2.23.2010
2/23/2010 at 2:40 AM
return from the deep
or maybe to the deep, returning from the dark
I don't really know.
I just know that I am writing again, in New York City
the innards of Brooklyn, Bed-Stuy/Bushwick, in the Hood
where there is, surprisingly, a thriving Americana scene
just fifteen minutes by foot from my house
-- not far, in New York City time, when you think nothing of traveling 45 minutes one way to get groceries
and an hour and a half one way every day starts to seem like reasonable travel time to see a friend.
I'm playing gigs and reading aloud in front of strangers
eating not a lot of food, mostly vegan pad thai from bodegas and cake from the cafe/curio shop that has open-mic folk night every Tuesday
drinking a fair amount of beer and smoking my fair share of cigarettes 'n grass
meeting new people, trying to stay alive
going to Coney Island sometimes because I like the trip and the sound of the water. it's beautiful.
so blue blue water baby came out of a letter I wrote to a man who's played at Sasquatch and Bonnaroo
a man who's written to me three utterly unexpected times because he likes the way I write
and who shares with me a number of strange and esoteric experiences/life events/thought patterns/figures of speech/personal attributes
including, apparently, a familiarity with the melancholy and an aquatic fixation.
then it became a conversation I had with a Yugoslavian punk-rock war refugee girl
who also shares with me a stunning number of personal details, like we were living the same life in different ways
and there have been a stunning number of staggering coincidences in my life of late, which never fail to startle humble and awestrike me.
but I turned 23 the other day, alone, all by myself, and am starting to think I might even see 30 if I keep this up.
hey, Conor Oberst did, a few days before my own birthday, and he's pretty much been the template for my own human potential,
who I look to for the realm of possibility.
I'm working on something. it's going to be big. not Cassadaga big, but pretty big. and it's gonna be good.
4.6.2009
4/6/2009 at 12:58 PM
it is true that there is no redemption,
and no moment other than the one that is happening right now
and freedom is something we are born into, like breathing
not something we can simply forget,
my love is never going to save anyone and no one's love is ever going to save me,
redemption doesn't come from good works, or lovers, or Jesus, or Buddha, it comes from ourselves
and we blind ourselves to it as a distraction from our own power,
3.11.2009
3/11/2009 at 11:29 PM
I have a rat in my room. I don't know why. I don't have anything a ratty rat would like to eat. but it came in on its own and it lives beneath my fridge. earlier it came up onto my bed and began to preen my hair. that was kind of creepy, really. I will have to friendly trap it and take it outside so it does not bring MORE ratty rats to live in my room.
but for now, I call it ratty rat rat and say goodbye to it every time I leave my room. I kind of like its company, in a way.
full moon night (which contrary to my initial assessment was LAST night) is my good luck night.
3.9.2009
3/9/2009 at 9:41 PM
it is a full moon out
I've got nothing much to do
I wish we could stop being children
and just own up.
2.28.2009
3/1/2009 at 3:04 AM
more often than not, when it comes to you
you want what-ever's not in front of you.
deep down I know this includes me too.
I want to do better -- I want to try harder
I want to believe, down to the letter.
- karin bergquist, "long lost brother"
2.24.2009
2/24/2009 at 2:10 AM
I think the love story pt II is kind of boring, a lot of character development of her character and maybe too much jargon?
also the character of Dorian was hard to write because he is VERY, VERY important to the plot ... but is a eight-year-old horse nerd who has autism. how does one write a character like that without making him insufferable at best and a Mary Sue at worst?
let me know if I should cut him out. in fact, let me know if I should cut the WHOLE PART out -- or at the very least pare it down and rewrite.
2.23.2009 pt II
2/23/2009 at 8:35 PM
my name is Kristyn Joy Wagner. I was born February 19, 1987, which makes me, right now, 22 years old. I like to write fiction and listen to music. I like to wear nice clothing and I like sweet white wine. food is also good, and snow, and sunsets.
let me proceed from there.
2.23.2009
2/23/2009 at 3:58 AM
the love story decided to take up another Gallery, and I don't blame it.
I think you are dead. I think maybe I'm not as upset as I could be, for evidently being a stupid fangirl.
happy birthday though.
2.15.2009
2/16/2009 at 1:15 AM
decided not to finish the love story yesterday
received new direction
have kind of a headache and am a little tired
2.13.2009
2/13/2009 at 5:49 AM
trying to finish the love story by tomorrow
ouch ouch ouch
and not just because I have chemical burns on my hands
I'm at a boring bit of character exposition, echh
on to the good stuff after this girl naps
2.09.2009
2/9/2009 at 4:25 AM
girl came here to write tonight
girl can't write tonight
girl can barely stay awake tonight
girl be back to write tomorrow.
girl loves her blankets, girl loves her bed.
1.31.2009
2/1/2009 at 1:52 AM
stalled out
taking a break
be back soon to write.
I'm beginning to think I'm already not here.
1.30.2009
1/30/2009 at 10:09 PM
I am halfway through the love story.
it is fucken cold here and icy
but so very very beautiful.
ps:
1/29/2009 at 5:57 AM
I ran out of steam working on zelda. I was up too late last night. I promise to get back on it tomorrow or the next day at latest, once I have more of it mapped in my hand-written book.
for some reason I can type the love story straight into the windows and it works out better, but zelda is taking more work -- perhaps because it is actually a single narrative I am breaking into manageable shorts.
1.29.2009
1/29/2009 at 2:26 AM
are you happy?
it seems strange that it wasn't apparent to me, that it took some searching, but I am happy -- and I hope that you're happy too.
I read everything you write on here. I listen to whatever you read aloud to me. I know you think you can't write the truth but I don't even know what the truth is, and is that even a problem? you say "I can't write the truth" to someone who writes only fiction, maybe that is where we differ.
I'm happy. I have a bag of tangerines and a frozen pizza. I spent all day writing today and I've consumed two whole bottles of wine since I think Saturday. I'm very happy and I don't even really have a reason why.
I hope you are happy too. it's the one thing I can hope for you and I do, oh how I do.
1.28.2009
1/28/2009 at 5:48 AM
I hate to upstage the love story, but I am burning to try this new concept out -- and by that I mean "zelda. the short novel". bear with me, I cannot reveal any details but there is a reason it does not sound like my typical writing.
let me know if it is a failure and I should wait on it to concentrate on the initial story.
1.23.2009
1/23/2009 at 10:17 PM
The week I get featured on HV, is the week my computer is obnoxious. So be it.
The week I need company, he is gone and I don't completely trust him to come back. So be it.
So be it. Read it.
1.5.2009
1/6/2009 at 3:32 AM
fuck our fears - fuck my fears, fuck your fears.
fuck your intimacy issues and fuck mine too.
you want a trip and I want a trip --
why don't we go on a fucking trip?
1.1.2009
1/1/2009 at 2:34 AM
Resolutions:
- go more places
- do more things
So there you go. I can hardly break these.
I feel pretty much ridiculously giddy and excellently free. Ain't it fucking fabulous, a clean slate? As long as you remember, even just vaguely, what had been written there.
12.31.2008 -- pt. 2
12/31/2008 at 10:33 PM
Ah so this is it
the end of 2008.
A year ago I was suicidally depressed, now I actually kind of *like* myself. Not to say that I'm not still crazy or that I don't sometimes self destruct. But I see beauty in there now, where I used to see nothing. I'm trying to surround myself with beautiful things and beautiful feelings when I used to just try to make myself comfortable until I died. And I see something beautiful in myself, even if it doesn't photograph well.
maybe next year I will have forgiven myself enough to know people and actually be at a New Years Eve party.
12.31.2008
12/31/2008 at 3:23 AM
I keep thinking up reasons why you shouldn't want me -- I am not skinny enough, not nice enough, not tattooed enough, not well-traveled enough, not addicted to cocaine enough, not hipster enough --
but the truth is that you do, and I can't talk you out of it
and honestly I don't want to.
So why, again, don't we take that trip up the coast? I want to go.
12.30.2008
12/30/2008 at 1:53 AM
Sometimes I think, if I push myself a little bit then I will be a better person
sometimes I think, if I let some bitches punch my face in then I will be forgiven
sometimes I think, if I don't let myself have it too easy then I will deserve you
but I guess the simple fact that you are still here should be proof that I don't need to pass any more tests.
12.28.2008
12/29/2008 at 5:23 AM
Being terrified is no fun for anyone and honestly paranoia makes me feel unattractive. So I've switched to joy.
Actually I am on a Hunger Quest. Today I ate three squares of chocolate, two cherry tomatoes, and two cups of vegetable juice -- then consumed three espressos, a very old coffee, a Mason jar of sangria, and a bowl of marijuana. I am hoping that similar consumption tomorrow will lead me to a hallucination of perfect beauty, a state of bliss, a shrunken but not painful stomach, and a weight loss of two to three pounds.
I can only do Hunger Quests once a month or so now, otherwise my body shuts down. I regret that, the emotions I feel on Hunger Quests is so pure, the effect (including giddiness and increased sense of control leading to boosted ego) must be about the sum of cocaine.
12.25.2008
12/26/2008 at 3:32 AM
Holidays hurt me a bit, drive me to a kind of despondence I can't even explain, that exists only until the actual holiday is over. Then it's all giddy relief, but up until that point I can be quite a downer.
I had thought, I still kind of think that to be an artists artist girl one has to be so thin it's sad, like Alex Tanner/heroin thin, and one has to have perky tiny breasts and stick skinny thighs and a good awful haircut. One has to have effortlessly awesome shitty style, wandering about in satin slips gets bonus points. One must think snorting coke is cool, but not enthusiastically so, because it's no big deal -- and one must think nudity and objectification are good for women and be willing to sleep not only with one's kind-of-sort-of, nonchalant partner but also with all of his friends. Casual lesbianism is encouraged but the dick -- oh, the dick. Liking pornography is applauded and veganism kind of derided, but not like anyone cares much unless it makes one seem "uptight."
It ain't going to happen with me, not never. I have a silk satin slip and the rest could happen too, but it's gonna take time and a lot of it's gonna be a drug-numbed wide eyed act. So I thought I couldn't do it, couldn't do art because no one would take me seriously and I would get boring and replaceable to everyone fast.
As my best female friend told me, I Need To Stop Being So Stupid. So maybe I will. Merry christmas.
12.24.2008
12/24/2008 at 2:27 PM
What breeds nervousness in me?
Shame and fear.
What solves shame and fear in me?
Alcohol.
Just kidding.
Conversation. Honesty. Time. Rereading "Cunt." I'm doing all of these things. It's going to be fine, if it's not already too late. And if it is already too late, well, I'm spending Christmas at Belvederes anyway. ;)
12.21.2008 -- the winter king
12/21/2008 at 10:42 PM
The Winter King was born today and in the northern hemisphere days will grow longer. I had a conversation with a man at a bus stop today while I was still drunk from last night and you could have made an indie movie out of it.
A transcript of a letter I wrote today:
I can be crazy -- we can all be crazy. It's like a tin can, sometimes the lid pops off and crazy shit comes jumping and spilling out.
It seems like everyone can do that, it's just a matter of what each person chooses to forgive in other people.
Some people forgive things I kind of think they shouldn't (for example, my mom's brother mentally and physically abused both her and me for a long time yet she only stopped forgiving him very recently; and one of her friend's husband molested their daughters but the woman forgave him and stayed with him, so did the daughters)
some people are very forgiving in ways that are astonishing (I got blackout drunk and flipped on my very dear friend Evan just last night, and he simply took my arms and held me until I folded, it was actually kind of amazing -- I would have popped me one in the nose and not talked to me for a while -- and I felt very grateful for it)
and some people do not forgive at all, and honestly in a lot of cases I can understand why.
I think I am dedicated to friends because I don't have a whole lot of them, so I take the ones I do have very seriously. I don't think of it as a particularly noble trait, it's pretty human or at least it should be. I keep perspective by thinking that we are all just afraid, every single human being is utterly terrified at all times and we all cope with it differently. That's all there is to it, really.
You may have noticed, I am also very dedicated to Mr. Conor Oberst. He has become like a close personal friend to me, in a way other musicians have never. I love that he ditched Saddle Creek -- his own record label, that he started -- and quit calling his band Bright Eyes, so that he could play at bars with ten-dollar-or-less cover charges again. He's a kind of hero, a Don Quixote of sorts.
tanya makes fun of me for it -- so does Shyloh, so does Matt, so does Evan. Most people do, actually. But I have seen their secrets. The coveted records and limited-edition EPs hidden between Arcade Fire and Girl Talk like really embarrassing childhood photos you still love because they're sweet and revealing and innocent, the Bright Eyes tee shirts tucked and rumpled away in their dressers like the granny panties that are so comfortable but no one wants anyone else to see.
We wear it, this generation, so self-consciously aware and ironically, our need for meaning and some kind of human connection, we pretend to be all avant garde about it like we don't care, but we are all just terrified all the god damned time and that is all there is to it. :)
12.18.2008 - the quiet storm
12/19/2008 at 1:12 AM
He kept staring over my shoulder in the coffee shop today, as if he were thinking, and at a girl sitting a few tables behind him as if she were the ghost of himself. I kept the talk light, except when I slipped up a few times, then went home and ate his leftover artichoke dip a few hours later and fell into a comalike sleep. When I awoke it was to the deep, newfound but firmly planted conviction that I am very boring.
I am an artist, I constantly seek innovation, novelty, something to capture my attention and fill up the void. My desires reflect that, my taste in clothing especially, I am amassing a small trove of things to keep myself feeling constantly new, never trite.
But I am afraid to talk about either things that are esoteric or things that are deeply real, I am afraid to dissent and afraid to rock the boat, so my conversations remain in the realm of the small mundane eccentricities, my conversations peppered with anecdotes about the buttons I sewed onto this shirt today to make a thermal, about the consistency and taste of vegan onion gravy, about the tendency for ears to grow into porous plugs and the expression on my friend's turtle's face as it makes a determined attempted escape crawl toward the front door where it thinks the river is just beyond.
These are not the musings of an artist. These are the ramblings of a simpleton, of -- a woman.
I tried to get a good look at the girl, to see who she was, but I didn't recognize her and you didn't say hello.
12.17.2009 - audrey flipped a shit.
12/17/2008 at 3:44 AM
You never really know these things --
but I found out the sweet girl I met in New York, hit and beat her sweet boy until he was afraid for himself.
We are all crazy but I never would have known. I hope I never get to that level of madness, that kind of corruption of soul. I know I am capable of lashing out and I've delivered a couple of drunken slaps, I think I will think of this as a kind of check on my mind.
12.9.2008 - more and more
12/9/2008 at 7:13 PM
It's funny, how getting something I want makes me want a little bit more. The simple pleasure of your company has given way to an intense desire for it, as often as I can have it.
I always enjoy it when you're here and get a little sad when you leave.
I'm sure I'll outgrow it.
Is there a future in this -- for a man who sees loneliness as inevitable in his quest for everything, and a girl who would rather have nothing as long as she could call herself happy?
I sometimes think you are missing something right in front of your face
but maybe that is on purpose.
All I know is -- I could press my face into your back and wind my legs around yours and wake up breathing in tandem ... not every night, but at least three times a week.
12.7.2008 - "Let's just go"
12/7/2008 at 6:29 AM
Tonight you said, "Do you want a hundred-dollar bill?"
and I had to laugh.
OF COURSE I want a hundred-dollar bill.
But that's not what I really want,
when I could get so much more.
You talk about women who are like sleek, expensive house cats, lounging about on their man's tab
and honestly that sounds all right -- if some man wanted to buy me horses and let me lounge about with cigarettes I would do it, sure.
But how about this:
How about we put our best clothes on and drink champagne and cocktails until we're so fuckin' drunk the city spins, and then we walk home in the snow holding hands and falling on one another laughing catching ice crystals on our tongues?
How about we sneak into an evening arty movie matinee and hold hands under a blanket thrown over our laps?
How about we make a spectacle in public, on that ritsy street again but better this time, you can kiss my neck and I can grab your belt and the high-class ladies walking past will hate us with a passion?
How about you touch my knee under the table again and I run my instep up your leg?
How about we do all of these things, as often as we can, because life is only so short and if it's left up to me it's probably going to be even shorter, and you're almost leaving and I had better get to growing up one of these days anyway?
How about we catch a bus or a train and you get out of this town with me, we can go anywhere and we don't have to stay, but how about we just go?
A hundred-dollar bill? Why that's the easy way out
when we could run up a tab ten, one hundred times that.
11.26.2008 - PTSD
12/7/2008 at 6:29 AM
you're not wicked. if you are, it's nothing on my account.
simple truth is, it's hard to make it with a girl who knows but doesn't trust her own motives
who isn't sure what thought, what action is her own and what's been planted into her mind against her agency
or even if any of us have the agency to have truly independent thoughts or actions.
(of course the answer is, we don't, the question then is, how deep does it run?)
it's hard to make it with a girl who has learned how to dissociate
and didn't even know she was doing it.
it's hard to make it with a girl who can be angry
but only because she's sad
and lonely
and frustrated and afraid --
it's hard, it's fucking hard, man.
but I still want you here
I still want your shoulder for my chin, your cheek for my lips, your hand for my hand, some times,
so there,
it's not going to be easy
but in the end, there is nothing really for either of us to know
so you ought to stay anyway.
11.17.2008 - catching snowflakes
12/7/2008 at 6:28 AM
And we did, on my porch.
And you bruised my lips and I hope I bruised yours.
Today I spent chasing snow, the fat fat flakes I caught in my mouth wide open, and I laughed like a child. Like I never laughed when I was a child.
It was much, much better this time.
11.10.2008 - the living room tent
12/7/2008 at 6:28 AM
let's tent the living room floor again
propped up on pillows against the radiator, drinking in the warmth and the company,
smoking cigarettes and more, saying nothing
just listening to each other's laugh.
except next time let's hold hands in the dark.
10.17.2008 - the full moon
12/7/2008 at 6:28 AM
but I didn't know what it would do to you.
I think it was the full moon. It's always been the full moon for you and me.
Don't run away this time.
Evan Swanson
Post-Apocalyptic Sainsburys
alyce.
HaleyHarris
traerene
Luke Ace
Robbie
Sara Boyer
Tu Trinh
8k8k8
LoveJezabel
Taylor
Tim Vanhaeren
Renee Sebastian
DeNNis Defies Gravity
naterpotater
ontwerpje
angel tears into the ocean
I'm outta here
Ehtasham
Joseph Dante
Ezmerelda
Hugh67
chris connelly
alisonjane
robin
Rob
Joe Patterson
DJsiah
Fearless
.feverpushh
dlonra arual
Semi Hannaford
Pat Dean
DRAWiiING44LiiF3
dirtyveganlove
Art with Grizzly Bears
Robin Beaudoin
Shelly
The Ready Aim Fire!
kate
Damaetas
JoEllen Marsh
Ruhm Knarrengelb
Sire Press
chant
Folk Death
A Box of Candies
kmacinnis
Kirvy Splash
Mariquit
fel!x
Lionel BIJAOUI
christina.jean
Black Dave
The art of Sylwia Skubis
stevie watson
Katherine White
2/23/2010 at 2:50 PM
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2/12/2010 at 3:24 PM
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6/25/2009 at 2:46 PM
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3/11/2009 at 8:50 PM
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2/28/2009 at 1:42 PM
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have you heard of She & Him? i just found them today on my epic music quest and i think you might like them!
2/14/2009 at 9:08 PM
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haha you're sitting right next to me.
2/3/2009 at 2:10 AM
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1/30/2009 at 1:49 AM
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I've been reading your writing, i really like it
12/18/2008 at 1:25 AM
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Yeah, he's a pretty
famous guy. c:
And thanks.
12/17/2008 at 6:07 PM
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