Ashe Vernon's Blog, page 121
December 27, 2015
Hi Ashe! Can we find your books on libraries?
Probably not. :( it’s only even in a handful of bookstores
December 26, 2015
"Okay, so–that happened.
That could have gone better.
(It could have gone worse.)
You made it around..."
“Okay, so–that happened.
That could have gone better.
(It could have gone worse.)
You made it around the sun another time, so–
that’s something.
Of course, home feels a little less like home,
and alone feels a little more like suffocating.
That’s okay. You’re gonna learn
to breath through it, someday.
Maybe next year.
But the good news is,
you cried a lot, this year.
Keep doing that.
It’s one of the most important things
you know how to do, even though
you think you’re bad at it.
You made it through this
sideways hiccup of a year,
even though it waltzed you out the door
with two left feet. You stumbled–
but you kept going.
And that’s something.
So, I’ll drink to us.
I’ll dedicate this next song to survival.
We’ve got our hearts in our teeth
instead of roses,
but if there’s time for one last dance,
by god, lets make it a tango.”
- THE YEAR IN REVIEW, by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)
That could have gone better.
(It could have gone worse.)
You made it around the sun another time, so–
that’s something.
Of course, home feels a little less like home,
and alone feels a little more like suffocating.
That’s okay. You’re gonna learn
to breath through it, someday.
Maybe next year.
But the good news is,
you cried a lot, this year.
Keep doing that.
It’s one of the most important things
you know how to do, even though
you think you’re bad at it.
You made it through this
sideways hiccup of a year,
even though it waltzed you out the door
with two left feet. You stumbled–
but you kept going.
And that’s something.
So, I’ll drink to us.
I’ll dedicate this next song to survival.
We’ve got our hearts in our teeth
instead of roses,
but if there’s time for one last dance,
by god, lets make it a tango.”
- THE YEAR IN REVIEW, by Ashe Vernon (via latenightcornerstore)
This was for 2014 but still relevant
December 22, 2015
"I tagged my father on Facebook by accident, yesterday.
I’ve heard lots of people speak on..."
“I tagged my father on Facebook by accident, yesterday.
I’ve heard lots of people speak on these
social media eulogies—heard them say
the comfort they take in the lingering presence
of names too easily forgotten,
heard them say they are grateful
that our footprint on this world is
just a little bit harder to erase.
But I am so tired of making gospel
of a dead man.
I hate the way he shows up in the suggestions
every time I type my own last name;
this is a strange kind of haunting–
one where I do not see him in the shadows
of my parents’ home, but instead
at three AM in my own apartment,
cities away from the place where he died.
Two and a half years later,
and he is still smiling in his profile picture.
I didn’t do poetry when my father was alive.
But a few weeks ago, I accidentally invited him
to a poetry slam in a city he’s never been to.
And maybe there was a part of me
still hoping he’d show up to it.
I have a lot of things left to say to my father,
got a lot of heartbreak that went unanswered for,
apologies on both sides that were never given.
But this is not the kind of grief you leave
on a Facebook wall. This is not
“I thought about you, today” kind of pain.
And I can’t help but resent all the people
whose aftermath is so simple
as to be parsed out in a three hundred character paragraph
on a page my family does not have the password for.
How dare their grief be so succinct.
I have spent two and a half years
trying to put words to this,
I still don’t have enough of them.
I cannot stomach the “I miss you”s from strangers:
people he hadn’t spoken to in twenty years,
people who did not know the ugly of his last moments,
who remember the man before the sickness,
who did not grow up in a house full of landmines,
did not kiss their father goodnight knowing
he was a time-bomb.
I know it’s selfish, but
I do not want to be privy to their second-hand grief.
I don’t care what his college friends have to say about him.
His wall has become a morgue I did not want
to be buried in.
So instead, I resurrect his ghost on a microphone,
I pray to half-forgotten echoes of a childhood
where his love did not come with a caveat,
I refuse to lay him down to rest and yet
I have the gall to be sanctimonious.
All this time, and I am still willing
to put parameters around everyone else’s grieving
without taking responsibility for my own.
My father’s Facebook wall is a reminder
of all the people who have managed to move on
from his passing, when here I am:
writing the same poem
for the hundredth time,
no closer to being able
to say goodbye to him.”
- FACEBOOK EULOGIES by Ashe Vernon
I’ve heard lots of people speak on these
social media eulogies—heard them say
the comfort they take in the lingering presence
of names too easily forgotten,
heard them say they are grateful
that our footprint on this world is
just a little bit harder to erase.
But I am so tired of making gospel
of a dead man.
I hate the way he shows up in the suggestions
every time I type my own last name;
this is a strange kind of haunting–
one where I do not see him in the shadows
of my parents’ home, but instead
at three AM in my own apartment,
cities away from the place where he died.
Two and a half years later,
and he is still smiling in his profile picture.
I didn’t do poetry when my father was alive.
But a few weeks ago, I accidentally invited him
to a poetry slam in a city he’s never been to.
And maybe there was a part of me
still hoping he’d show up to it.
I have a lot of things left to say to my father,
got a lot of heartbreak that went unanswered for,
apologies on both sides that were never given.
But this is not the kind of grief you leave
on a Facebook wall. This is not
“I thought about you, today” kind of pain.
And I can’t help but resent all the people
whose aftermath is so simple
as to be parsed out in a three hundred character paragraph
on a page my family does not have the password for.
How dare their grief be so succinct.
I have spent two and a half years
trying to put words to this,
I still don’t have enough of them.
I cannot stomach the “I miss you”s from strangers:
people he hadn’t spoken to in twenty years,
people who did not know the ugly of his last moments,
who remember the man before the sickness,
who did not grow up in a house full of landmines,
did not kiss their father goodnight knowing
he was a time-bomb.
I know it’s selfish, but
I do not want to be privy to their second-hand grief.
I don’t care what his college friends have to say about him.
His wall has become a morgue I did not want
to be buried in.
So instead, I resurrect his ghost on a microphone,
I pray to half-forgotten echoes of a childhood
where his love did not come with a caveat,
I refuse to lay him down to rest and yet
I have the gall to be sanctimonious.
All this time, and I am still willing
to put parameters around everyone else’s grieving
without taking responsibility for my own.
My father’s Facebook wall is a reminder
of all the people who have managed to move on
from his passing, when here I am:
writing the same poem
for the hundredth time,
no closer to being able
to say goodbye to him.”
- FACEBOOK EULOGIES by Ashe Vernon
Cute local poet is probably writing poems about you.
Cute local poet is probably writing poems about you.
What are the chances that I'll be able to see you perform in Houston in June/July?
100% !! Jordan and mine’s tour will hit Houston on June 1st! More information later, when we announce all the tour dates, proper.
I don't get butterflies with my boyfriend and never have. I believe it to be because I trust him and I'm comfortable with him yet others tell me I'm headed for trouble? What are your thoughts?
There are so many different ways to love. Sometimes, love is fireworks and starbursts and light, and sometimes love is something softer, something familiar, something you curl up next to on cold nights.
Neither version is more real than the other, or better than the other. You don’t have to have butterflies. It’s okay to just want to hold his hand.
December 21, 2015
Do you know any other asexuals besides your sister? If so who? lol sorry for the random question just curious how many aces there are out there
I know a lot of people who identify somewhere on the ace spectrum. To give you a more specific number than “a lot”, it’s estimated that at least [and this is probably a low estimate because these things are usually under-reported] 1% of the population is asexual. That’s 70 MILLION people.
Um hi Momma Ashe... So I kissed that angel. Or I guess he kissed me. Idk its all kind of blurry. I think I like it tho. I really wouldn't mind feeling like this forever. He's so good to me. I'm still in shock. Or awe. Just thought you'd want to know.
I’m so happy for you, little dove. I kissed my angel, too. I’m glad we both found a little pocket of heaven for ourselves.
