Adorkable

Hip City

Thu, 23 Feb 2012 21:44:00 -0500

www.twitter.com/nickorsini …I will fill your feed with my seed.

My hair is piled like a sandwich-

grease between flopping locks.

My beard stinks like breakfast…

all undergrowth and stray pipe-

cleaners spiraling from my face.

And she grabs me before I leave-

just some words out there in the

clean, weather-broken atmosphere.

A hipster buttons a Naval jacket

as he runs up the subway ramp.

A prostitute with a broken heel

returns from a night of real love…

for one of the parties involved.

Sometimes my flannel is stained.

Sometimes I don’t eat anything

before four in the afternoon.

I should return my parent’s calls

and the voicemails left for nothing

at all. We live on our own today.

The movie of how we behave.

Coffee Grounds for Eyes.

Tue, 21 Feb 2012 22:16:11 -0500

www.twitter.com/nickorsini ..this poem is a sad one. Follow me. Let’s talk.

She breathes into the phone, just a couple cracking notes

of an embattled melody and a defeated song. We used to

stay up, stoned, trying to dust, vacuum and mop…then we’d

staple up blankets and lock windows shut …sleep through

a Sunday, do our best to start our week without waking up.

Now she spits fire from a bottle.

Now she’s started to cough.

Now she will need tubes and clocks.

No one enjoys anyone that much.

I choose to remember us laying feet-to-faces in my den or

reading on the porch of the summer house we used to rent.

Our faces would be lit with soft black and white from the

documentaries that would play. Stories about musicians we’d

never know …leaving us lamenting our age and our days and

the funny way that time chooses people, but left us to float

on some endless, rippling wake.

One day I will bury her in the earth…

Going against all that she’d want.

One day my shirt will mop tears from

faces who enjoyed her only too much.

this is a poem I wrote about a Memorial Day weekend that I...

Sun, 19 Feb 2012 11:41:37 -0500

[Flash 10 is required to watch video.]

this is a poem I wrote about a Memorial Day weekend that I apparently can’t remember …oh well. If I could chose to remember every Memorial Day weekend, this is how I’d see them all playing out.

www.twitter.com/nickorsini …I will heal your feed. Give me a follow.

See The Police Coming

Thu, 16 Feb 2012 18:22:29 -0500

www.twitter.com/nickorsini …follow party?

My body took a beating as I flew off the swings…

and I connected inky stars as the ground came

into and out of focus underneath me. My friends got

busted on the reservation for being too high.

They stood with edges of sneakers hanging over the

steepest hill topping suburban homes none of

us could loan enough to buy- Patterning the roofs of

the couples hurt and the couples walking away from

things they built. We are the contractors asked to

watch over the construction of houses set on stilts.

And throats were paralyzed in the grip of cigarettes

and water bottles full of Jameson. The world clicked

by like a Rubik’s Cube- just some colors meant to be

arranged, but wrongly moved. My train tracks stand iron

quiet …waiting to shoulder heavy weight of the city’s

passenger trains on them. No one saw the police coming.

A town made of money erected out of warming worry…

Let them take us. We seen all we should already.

Where's the best place to start when it comes to getting your writing out there?

Wed, 15 Feb 2012 11:43:00 -0500

There are a number of steps to follow- including but not limited to these:

- First, you have to go through a myriad of different things. You have to have your heart broken, be the heart breaker, know what it means to be a great friend and know when you fail as a friend. I believe that great writing starts with the scars left behind by your life.

-Second, you must spend extended time away from anywhere you feel comfortable or at home. You don’t have to go away to school, but you should travel, take road trips, etc.

-Next, try to write something…three words, three hundred words, three thousand words. Just start writing.

-Next, read. Read books, poems, lyrics, DVD covers, blogs, articles, magazines, anything …read two books at once…read interviews and learn how people talk to one another. Read action movie screenplays.

-Look at that first thing you wrote. How do you feel about it? Chances are…you don’t feel good about it. Don’t throw it away. Tear it out of a notebook, put it away somewhere.

-Now think of the best night of your life. What did that feel like? Where were you? Who else was there? What did it feel like/smell like? Was the air heavy or light?

-Write about that night …but remember the details. Remember how people talk to each other. You can write it in a poem, in a song, in a book…just make every word count. As soon as words stop counting for something, stop writing. Make them believe it. Make them feel like they were there.

-Start another Tumblr blog. No reblogs. No filling it up with everything imaginable. Write in this blog. One piece at a time.

-Anyone you know who can help you spread the word- call them. Ask if they’ll publish an excerpt of your work in their zine, on their t-shirts, wherever. Make stickers and temporary tattoos. People like those.

-Don’t stop writing when you don’t get thousands of followers overnight. Don’t stop writing when no one will publish you. Don’t stop writing you when someone tells you that you’re wasting your time. Don’t stop writing if you lose your job…if you have to work a crappy job. Don’t stop pushing what you love doing.

-After all this, you may end up with a few readers…maybe a lot …maybe none. But you know what? Your writing will be out there …which is better than keeping it couped up inside you.

She Can Write.

Mon, 13 Feb 2012 21:10:41 -0500

She spelled out her name with Smarties

in the cup holder of my car. And as I sped

down that hill that drops off…her name

became another jumbled clause in the

sentence that runs us on. I used to drive

my father’s V8 late down Parkway lanes…

I sped us back from Memorial Days filled

up to their brims with mistakes. We took

bathroom doors off walls to keep our friends

from drowning in toilet bowls. We put boxes

down garbage disposals just to watch some

teeth shred holes in cardboard. And when it

was all over, we took our baggy eyes all the way

back to our small homes and our small lives and

all the things our parents own. She spelled out

her name with bottle tabs and paperback scraps

in the sand under the boardwalk planks. When the

wind came, it rearranged the letters into something

none of us could read.

this is a poem about a night my sophomore year of college, when...

Sat, 11 Feb 2012 11:23:27 -0500

[Flash 10 is required to watch video.]

this is a poem about a night my sophomore year of college, when the girl I liked made out with someone else at a party. Milk drop bowls for life.

Follow me? That’d be awesome. I’m a little bit funny and a lotta bit beardy.

www.twitter.com/nickorsini

Shit and Romance

Fri, 10 Feb 2012 12:04:41 -0500

well hello dearest Tumblr. Happy Friday. That mug up there is from my screening of Can’t Hardly Wait.

So I wanted to just remind you that I like you all. Happy almost-Valentine’s Day…you guys have plans? I’m taking a darling lady to Medieval Times in Lyndhurst to watch some Full Metal Jousting.. write to me…you guys planning anything romantic?

Also: if you need some romantic words to help set the mood, you can download my poetry book, Bruce Willis with Hair for free at:

http://twowrongsmakeavice.com/2012/01/17/bruce-willis-with-hair/

On that site, buy my first novel too! Every one is $10 (that includes shipping) …I throw in stickers, posters, bookmarks, cards, letters, and a hard copy of the above poetry book.

www.twitter.com/nickorsini

Waffle House Money

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 21:17:10 -0500

I burned a dollar bill on a subway train today

and watched people chase the ashes as

they blew away. They hung on seats, leaving

specks and streaks of black, useless currency.

I roasted a cigarette outside of a Waffle House

somewhere in Florida’s warm chest. I searched

for some dollars to tip the carnival waitress who

lovingly brought us our check. But it was ripped leather

and flannel liner…some credit cards long since

expired. Dust on the speedometer gets us there

faster. We kicked up Waffle House dust as we left.

I burned a dollar bill on a line between two states…

and my feet never touched the ground. I was never

any place. Just the wind with charred paper dancing

on it…settling while I make heavy decisions.

this could be easy or this could be tough, i've read a bit of your stuff and i'd think its one of the beats but-- favorite poet?

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 09:50:09 -0500

I have two favorite poets- Dylan Thomas and TS Eliot. If you want to know the truth, I do read poetry …but I read song lyrics more. I just bought the M83 album, Hurry Up …We’re Dreaming and I had downloaded it a some time ago, but wanted to read the lyrics in the book. I also like reading dialogue …everything from screenplays to interviews. I don’t know if reading a ton of poetry will make you a good poet …I think you have to read a smattering of different things …but also actually get out there and get into trouble, fall into and out of love, feel things…everything from excitement to sorrow. Above all of it, if you’re going to be an artist of any kind, you have to pay specific mind to people. I used to write other people off as background players in my play or my movie …it wasn’t until I started seeing how inherently important each person is- from the best people and friends you have to the people you dislike the most…that I started feeling confident enough to write anything at all, even just in private.

Airplane Bottle Party.

Tue, 07 Feb 2012 20:33:09 -0500

www.twitter.com/nickorsini …I’m not going to sugar coat it. You should follow me. I’m healthy for your feed.

I blame the bridge over the quad…

for why I talked to you so much

that year I spent growing up.

Writing you letters in Sharpie

so parts of words were left

behind for me to re-read.

We all bleed through paper

into these little black pools

we swim through together.

I spent Friday night alone…

sorting through airplane bottles

and writing out your poems.

Someone picked me up by the door

and walked me home in the snow.

I found my bed all on my own.

The Boston Marathon is on

my broken tube television…

The names of the runners are gone.

I blame the bridge over the quad

for why I fell so hard in love…for

years yanked out from under the young.

Your video this morning opened some sort of part in me that I've shut off for so long. And now, I can't stop reading (and watching) your stuff. You got a gift, sir.

Mon, 06 Feb 2012 17:27:43 -0500

I can only wish you extraordinarily good luck in all that you do …in the person you become …with the love you encounter and the people you’ll meet. Don’t shut good things off. Don’t hold bitterness or anger …just let them go. They are such transient things in the grand scheme of all the things you’ll feel :)

Gas Station Stars

Sun, 05 Feb 2012 09:38:15 -0500

In my town, there are wooden stars painted gold

hanging on a gas station fence for all the kids who

aren’t coming home. And the font betrays just how

serious the message…just a name and a visage…

a sight we can’t unsee. And this wish, just a tank

on empty, makes me drive miles away so I don’t

have to see those names that grew up with me.

In my town, we don’t go out on Sundays…not to

a church or a supermarket…just wide streets with

cars parked on them. A girl with a city’s taste in

music opens her window to drip out ethereal bits

of sonic nothing. Sometimes I hear her. Sometimes

I’m ears-deep in my tub, fake drowning.

We spent a year wrapping our heads around that

fire that brought down Terry’s drug store. We spent

a month cleaning everything up. No fire department.

Just us. And one morning, with our backs bent over

and hurting, we stood up straight again for a season.

…this is a poem about one night, my sophomore year in...

Sat, 04 Feb 2012 08:54:00 -0500

[Flash 10 is required to watch video.]

…this is a poem about one night, my sophomore year in college, when I got some bad news that I handled really, really poorly. Don’t mind my morning face/breath.

www.twitter.com/nickorsini …I tweet about Batman and cereal and all good things.

www.facebook.com/maddenonrookie …it’s really me.

Yesterday's History. Tomorrow's the Future. Tonight's the Party.

Thu, 02 Feb 2012 11:00:24 -0500

I had this dream when I was a kid that my friends and I would own a movie theater. We’d play what we wanted, when we wanted, for people who wanted to see good movies with better people. We don’t own the theater, but tonight we made this dream a reality. Come watch Can’t Hardly Wait with everyone on the Read at the Show team, the podcasters from TellMeSomething.org, the artists from fearofbears.net …and some amazing people who just love the movie.

Screening is at 8pm (get there early) at the Clairidge Theater in Montclair, NJ. Tickets are $6. It will also be the first time i’ll have Bruce Willis with Hair, my poetry book, available for free. I’ll be selling shirts and books and all good things. I’ll also be taking donations for future screenings.

Come out tonight…enjoy it :)

8

Wed, 01 Feb 2012 13:25:24 -0500

You can tattoo a sideways 8 on your hand

but know you aren’t coming back up.

Then there’s the brown and the smoke…

the things that depress you in bathtubs…

drinking alone.

In my mind, I never left that night on the phone…

when she told me foreign mouths make her feel home.

I had to let her go. Goodbye. So long.

And if everything works out for me, I will never tire and

I will never expire and I will never watch

my friends destroy each other.

The future belongs to village idiots

inking stories about love on napkins.

The Dangers of Living.

Mon, 30 Jan 2012 22:43:15 -0500

www.twitter.com/nickorsini …hey so I have a bunch of new followers on this site…follow me on twitter too! that’d be awesome :)

Dear Ashley,

A rally that’s closer to a miracle holds a head full

of thoughts climbing thoughts to get to the top

of a heap comprised of concerns and faults.

I keep it together long enough to look at pictures

from her wedding, made available on the internet

for strangers and friends. He races boats for a living

while she teaches children and it’s the kind of

interesting that borders on safe. I am a danger. I am

a waste.

A rally in my body balances the symphony of all the

scores from every movie made every year since I was

born. Just another sense of self you get when you

take some steps on the ceiling of your apartment.

She teaches children reading and arithmetic.

I teach children how to sew hearts on their jackets.

“Maybe you should read this

packet if you haven’t already.”

Someone who doesn’t live here turns on Playstation.

A girl has her bed in my roommate’s walk-in closet.

Weak seal on the window lets water bead inside of it.

A man takes a Facebook wife with groomsmen on the

newsfeed giving a blue thumbs up to the fast life.

Nick Writes About Movies

Mon, 30 Jan 2012 15:13:46 -0500

Hi all,

So as you know, I’m a movie person. I like writing, but my first love will always be movies. I love sharing movies with people, lending them out …I’ve accumulated waaay too many DVDs (over 1000). So…that being said, my friend Dylan Wise won a free MoviePass for a year. Basically, if you go to moviepass.com, you can check it out …it’s like Netflix but for movies in theaters (kind of)

Part of the deal with him winning is that he had to maintain a blog of all the movies he saw. This blog is called The Projection List. He asked me to beef out this movie list with some feature articles. The result is a movie blog that is unlike anything out there. It’s not tame or normal. It’s very odd …with some very unique voices. I’m proud to be a contributing writer.

Check out The Projection List here: http://tellmesomething.org/pl

Here’s my article about why Blue Valentine is a new stoner classic:

http://tellmesomething.org/pl/blue-valentine-the-making-of-a-stoner-classic.html

Enjoy and spread the word!

Nick

hey nick! first of all i wanna say i absolutely love your poetry - it really is beautiful and helps the day pass at work by scrolling through your tumblr and having a good old read :) so i wanna order your book and get it shipped to someone really special and i wanted to know if you could write a message inside the cover for me? :) i don't know how to end this without it sounding really formal haha um keep up the good writing, man! <3

Sun, 29 Jan 2012 13:36:29 -0500

of course!! if you order the book at www.twowrongsmakeavice.com …I’ll write something in it for you :) just send me a message on here and let me know a little about you and this special person …so I can kind of get an idea of what to write. That goes for everyone …order the book, tell me a story, I’ll write for you!

Out of Your Body/Looking at Yourself

Sat, 28 Jan 2012 00:04:12 -0500

This for all the people you wish you slept with …

and every chance you missed.

For the people in letters, in yearbooks, photos

and crossed out on lists.

For oceans that keep me being me and you being you

and for the land that connects us through.

We ride a train line to a distant station, in hopes of

familiar love and loving faces.

Sitting awake thinking about every life I could’ve lived,

if I had only been anyone different…

And for every door I closed, I left one unlocked and open…

in case my past followed on the wind.

When I checked over my shoulder, I knew I was alone again…

because things pass with pitiful indifference.

A few encouraging words I imagine spoken in a famous voice

tell me about a lease I can’t pay for

And a repossession that will be by force, not by choice…

A lover in a wallet…

Music making noise…

A shared winter bed…

Simple-smelling joy.