcinogenic organs
stained with bubblegum flavored choices

Psh!
I’m simply a fucking coward
with an egotistical-alter, mightier than I,
who introduces herself only when secure enough
to identify again as the Super Queen.

But while the queen bites her nails
over bad boys and body composition,
I am preoccupied with possible cosmoses.
Dark eyes dead set on the dark-ass sky,
detonated so infinitely with night glitter,
until siphoned by Charybdis into more deadspace
which enunciates better than I ever could.

 

Original Poetry by Gabrielle Lang
Original Photography found on Flickr by Vanessa Vokey (who has some AMAZING photography)

How to be Good at Stuff

To be the best;
good ‘s whatever,
and extraordinary
has been done before.

Balance tightrope
over Niagara Falls,
no net. Ho hum,
snoozefest, bore.

You’re no good
unless perfect
but even then,
could have done more.

 

Original Poetry by Gabrielle Lang.

My “Better Me” Wishlist

Here’s all the stuff that I’m dying to purchase by the end of the summer! I have been drooling over all these products for far too long! For more information on any of these products that I’m drooling over, just copy the image URL or ask me about it!

Fitness Stuff:

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Me Stuff:

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How to Be Twenty One; Journal

So, I guess I’ve arrived at that age when half the girls I grew up with are are getting engaged and having children, and I’m sitting over in the corner; young, single, and…just chillin. Personally, I couldn’t imagine any of those things for myself for years and years to come. I am very much an independent single woman and I like it this way. I don’t have a single thought of getting too serious about anything, any time soon. But, that’s just me.

How old is 21 really? I didn’t really know any twenty year olds while I was growing up to figure out how to be this age. It seems like society wants me to get serious but it’s still not taking me seriously. Am I actually considered an adult now? Kind of but not completely. 

Age is a strange duck, 
Would anyone like to chime in on this like quarter-age life crisis? 

My Personal Cardio Workout Playlist

I’ve been crazy into fitness mode recently, so here, I came up with a killer playlist, laced with EDM and some throwbacks, that is bound to get you moving. 

“Alcohol” – LMFAO featuring The Cataracts
“Dirrty” – Christina Agiulera 
“Fall Into The Sky” – Zedd featuring Ellie Goulding 
“Freestyle” – Bassnectar featuring Angel Haze 
“Sweet Nothing” – Calvin Harris featuring Florence Welch
“Years” – Alesso featuring Matthew Koma
“Gossip Folks” – Missy Elliot 
“Toulouse” – Nicky Romero
“Boneless” – Steve Aoki 
“Signs” – Snoop Dogg featuring Justin Timerblake
“Rattle” – Bingo Players (2 Chainz “Sexy Lady” Remix) 
“Run It!” – Chris Brown 
“Boy Oh Boy” – Diplo and GTA
“Rage” – Hyper Crush
“Oops” – Tweet featuring Missy Elliot
“Total Recall” – Flosstradamus 
“Move” – Little Mix
“Work the Middle” – Lil’ Debbie
“Original Don” – Major Lazer 
“Snapback (Will Sparks Remix)” – Timmy Trumpet

Workout Tip: Go hard as you can whenever the bass drops. 

I bolded my favorite workout songs that make me go ABSOLUTELY CRAZY. 

 

Journaling; Writing What You Want to Write

What do I want to write about today?

Yes, I need to write a lot of things. I need to finish poems and stories and entries and I should do that today (but, I won’t). So, what am I dying to get off my chest? What do I want to write about?

What do you want to write about?

In many ways this is a loaded question to any blogger, let alone, writer. For me, I always want to journalistically vent any and all major events in my life. Mostly, I crave to talk about my romantic and sexual life without restraint in a completely open environment. Talking about your sex life (or, in my recent case, lack of a sex life) with your friends is sometimes difficult. Let’s be honest, there is only so much that we all really want to hear about our friends’ sex lives. On the converse, there’s also only so much that I feel comfortable telling others. That’s why I just love to journal all my intimate details instead.

We address each entry “Dear Journal,” as though we are catching up a friend on our life, who for some reason is really nonjudgmental and interested in the finer details of your entire life. Venting to someone is just therapeutic. A therapist just listens to you. A journal listens to you as well.

What do you guys think, 

Do you think you can journal within an online blog easily? Do you feel restrained by having such a vast audience? Do you journal differently by hand? Should personal journalling only be left to tangible notebooks?

Personally,

Personally, I do feel restrained and intimidated by the greater online sphere that I’m journaling to. Naturally, you can journal personally by removing names but is that enough to depersonalize your journalling enough for the internet? Is your personal life interesting enough for people to want to hear about it?

Let me give it a try,

I said I would talk about romantic/sexual intimiate details didn’t I? Well, I hate to disappoint you but my sexual romantic life is nonexistent. Yep, my romantic life is pretty boring. The most action I’ve seen all summer was being asked to “hang out” with a guy with a girlfriend which I declined by politely ignoring his text messages. Other than that, that’s about it. The single life is a real summer bummer. Hanging out in a town full of guys actually hasn’t been all that exciting. However, I do have high hopes for the hot bartender from across the street that’s like a young Gerard Butler. He gave me a free bloody mary once and he always says “hey” to me when he sees me around (I mean, I did walk straight through a spiderweb in the midst of one of those greetings but hey). So, maybe all hope isn’t lost yet. Plus, whatever, do I really care anyway? I’m right next to the river, I’ve got my C4 Watermelon Pre-Workout and my Size 2 fucking Nikes ready to rock at all times. The vibrator I ordered just arrived in the mail today. I really don’t need a man to have a bangin’ summer anyway. DEUCES.

What do we think? Is my personal journal entry acceptable for the internet? Is it entertaining enough for the internet?

PLEASE COMMENT!

WRITE WHAT YOU WANT TO WRITE ABOUT

Comment with your own personal journal blog entry! I WANT TO HEAR IT! Why not? I just told you what I wanted to write about! I told you about my goddamn vibrator and young Gerard Butler, TELL ME YOUR STORY.

Come on, it’s kind of fun.

Let it out.

JOURNAL!

 

Fixed

Fixed

ruined my dress (you have) rhinestones
detached

spirits (all) downdrafted
to ricochet time
but won’t bounceback
who (like you) promised anarchy
before rehab

piled up high, highs to
hide

after everything
has this inestimable nothing been
the only destination

 

Original Poetry by Gabrielle Lang

“Catching the Invisible”

Catching the Invisible
Fictional Short Short by Gabrielle Lang

At first, they just thought kids weren’t showing up to school, playing hookey. They kept marking us absent. Then you’d hear a voice screaming, “I’m here, I’m right here!” like a ghost was in the room. And it was like being a ghost in a room. No one could see you but you could see everything.

People treated me different after I caught the invisibility. I mean, I wasn’t the first to catch it. It’s been going around Crestwood High School like the flu usually does when the weather turns over into Fall and shit starts to die. Casey Carmichael was the first to catch it. He always had a lot of environmental allergies and got sick, like, at least once every season, I guess that made him more susceptible to it. No one was surprised Casey was out sick again, but then he actually wasn’t “out” sick at all. He was right there.

No one knows what started it really. The news says that Scientists out in California are trying to make a cure for it by testing blood samples, but I don’t see how they would know where to start. Invisible blood is hard to keep track of. The vials all look empty. And they can’t be sure that there’s anything in them, but they flick them, trying to hear the blank fluid flow and shake against the glass rims.

At first being invisible was kind of cool. I could cut class and wander the hallways when classes got boring. The teachers eventually caught on to that though and starting calling on the invisibles a lot more than anyone else just to make sure they were still in the room. The school tried issuing laminated badges for us to wear but it didn’t help any. Parents got pretty pissed about that, they kept calling the school to complain that that their kids were being singled out just because they’re sick. It was pretty funny for awhile though, all those floating nametags roaming the hallways. Then, the invisibles started switching badges for fun and it just confused the teachers even more, so that only lasted a week.

It was pretty cool to eavesdrop on a lot of good gossip too. At lunch, I would jump around from table to table and just listen in. Found out that Mariann Kinney and Jenna Ryan make out for fun sometimes and that  Matt Brown hooked up with a college-age girl last weekend. Of course, it got a bit awkward when they overheard your breathing over their shoulders.

I could show up butt naked class and no one would have any clue. At first I could pull ghosts pranks on people too, I could shake their curtains and turn on their televisions all of a sudden.  I got some of my neighbors good. But, once everyone knew about the disease, the fun was over.

Then being invisible just got annoying. People smack into you a lot. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there” they’d say, and then laugh like it was some kind of hilarious pun. I had to quit the soccer team because it wasn’t fair that no one could see me. Just a ball being kicked around itself.Someone would walk in on you taking a shit in the bathroom and sit right on your lap. Happened to me twice and once was my own mother. I guess that’s what I get for forgetting to lock shit but I’m getting adjusting to it. I tried asking Amber Nolan to homecoming but she said no because she wanted to be able to take pictures with her date. She also didn’t want to slow dance in front of everyone with just herself and her arms wrapped around an empty space. Plus, she couldn’t remember if I was cute before the invisible.

I started dousing myself in my dad’s musky cologne so that people could just smell when I’m around. “Oh, smells like Jason’s here” my friends started saying. I was beginning to think they’d forgotten me. And that’s the worst part of it, if they can’t see you, they just forget about you and move on while you’re standing right there, watching it all happen. No one could see you but you could see everything.
*

Original Fiction Short Story by Gabrielle Lang

I figured that I would make my post today a little different. I haven’t posted any fiction pieces of mine on here yet so here’s a short short by me, which I came up with by channeling Gabriel García Márquez’s spirit of Magical Realism.  I started to think of magical elements that could be brought to life. I thought of super powers. Why does everybody want to be invisible? Would it be the best or worst thing ever? If people can’t see you, sense your presence, do you really exist anymore? The more you think about it, the more bizarre it gets. Invisibility as a disease, treated like a disability instead of a super power? What would the human race depend on if everyone became pretty functional, yet invisible to one another? An epidemic of invisiblity. The more I think about it, the more I want to explore this idea and make this into a magical realism novel.

What are your guys thoughts on my piece? What do you think about invisibility as a disease? What do you think about this short short sample of magical realism? I’m open to any suggestions or comments.

Junk Mail Ballad (Found Poem)

It’s my pleasure to inform you,
we love serving you!
Limit one per order.

Circulate the love
over small-group lunches.
Less waste,
because we care.
Use one inhalation
twice a day.

Don’t miss your chance to
drip dry,
rewind.
Coupon must be presented.

You do not need to return
unless you are making a change.

 

Original Poetry by Gabrielle Lang

 

Here’s a Found poem that I did the other day. Found poems are simply words or phrases taken from something pre-existing (like post-it notes or flyers) and compiled into a whole new poem with meaning.

Sometimes being an unorganized person comes in handy. I simply fanned out all the junk mail, handouts, and old receipts from my floor and picked out a few snidbits to configure into a poem. I think the result was actually pretty humorous, with some definite non-conformist undertones.

Tell me what you think. Or how about you, do you think you might be interested in trying a Found poem sometime? It’s actually quite satisfying. I highly suggest it, especially if you have a case of writer’s block.

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I wish you’d stop walking through mirrors.

Your reflection was never
the problem.

The problem

 is the third degree burns
received upon reentry.

You want
ease that comes easy,
even a little foreboding,

far off
when normalcy felt right,
when the ecosystem
wasn’t afraid of you too.

I too have been receding some time now
and everyday I look down,
to see my toenails reflecting oracle,

painted on
just as worn passionate passion fruit
as yesterday.

So, stop creating images,
and just show me the now,
where your hip bones extend,
where your elbows bow down,
where the cavities in your chest
cave in rhythm with me.

Original Poetry written by Gabrielle Lang