CALL FOR BLOGGERS

Hi Everyone:

First off, thank you all so much for your support of 02.2013. In my opinion, it was a great success. It was very interesting forcing myself to write something each day, and doing something I really like to, which is trying to widen the spectrum of my poems as much as possible.

Now, I’m beginning work on a new project, which I’m going to give a working title of ANT Magazine, until I have an official title.

I am looking for motivated to people to work for this blog and I am looking for a wide variety of things.

I have decided to drive this blog/ online magazine from the idea that bloggers can post what they want/ when they want. I want my bloggers to have the freedom to do as they please, because I want them to have fun, and in turn, for the blog to be fun. Thus far, I have a couple poets signed on, photographers, artists, and even a pair of guys who are going to write about bad b-movies. Here’s some ideas of what else I’d be looking for.

  • Reviewers (Music, Movies, Book, Calendars, Gyms, Restaurants, Starbucks locations, I don’t care)
  • Artists (I don’t care if you make GIFs,or intricate water paintings or digital art, I could be looking for what you have. I’d really even like to have a talented doodler.)
  • Alt Lit People (If you don’t know what alt lit is, this one doesn’t apply to you. If you do, I want your poetry, I want your memes, I want your short stories.)
  • Film (I am really looking for good youtubers to post videos to the site. Once again, open-minded to what you got. I would love some funny videos.)
  • Photographers (I would love photographers whose pieces stand alone and I would also love photographers who if I said “take me pictures related to “night” or “fourth of July” could deliver them in about a week. Experience does not matter. Talent and motivation do.
  • I would really like to have someone to write on feminism on the blog, as this is a topic that is very important to me.
  • Anything else. If you hula hoop, and want to post instructional hula hoop videos, I’d like you to apply. If you sing and play guitar, send me your videos. If you are a badass list maker or nutritionist or tech geek, I’d like you to apply.

IMPORTANT NOTE! You do not have to be American. I want this blog to have a global community and other cultures and countries are not only requested to apply, but I insist they do. I do have to ask that you can write English though. I’m sorry.

Most of all, I want people sharing their passions. I’m trying to make a community out of this. I want my bloggers interacting with our readers. I want people to have a reason to come back, and I want this to be a blog about sharing with the world, not making money. (haha… blogs making money.)

If you are interested, please send me something about yourself and an example of what you have to offer to bricemaiurro@gmail.com.

I hope everyone interested will apply.

Thank you,

Brice

About these ads

02.21

0221

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(the etiquette of anger.)

you move like tarantulas across the ocean floor
you take love from my veins and i beg you to take more
you twist and you shout
you twist and you shout

you’re a catalyst for nighttime and a beast in the sack
you’re raging in my covers and your covered in smack
you’re dying for the grit of the gravel
we’re all dying for the grit of the gravel here

come inside my house with me
come inside my house with me

you’re turning my stomach like battery acid
i’m leaning on your fencepost til it falls to the ground

you leave me sore on the everywhere
you kiss the wound with salt on the rim
you go through men like a chain smoker
you exit the building like you committed a murder
but when you enter
you come crawling across the floor of my bedroom
forever the etiquette of anger
forever the etiquette of anger

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ 02.22, THE NEXT ENTRY IN THE 02.2013 PROJECT

02.2013 is a twenty-eight day project chronicling my february of 2013 through poetry. to read the entries from the beginning CLICK HERE

RE: RE:

to V.T.S., who i hope will dance with me a while in this boxing ring

i drive my car
like i’m stuck in traffic
behind an old lady
or maybe a young lady
who’s convinced herself she’s old
i’m antsy
i shake my steering wheel
and don’t get why i have to go
the speed that she’s determined for me

it makes me want to smoke
but i’m not a smoker
not after sex
and not stuck in this traffic either
it takes more
than someone else’s stubbornness
to make me consider breaking habit
that being said
i can’t stop saying cigarette
the word haunts me
i swear
it sneaks its way into my letters
it highlights itself in my vonnegut novels

america is shit
maybe
depends how i’m feeling
on any given day
or how i’m dressed
or what organ of it’s body
i find myself trapped in
vonnegut got the bowels
from what i’ve read
it’s not hard to see
how he could have concluded
that america is in fact
shit

it’s not all true
but
america is shit
it’s a lot of fun to say

america is shit

writers do keep saying it
god damn broken records
sitting at their typewriters
in a beat-up apartment
in new york
smoking a cigarette
but records keep on skipping
until someone
gets up out of their lazy boy
and moves the needle forward

cigarette

whoops there i go again
america is shit
i’m young and angsty
and america is shit

but i’m not america
and i try not to get mad at her
when she goes all manic on me
and keeps saying the same things
over and over

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “CIGARETTE”

CIGARETTE

you’re home late one night
sitting on the couch
and you’ve had a stressful day
and you don’t have a plan for the evening
but you jump in the car
and you drive down the street
to your local seven eleven
where the nice man
behind the counter asks you
what he can get you
and you say
can i get a pack
of
marlboro
red
one-hundreds
and he reaches for the box
and he sets them on the counter
and maybe he asks to see your i.d.
and you grab a white lighter
and he rings you up
as across the register screen flashes
MARLBORO 5.39
unless of course
you are a camel person
in which case you see
CAMEL 5.39
if you smoke turkish royales
because everyone knows
those are the best
and you sit in your car
and you roll down the window
and you smack that pack
of cigarettes against the dashboard
and you smack and you smack
packing those cigarettes
in ritual
beautiful american ritual
and you undo that gold string
like you are undressing
a beautiful hooker
and you open the lid
and you pull off the front wrapper
and you blow on the nicotine sawdust
and there before you
are twenty
pristine
white cigarettes
and you take one out
and you flip it over
and that’s your lucky cigarette
and you take that lighter
and you use your car key
and you rip off the safety
and you stick the cigarette
into your mouth
and you turn on your car
and you roll down the window
and you take in
the very first puff
of a pack
of twenty cigarettes
as the little bit of wrapper
with nothing in it burns
and there is fire
at your beg and call
at the end of
your cigarette
and you hold the smoke
in your lungs
and you let it out
and a cloud of white
sneaks past your lips
and out the window
into the night
that doesn’t feel so lonely now
and you put the car in reverse
and the window is down still
and the wind blows
and you put the car into drive
and you’re driving back home
and you’re taking another drag
and you let it out
and watch it roll out the window
behind you
out into the world around you
and at the stop light
you don’t look over
but the car beside you
has no choice
but to note
that you are smoking
and you turn your stereo up
just a little
and you feel like a bad ass
and the light turns green
and cigarette-in-mouth
you take off
a little faster
than the cars around you
and you get to your place
before you finish your cigarette
so you sit for a minute
you and the radio
and you watch
as the paper wanes
if there’s words on the side
as the words burn away
you make something disappear
and you feel the buzz
your headache is gone
you are lighter
a little bit dizzy
a little bit high
you care a little less
you eat your stress
and it burns a little more
and it burns a little more
until you’re left with
the butt of a cigarette
and you throw it on the ground
and you grind it with your foot
and you are a little taller
your pocket filled with a box
of nineteen more cigarettes
and you think to yourself
i’ll do this again sometime
and maybe you do
and either way
you’re right back on your couch
right where you were before

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “CHESS”

BLOOD ON THE AMERICAN HIGHWAY

there is blood on the american highway
red paint splattered on white median lines beneath a blue sky
we run from coast to coast
we take off in the night, trunk left open, and we fly through the eye of the needle
into the rocky mountains in search of the final sun
that sun which burns brightly dying for california
we kiss the hills along the way
we salute the cold night concrete with lit cigarettes left to ash
we don’t know where we go
we just do as the green signs tell us to

the lostest of the lost pioneers
disoriented we are disoriented we follow the smoke signals
we drive right through the indian ghost the song of the past
we just blast the radio as if we could fill the sky with sound
great american rock sound
blaring guitars, raging drums, and the bass that moves
like a convertible through the wind
the sound through your head

this is our american song
rewritten and rewritten again
we search for freedom in its bars
independence in four four time
this is our american song
waking up in motel sixes with no cigarettes
and the t.v. is on for noise
and the sex through the wall
and the jingling of slot machines down the hall
and the hum of the ice machine
check out time is eleven o clock

we wrote our song into our constitution
first we decided we would be free
then we decided we needed guns
and we threw a couple to alabama
and we threw a few more to texas
and we boarded up the borders that we broke down

there are lights in fields in plains of kansas
to light the gymnasium swaying to high school dance
we move our hips like pioneers
we throw our hands up in the air
and when the music dies down
we drive to the tops of hills that look down on the nothing
and we kiss like we have to

then we’re off again
down the bloody american highway
through cities and deserts and fields and mountains
and more cities and we’re going where no one else has gone
at least that’s what we tell ourselves

we throw on our kerouac hats
and put an eighth of ginsberg in our glove compartment
we load up our hemingways into the trunk
and we drive
we drive into the most unnatural horizon
we move down the bloody american highway
tank on e, stuck with the am radio through the worst parts of utah
we move at so many miles per hour
of course
there is blood on the american highway

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2013

READ “BEN”

02.2013

02.2013

Good Morning.

I wanted to take a minute to let you all know about a project I am going to be starting up on Februrary 1st. It’s called “02.2013″ and the concept is fairly simple: I am going to chronicle my experiences daily through the month of February here on the blog.

Other than that, I don’t know what will come of it. I’d say the biggest difference between this project and my normal entries is there should be a more cohesive element to the 28 poems I intend to write.

I hope you all will check in daily with me, and join me through this journey. Should be a lot of fun.

Love,
Brice

FLASHLIGHT CITY BLUES: FAVORITE POSTS OF 2012

Rant Unicycle

#1: TIPS FOR WRITING BETTER GOD DAMN POETRY PART 1: I’m not a big fan of how to guides, especially how to guides on writing, but I really enjoyed writing this. I decided to shoot from the hip. Say what I truly feel. Focus less on the structure of poetry and more on the what keeps me going.

#2: THE OBNOXIOUS SOUND OF MUSIC UPSTAIRS: Most of my pieces I write and five minutes later, I post them to my blog. The fact that this is something I wrote a couple years ago and still held up on my blog made me extremely happy. I don’t write short stories or prose very often, but I was happy to find myself writing this piece, that not only helped me rationalize alot of things from my past, but also better understand love.

#3: MTV: When I sat down to write this, I thought it was gonna be shit. I thought it was gonna be pure angst and cheesy and trying too hard to be trendy, but in the end, I don’t feel that it’s any of those things. I didn’t realize until the comments started coming in that this piece wasn’t just about MTV. It was about the things we lose along the way, sometimes include our whole selves.

#4: AN AMERICAN PORTRAIT: A personal favorite. My trip to California really inspired this one in me. I wanted to speak of this iconic idea of America that we’ve created in our memories and our history, and maybe point us to the fact that it’s time to redefine what it means to be an American.

#5: I AM AN APARTMENT BUILDING: One of those ones where you know the title, and the rest just kind of comes from there. I feel like this piece really helped me to rationalize a lot of aspects of who I am in so many ways. My roommate and I talk about how I don’t really edit, but what I seem to do is rewrite the same poems in different ways until I get what I’m after. This one seems to be a later, but I don’t think necessarily better version of SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE THERE’S A COWBOY ARGUING WITH A BUDDHIST MONK.

 

More than anything, what I’d like to say is thank you. Thank you to anyone and everyone who stops by and reads my blog. Poetry is not something that is easily made a career. No one gets into poetry for the money. What I’m in it from is to share something I felt with the growing circle of people around me. I want to inspire people to be better. I want to challenge people to rethink who they are. I want to make a personal connection with someone on the other side of the world as me, and I have been lucky enough to get to connect to so many fantastic people, all with incredible stories and nothing but kindness to give back to me. You’re not a poet until someone reads your poem. I believe that too. Often times, I’ll read poems to my family and friends, and whenever I hit that publish button on wordpress, the same rush of satisfaction and honesty hits me.

Let’s make 2013 the best year there ever was. The world didn’t end, so we still have a responsibility to make our resolutions as courageous as we can, and our words equally as brave.

Love, Brice

p.s. let me know what your favorite pieces were. :)

EDWARD HOPPER*

*formatted, using the notes of American artist Edward Hopper and his wife Jo

Night
+ brilliant interior of
cheap restaurant.

Bright items:

cherry wood counter
+ tops of surrounding
stools; light on metal tanks
at rear right;

brilliant streak
of jade green tiles
3/4 across canvas-
at base of glass
window
curving around the
corner.

Light walls,

dull
yellow
ocre
door
into kitchen right.

Very good looking
blond boy
in white (coat, cap)
inside counter.

Girl in red blouse,

brown hair

eating sandwich.

Man night hawk
(beak)
in dark suit,
steel grey hat,
black band,
blue shirt (clean)
holding cigarette.

Other figure
dark
sinister
back-
at left.

Light side walk
outside
pale greenish.

Darkish red brick
house opposite.

Sign across
top of restaurant,
dark-
Phillies 5c cigar.

Picture of cigar.

Outside of shop dark,
green.

Note:
bit of bright
ceiling
inside shop

against dark of
outside street

-at edge
of stretch
of top
of window.

COPYRIGHT BRICE MAIURRO 2012

LINK TO EDWARD HOPPER’S “NIGHTHAWKS”

READ “WHERE HAVE YOU GONE TO, AMERICA?”

2000 FOLLOWS TODAY!

Thank you all so much! 2012 has been a good year. Here’s to 2000 more in 2013!

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