(Source: observations-and-bitchings)

observations-and-bitchings:

question/embarrassment
santa fe, 2014

observations-and-bitchings:

question/embarrassment
santa fe, 2014

(Source: observations-and-bitchings)

Observations & Bitchings by darian stahl.pdf

observations-and-bitchings:

for all of you who weren’t able to grab a copy of my book yesterday, i’m releasing the pdf here. thanks to everyone who has supported & connected w my words & i. finishing & releasing this book has truly served as a v cathartic close to my time here in SA while i’m off to Santa Fe. 
i really hope you find the time to read this, & if you do, pls email me at darianstahl@gmail.com anything regarding it, whether you hated it or connected w, because it would be nice to hear those thoughts. & receiving emails about anything makes me feel good.
thx, friends.

official cover by ivan gonzalez.
letterwork by corrigan moran, charlie barrientes, clint dierker,& darian stahl,
finished at 5 am this morning.
printing today.
official release friday.
feel like sobbing, but also feel v tranquil about the end of this.

nythium:

Enclosure / Ivan Gonzalez
Photography for Observations and Bitchings, book by Darian Stahl.

nythium:

Enclosure / Ivan Gonzalez

Photography for Observations and Bitchings, book by Darian Stahl.

Observations & Bitchings will be out next week.

observations-and-bitchings:

I havent cooked japanese food for wks.
I quit my job at la panadería.
I keep forgetting to eat,
as my mind is too
occupued in forcing
itself to be healthy.

I am scared as i think,
“if all this feeling is supposed
to be natural & healthy,
why does anyone ever try to
feel natural & healthy?”

I am terrified of lasts.
I want to be determined like
Clint & genuine like Olivia &
compassionate like Corrigan &
sensitive like Josh & grounded
like Ethan but i feel myself come
up short.

Im moving on a conveyor belt
to the end & cant even begin
to think of a beginning.

I didnt publish Observations &
Bitchings & i didnt go camping
alone together w someone i love.
My grandma is dying & i never
made tortillas w her.
I never learned what happened
to my nana in her last marriage or in
the TB clinic lock up jail.
I didnt show my mom my poetry
or help her w what helped me thro
her tears & i didnt explain to my dad
the benefits of exploring his mind.

Obviously i can do all this later but
the point is that it didnt happen during
this era. I didnt even learn how to write
poetry that isnt confessional.

& obviously i’ll have a new life filled w
probably great new things & ppl
say “oh you’ll forget all about it
your first 3 months in.” but what
they dont see is that is exactly what
is terrifying to me:
between
wanting to see everyone move on
& not wanting them to forget me,
between
wanting to meet new exciting ppl
& not forgiving myself in making the
decision to leave the first real family
I’ve ever found but this wk has surely
taught me the truth about jealousy:
how it’s not about love, it’s about ego.

I just cant help but feel that waiting
to feel better is like waiting to watch
water boil & i know i’ll forget the water
was never not boiling once it starts,
just like i knew i would feel all of this
but am still in shock that i am.

I usually finish these long “i” poems
w some sort of hope, but i dont know.
I’m not sure.
I heard her say
“I forgot i was hungry.”
& still feel now what i felt then.

"

I remember seeing girls in 6th grade
snapping rubber bands on their wrists
& feeling awful lightening under my skin
every time their eyes closed.

I could only feel their pain as loudly
as I could hear the sting.
I felt the rooms stretch
& my heart sink.

They beat their heads
& strained their teeth
clenching a suffering my hallucinatory
empathy could only convince me I felt.

I looked at them
& I looked at the boys.
I saw their search for blossom
& decay faster than they could say

“You’re not my friend anymore!” & regenerate.
I saw the boys torture the rubber band girls
when they weren’t looking.
I felt them egg me to join them,

& I remember the feeling of paper cuts
in between my fingers when
I would feel torn & nervous.
I remember the smells:

the musty spray canisters of
porn the boys sprayed till
were almost high.
the Claire’s perfumes & burnt hair.

I remember looking back and forth-
I felt like neither the boys or the girls.
I felt my conditioning separate like oil & water.
I could feel the heaviness in my eyes

& the muddiness of my thoughts.
I just wanted to be a friend.
but in my fear
I could only be a witness.

"

Darian Stahl, "Snapping Girls" on CHIFLADA (via cholasquat)

GUYS LOOK !!!

(via observations-and-bitchings)

(Source: chifladazine, via observations-and-bitchings)

i went home after it all & was v quiet
by darian stahl