Whoa. The MLA has officially devised a standard format to cite tweets in an academic paper. Sign of the times.
(via astronautssleepinspace)
Source: warbyparker
Taking this act somewhere else…
So, I started with tumblr because it’s really easy to use. It doesn’t take long to set up. Did I mention I was legally blind? I know, blind artist, what? Anyway. It’s like, cool here n’ all…. and I’ve found some seriously amazing artists and designers! But I was hoping for more of a poetry community. I’m not sure if tumblr’s mission is really to build community though. It’s really hard to gain followers, also to comment on others’ blogs. Why the fuck can you not text reply to someone’s image? I’ve worked on other blog sites and by now, it’s usually pretty humming. Pretty back and forth. There are conversations happening. But… not here. It’s all like, “hey, I thought this was cool so I reflagged it.” Um, also… and I do not mean this offensively, just an observation, how shall I put this, I think I’m too old for tumblr’s target demographic. Where is everyone over, like 22? Helloooo?
If they even read this, all but 3 of my 42 followers probably just un-followed me with extreme prejudice. I didn’t mean it like that, so please don’t take it the wrong way. I love reading / looking at everyone’s blogs. It shows me that the feelings I used to have when I was 18 never really went away. Maybe that makes me psychologically damaged…. or just honest. A little from column A; a little from column B. Beautiful angst. Sexy alienation. Keep at it. Perfect in your imperfection. You’re not alone.
It’s still comforting to know you exist somewhere in the world.
I’ll probably still come on here for the pretty pretty pretties. But you can find me now at quixotic-a.blogspot.com. Where I obsessively recycled this tumblr blog. By hand. Because that’s the sort of obsessive thing I do.
Later taters.
Rose / Rot
Ravi thinks he is a book.
this morning
Still in my pajamas. Researched several journals for submission; haven’t come to any conclusions. Wrote a long-lined long-narrative poem about candied chickpeas. Drafty draft. Messed about with art. It’s sunny out but I haven’t looked out the window much. The wind, which I hear constantly doing its inhaling/exhaling/whining thing, makes it sound like gray, cold.
Hi, I'm Jill. I live in the northeast US. I'm a professional poet (which means they pay me --albeit very little), a mixed-media artist (I like to cut and paste stuff and then throw paint on it), and a teacher. I recently quit my job to pursue poetry and art full-time --well, at least I'm giving myself six months to see what happens. Most of the art and words on this blog are by me (some under the name sundaygray) unless otherwise specified. I'm kind of shy, but drop me a line in my ask box.
