the continuing stories of motherfucking revisions
so i had some poems published recently, which is cool. even cooler, is that now you get to see the revision process! hooray!, you exclaim, we have also wanted to see the revision process!
well, dear reader, you are in goddam luck.
so here is the first draft. i probably started it around 3 in the afternoon, but i am probably making that up. i definitely called jay deshpande around 5 or 6 and read it to his voicemail. and i definitely did some line edits before saving this draft. but this is the first recorded draft.
i shoot horses [first draft, aug 5, 8:49pm]
I shoot horses. Or, I have. I was born bador, badly. I have shot horses. I have stood on a hillwhile the clouds were dressed up as a single piece of gauzestretched over the entire world. I have been decked outin diamonds. I have been a videogame. I have been writing you a letter about my feelings.My feelings are a single sheet of gauzestretched out over the entire world. My feelingsare that single sheet of gauze as it shoots horsesfull of bullets. There are days when the sunsetlooks nothing like a sunset. I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I wondered what life would be likewithout you, or, without shooting horses. I have shot horsesin the head and I have felt both bad and badly.I have ridden into the sunset. I have been writing you a letter.It goes Over there is a tree and on the tree are branches, reaching upwards. On one of the branchessomeone has been hung, with a sheetas a sort of declaration. Out here people confuse thingsoften. There are certain holidays not worth mentioning.At night do you miss me? Is there an empty feelingbetween your thighs or in your heart? Is my facea thing you can think of with your eyes closedor open? I am working a postcard that goesWeather is shitty wish you were herebecause it is fucking hot out. All the houseboats have drowned.I saw it and it was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it. I shoot horses when I miss youand I shoot horses when I feel itchy and I shoot horseswhen they look at me funny and when I say I shoot horsesdo you know what I mean? I mean I shoot horses.I mean the postal service is a hit-or-miss situation.I mean if I was going to hell I'd have been there by nowand if the job market was a horse I'd shoot it to.I have stood in the wake of devastation and I have watched youundress from that sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I heard heavenis a place on earth here with you is somethingI saw on the back of a postcard and I have no responseto that statement but I will say that after I saw itI went out and I dug a hole in the ground and I called it a lakeand I sat by that lake for several days. After several daysI was no longer sitting by the lake. I was lying in bedand you were there and you were smiling and I felt my mouthdoing things I didn't know about and I closed my eyesbecause I was so happy and when I opened themthere were tanks rolling through the streetscrushing bicycles and houses and houseboatswere washing up on the shore and it was like beached whalesbut even more tragic. Buildings were on fireand then they weren't. Your face was everywhereand I was happy.
this is the second draft! some of the breaks changed, and so did the ending.
i shoot horses [second draft, aug 8, 12am]
I shoot horses. Or, I have. I was born bador, badly. I have shot horses. I have stood on a hillwhile the clouds were dressed up as a single piece of gauzestretched over the entire world. I have been decked outin diamonds. I have been a videogame. I have been writing you a letter about my feelingsand I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I wondered what life would be likewithout you, or without shooting horses. I have shot horsesin the head and I have ridden into the sunset. I have been writing you a letter. It goes Over there is a tree and on the tree are branches, reaching upwards. On one of the branchessomeone has been hung, with a sheetas a sort of declaration. Out here people confuse thingsoften. There are certain holidays not worth mentioning.At night do you miss me? Is there an empty feelingbetween your thighs or in your heart? Is my facea thing you can think of with your eyes closedor open? I am working a postcard that goesWeather is shitty wish you were here.Last night all the houseboats have drowned.I saw it and it was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it. I shoot horses and when I miss I shoot horses and when I say I shoot horsesdo you know what I mean? I mean I shoot horses.I mean the postal service is a hit-or-miss situation.I mean I have stood in the wake of devastation and I have watched youundress from that sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I heard heavenis a place on earth here with you but I don't believe that for a second.
third draft. 2 and a half hours afte the second. the opening changed, some stuff got added. i get a bit manic with editing. whatever.
i shoot horses [third draft, aug 8, 2:26 am]
I shoot horses. Or, I have. I have shot horses. I have stood on a hillwhile the clouds were dressed up as a single piece of gauzestretched over the entire world. I have been decked outin diamonds. I have been a videogame. I have been writing you a letter about my feelingsand I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I wondered what life would be likewithout either you or the shooting of horses. I have shot horsesin the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsetsthat look nothing at all like sunsets. In my spare timeI have been writing you a letter. It goes Over there is a tree and on the tree are branches reaching upwards. On one of the branchessomeone has been hung with a sheetas a sort of declaration. Out here people confuse thingsoften. When I say let us pray I mean turn off the lightand close your eyes. Listen.At night do you miss me? Is there an empty feelingbetween your thighs or in your heart? Is my facea thing you can think of with your eyes closedor open? I am working a postcard that goesWeather is shitty wish you were here.Last night all the houseboats drowned.I saw it and it was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it, I swear. This is all to sayin the freezer I left a TV and a dinnerthat I'd like you to keep safe for meif it's not too much trouble because I would hate to be an imposition.Today I am going to get up in the morning and standin front of a mirror and draw on a fine and glorious beardand compose my eyes in the manner of a man who has done some things, let me tell you.That was a lie. I am not going to tell you about them.Let's go back. I wrote you a post cardand it was thoughtful and after that I mailed itand after I shot some horses because when I shootI shoot horses and when I miss I shoot horsesand when I say I shoot horses do you know what I mean? I mean I shoot horses. I mean the postal service is a hit-or-miss situation.I mean to say I have stood in the wake of devastation and I have watched youundress from that sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I heard heavenis a place on earth here with you but I don't believe that for a second.
twelve hours later, we get the fourth draft. in the fourth draft the ending is new, the opening changes, other stuff does too! it is possible you are saying to yourself, but sasha, what were you trying to do with these revisions? what was your guiding light? i will tell you: my goal in revising is to make the poem awesome. i want it to be closer to awesomeness. i want it to be a thing that punches you in the heart with sadness and awesomeness. and so that is how i revise. for awesomeness and maximum feelings. sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.
i shoot horses [fourth draft, aug 8, 2:40 pm]
I shoot horses. Or, I have. I have shot horses. I have stood on a hilland I have been decked out in diamonds. I have been a videogame. I have been an implement of peace.I have been writing you a letter about my feelings.I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I wondered what life would be likewithout either you or the shooting of horses. I have shot horsesin the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsetsthat look nothing at all like sunsets and in my spare timeI have been writing you a letter. It goes Over there is a tree and on the tree are branches reaching upwards. On one of the branchessomeone has been hung with a sheetas a sort of declaration. Out here people confuse thingsoften. It could be saidthat that is a terrible thing to enclose in a letterand for that I apologize. I will write you a letterfull of vast and uncompromising beauty and I will ask you some questions likeAt night do you miss me? Is there an empty feelingbetween your thighs or in your heart? Is my facea thing you can think of with your eyes closedor open? When I say let us pray I mean turn off the lightand close your eyes. I am working on a postcard that goesWeather is shitty wish you were here.I am going to get up in the morning and standin front of a mirror and give myself a fine and glorious beardand compose my eyes in the manner of a man who has done some things, let me tell you.I mean I went out last night and I shot some horsesand then I shot some more and they just kept on piling upuntil I had a mountain of shot up horses there in front of mejust bleeding and crying for miles on endand it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.I mean to say I am a terrible person who has done terrible thingsand it's possible that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse. I mean that I love you and I miss you and when I close my eyesall I can see is your face encircled with fire. I mean that I have watched you undress from that sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I heard heavenis a place on earth here with you but I don't believe that for a second. In the middle of the night all the houseboats drownedI saw it and it was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it, I swear.
fifth draft. sometimes i go more for the sadness and the resignation at times.
i shoot horses [fifth draft, aug 9, 5:59pm]
I shoot horses. Or, I have. I have shot horses. I have stood on a hilland written you a long and involved letter regarding my feelings. I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I pondered what life would be likewithout either you or the shooting of horses. If you were wondering about my accomplishments I would say I have shot horses in the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsets that look nothing at all like sunsetsand I wrote you a letter on my palm. It goesIn the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned and I saw it. It was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it, I swear. After thatI sent you a love letter straight to your heartfull of a vast, uncompromising beauty and also some questions like At night do you miss me? Is there an empty feeling between your thighs or in your heart? Is my face a thing you can think of with your eyes closed or open? When I say let us pray I mean turn off the lightand close your eyes. I am working on a postcard that goesWeather is shitty wish you were hereso we could walk together, arm in armdown a poorly lit street in the middle of the nightthrough a terrible part of town. If you asked me how I spend my days I'd tell you. I spend my days shooting horsesand picturing you standing before me,in a field of amber wheat near an infinitely mountainous mountain,and dressed up in a sundress, and smiling. In the evenings I take my supper and sweep up as needed.In the mornings I stand in front of a mirror and give myself a fine and glorious beardand compose my eyes in the manner of a man who has done some things, let me tell you.Last night I went out in the yard and I shot some horsesand then I shot some more and they just kept on piling upuntil I had a mountain of shot up horses there in front of mejust bleeding and crying for miles on endand it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.I mean to say I am a terrible person who has done terrible thingsand it's possible that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse. I mean that I love you and I miss you and when I close my eyesall I can see is your face encircled with fire. I mean that I have watched you undress from that sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I once heard that heavenis a place on earth here with you but I don't believe that for a second. Out herethe mountain of bleeding horses weepsand the tumbleweeds tumbleand the drunks get drunkand the sun sets on all of usand I have carved your name and likeness upon the face of the earthand that's just how it is.
i tried to trim it down in the sixth draft. i figured if i had the stuff that seemed more important then i could just make the rest of it more important later.
i shoot horses [sixth draft, aug 27, 5:08pm]
I shoot horses. Or, I have. I have shot horses. I have stood on a hilland written you a long and involved letter regarding my feelings. I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I pondered what life would be likewithout either you or the shooting of horses. If you were wondering about my accomplishments I would say that I have shot horses in the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsets that look nothing at all like sunsets.I mean to say I am a terrible person who has done terrible thingsand it's possible that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse. In the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned and I saw it. It was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it, I swear.I mean that when I close my eyesall I can see is your face encircled with fire. I mean that I have watched you undress from your sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I once heard that heavenis a place on earth here with you but I don't believe that for a second.If you asked me how I spend my days I'd tell you. I spend my days shooting horsesand picturing you standing before me,in a field of amber wheat near an infinitely mountainous mountain,and dressed up in you sundress and smiling and in the evenings I take my supper and sweep up as needed.In the mornings I stand in front of a mirror and give myself a fine and glorious beardand compose my eyes in the manner of a man who has done some things, let me tell you.Last night I went out in the yard and I shot some horsesand then I shot some more and they just kept on piling upuntil I had a mountain of shot up horses there in front of mejust bleeding and crying for miles on endand it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.
at this point i was thinking about jobs and such, and i thought i would make jokes about being a professional. i would like to be a professional at things.
i shoot horses [seventh draft, aug 31, 7:58pm]
I shoot horses. Or, I have. I have shot horses as an intern and I have shot horsesas a full-time position and alsoas a hobby. I have stood on a hilland written you a long and involved letter regarding my feelings. I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I pondered what life would be likewithout either you or the shooting of horses. If you were wondering about my accomplishments I would say that I have shot horses in the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsets that look nothing at all like sunsetsand when I close my eyes I can see your faceencircled in flames. I mean to say I am a terrible person who has done terrible things and it's quite possible that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse. I am now going to tell you a story to illustrate my understanding of the concept of remorse:Once I shot a horse in the stomach and out of the hole in its stomachcame a great feathered bird and I thoughtvery hard about setting that great feathered bird on fireso I could eat it but while I was thinking about thisthe moment passed and so did the birdand after that I went out for barbecueand it was alright but nothing to write home about.If you were to ask me how I spend my days I'd tell you that I spend my days shooting horsesand picturing you standing before mein a field of amber wheat near an infinitely mountainous mountain,and dressed up in your sundress and smilingand I'd tell you that in the evenings I take my supper and sweep up as needed. In the mornings I stand in front of a mirror and give myself a fine and glorious beardand compose my eyes in the manner of a man who has seen some things. I mean that I have seen you undress from your sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I mean that in the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned and I saw it. It was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it, I swear. I mean that last night I went out in the yard and I shot some horsesand then I shot some more and they just kept on piling upuntil I had a mountain of shot up horses there in front of mejust bleeding and crying for miles on endand it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.
for some reason in the eighth draft i thought i'd get weird with some indents and have the first line continue off from the title. i don't know why i didn't just have it be on the same line, with the title bolded. that would have been a neat idea i think.
i shoot horses [eighth draft, sept 6, 6:30pm]
, or, I have. I have shot horses as both an apprenticeand a certified professional. I have stood on a hilland written you a long and involved letter regarding my feelings. I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I pondered what life would be likewithout either you or the shooting of horses. If you were wondering about my accomplishments I would say that I have shot horses in the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsets that look nothing at all like sunsetsand when I close my eyes I can see your faceencircled in flames. I mean to say I am a terrible person who has done terrible things and it's quite possible that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse. I am now going to tell you a story to illustrate my understanding of the concept of remorse:Once I shot a horse in the stomach and out of the hole in its stomachcame a great feathered bird and I thoughtvery hard about setting that great feathered bird on fireso I could eat it but the moment passed and the great feathered bird that I should have cooked and eaten flew offand after that I went out for barbecueand it was alright but nothing to write home about.If you were to ask me how I spend my days I'd tell you that I spend my days shooting horsesand picturing you standing in a field of amber wheat near an infinitely mountainous mountain,wearing your sundress and smilingand I'd tell you that in the evenings I take my supper and sweep up as needed. In the mornings I stand in front of a mirror and give myself a fine and glorious beardand compose my eyes in the manner of a man who has seen some things. I mean that I have seen you undress from your sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I mean that in the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned and I saw it. It was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it, I swear. I mean that last night I went out in the yard and I shot some horsesand then I shot some more and they just kept piling upuntil I had a mountain of shot up horses there in front of mejust bleeding and crying for miles on endlike a flood or the slow progress of timeor a river of blood from a mountain of shot up horsesthat covers your boots in a way you can never get cleanand it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.
here is the ninth. there were two others, but they are pretty close to the ninth. the ninth is similar to the eighth, but a bit different. i will let you figure out how.
i shoot horses [ninth draft, sept 15, 6:19pm]
Or, I have. I have shot horses as both an apprenticeand a certified professional. I have stood on a hilland written you a long and involved letter regarding my feelings. I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I pondered what life would be likewithout either you or the shooting of horses. If you were wondering about my accomplishments I would say that I have shot horses in the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsets that look nothing at all like sunsetsand when I close my eyes I can see your faceencircled in flames. I mean to say I am a terrible person who has done terrible things and it's quite possible that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse. I am now going to tell you a story:Once I shot a horse in the stomach and out of the hole in its stomachcame a great feathered bird and I thoughtvery hard about setting that great feathered bird on fireso I could eat it but the moment passed and the great feathered bird that I should have cooked and eaten flew offand after that I went out for barbecueand it was alright but nothing to write home about.Here is something to write home about:Hello. I love you and I miss you so muchthat it feels like I am going to die but then I don't dieand I have no idea what to do about that.If you were to ask me how I spend my days I'd tell you that I spend my days shooting horsesand picturing you standing in a field of amber wheat near an infinitely mountainous mountain,wearing your sundress and smilingand I'd tell you that in the evenings I take my supper and sweep up as needed. In the mornings I stand in front of a mirror and give myself a fine and glorious beardand compose my eyes in the manner of a man who has seen some things. I mean that I have seen you undress from your sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I mean that in the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned and I saw it. It was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it, I swear. I mean that last night I went out in the yard and I shot some horsesand then I shot some more and they just kept piling upuntil I had a mountain of shot-up horses there in front of mejust bleeding and crying for miles on endlike a flood or the slow progress of timeor a river of blood from a mountain of shot-up horsesand it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.
the tenth and eleventh drafts are just variations on the ninth, each differ by about 20 words i think. the final, twelfth draft , is dated feb 4, 4:08pm, all though i can guarantee minor edits were made after that, around feb 29/march 1, when i turned the thing in.
i don't know. if people want, i can go back and write more. this is probably a long thing that no one cares about, but whatever. who knows!
well, dear reader, you are in goddam luck.
so here is the first draft. i probably started it around 3 in the afternoon, but i am probably making that up. i definitely called jay deshpande around 5 or 6 and read it to his voicemail. and i definitely did some line edits before saving this draft. but this is the first recorded draft.
i shoot horses [first draft, aug 5, 8:49pm]
I shoot horses. Or, I have. I was born bador, badly. I have shot horses. I have stood on a hillwhile the clouds were dressed up as a single piece of gauzestretched over the entire world. I have been decked outin diamonds. I have been a videogame. I have been writing you a letter about my feelings.My feelings are a single sheet of gauzestretched out over the entire world. My feelingsare that single sheet of gauze as it shoots horsesfull of bullets. There are days when the sunsetlooks nothing like a sunset. I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I wondered what life would be likewithout you, or, without shooting horses. I have shot horsesin the head and I have felt both bad and badly.I have ridden into the sunset. I have been writing you a letter.It goes Over there is a tree and on the tree are branches, reaching upwards. On one of the branchessomeone has been hung, with a sheetas a sort of declaration. Out here people confuse thingsoften. There are certain holidays not worth mentioning.At night do you miss me? Is there an empty feelingbetween your thighs or in your heart? Is my facea thing you can think of with your eyes closedor open? I am working a postcard that goesWeather is shitty wish you were herebecause it is fucking hot out. All the houseboats have drowned.I saw it and it was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it. I shoot horses when I miss youand I shoot horses when I feel itchy and I shoot horseswhen they look at me funny and when I say I shoot horsesdo you know what I mean? I mean I shoot horses.I mean the postal service is a hit-or-miss situation.I mean if I was going to hell I'd have been there by nowand if the job market was a horse I'd shoot it to.I have stood in the wake of devastation and I have watched youundress from that sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I heard heavenis a place on earth here with you is somethingI saw on the back of a postcard and I have no responseto that statement but I will say that after I saw itI went out and I dug a hole in the ground and I called it a lakeand I sat by that lake for several days. After several daysI was no longer sitting by the lake. I was lying in bedand you were there and you were smiling and I felt my mouthdoing things I didn't know about and I closed my eyesbecause I was so happy and when I opened themthere were tanks rolling through the streetscrushing bicycles and houses and houseboatswere washing up on the shore and it was like beached whalesbut even more tragic. Buildings were on fireand then they weren't. Your face was everywhereand I was happy.
this is the second draft! some of the breaks changed, and so did the ending.
i shoot horses [second draft, aug 8, 12am]
I shoot horses. Or, I have. I was born bador, badly. I have shot horses. I have stood on a hillwhile the clouds were dressed up as a single piece of gauzestretched over the entire world. I have been decked outin diamonds. I have been a videogame. I have been writing you a letter about my feelingsand I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I wondered what life would be likewithout you, or without shooting horses. I have shot horsesin the head and I have ridden into the sunset. I have been writing you a letter. It goes Over there is a tree and on the tree are branches, reaching upwards. On one of the branchessomeone has been hung, with a sheetas a sort of declaration. Out here people confuse thingsoften. There are certain holidays not worth mentioning.At night do you miss me? Is there an empty feelingbetween your thighs or in your heart? Is my facea thing you can think of with your eyes closedor open? I am working a postcard that goesWeather is shitty wish you were here.Last night all the houseboats have drowned.I saw it and it was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it. I shoot horses and when I miss I shoot horses and when I say I shoot horsesdo you know what I mean? I mean I shoot horses.I mean the postal service is a hit-or-miss situation.I mean I have stood in the wake of devastation and I have watched youundress from that sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I heard heavenis a place on earth here with you but I don't believe that for a second.
third draft. 2 and a half hours afte the second. the opening changed, some stuff got added. i get a bit manic with editing. whatever.
i shoot horses [third draft, aug 8, 2:26 am]
I shoot horses. Or, I have. I have shot horses. I have stood on a hillwhile the clouds were dressed up as a single piece of gauzestretched over the entire world. I have been decked outin diamonds. I have been a videogame. I have been writing you a letter about my feelingsand I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I wondered what life would be likewithout either you or the shooting of horses. I have shot horsesin the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsetsthat look nothing at all like sunsets. In my spare timeI have been writing you a letter. It goes Over there is a tree and on the tree are branches reaching upwards. On one of the branchessomeone has been hung with a sheetas a sort of declaration. Out here people confuse thingsoften. When I say let us pray I mean turn off the lightand close your eyes. Listen.At night do you miss me? Is there an empty feelingbetween your thighs or in your heart? Is my facea thing you can think of with your eyes closedor open? I am working a postcard that goesWeather is shitty wish you were here.Last night all the houseboats drowned.I saw it and it was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it, I swear. This is all to sayin the freezer I left a TV and a dinnerthat I'd like you to keep safe for meif it's not too much trouble because I would hate to be an imposition.Today I am going to get up in the morning and standin front of a mirror and draw on a fine and glorious beardand compose my eyes in the manner of a man who has done some things, let me tell you.That was a lie. I am not going to tell you about them.Let's go back. I wrote you a post cardand it was thoughtful and after that I mailed itand after I shot some horses because when I shootI shoot horses and when I miss I shoot horsesand when I say I shoot horses do you know what I mean? I mean I shoot horses. I mean the postal service is a hit-or-miss situation.I mean to say I have stood in the wake of devastation and I have watched youundress from that sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I heard heavenis a place on earth here with you but I don't believe that for a second.
twelve hours later, we get the fourth draft. in the fourth draft the ending is new, the opening changes, other stuff does too! it is possible you are saying to yourself, but sasha, what were you trying to do with these revisions? what was your guiding light? i will tell you: my goal in revising is to make the poem awesome. i want it to be closer to awesomeness. i want it to be a thing that punches you in the heart with sadness and awesomeness. and so that is how i revise. for awesomeness and maximum feelings. sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.
i shoot horses [fourth draft, aug 8, 2:40 pm]
I shoot horses. Or, I have. I have shot horses. I have stood on a hilland I have been decked out in diamonds. I have been a videogame. I have been an implement of peace.I have been writing you a letter about my feelings.I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I wondered what life would be likewithout either you or the shooting of horses. I have shot horsesin the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsetsthat look nothing at all like sunsets and in my spare timeI have been writing you a letter. It goes Over there is a tree and on the tree are branches reaching upwards. On one of the branchessomeone has been hung with a sheetas a sort of declaration. Out here people confuse thingsoften. It could be saidthat that is a terrible thing to enclose in a letterand for that I apologize. I will write you a letterfull of vast and uncompromising beauty and I will ask you some questions likeAt night do you miss me? Is there an empty feelingbetween your thighs or in your heart? Is my facea thing you can think of with your eyes closedor open? When I say let us pray I mean turn off the lightand close your eyes. I am working on a postcard that goesWeather is shitty wish you were here.I am going to get up in the morning and standin front of a mirror and give myself a fine and glorious beardand compose my eyes in the manner of a man who has done some things, let me tell you.I mean I went out last night and I shot some horsesand then I shot some more and they just kept on piling upuntil I had a mountain of shot up horses there in front of mejust bleeding and crying for miles on endand it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.I mean to say I am a terrible person who has done terrible thingsand it's possible that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse. I mean that I love you and I miss you and when I close my eyesall I can see is your face encircled with fire. I mean that I have watched you undress from that sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I heard heavenis a place on earth here with you but I don't believe that for a second. In the middle of the night all the houseboats drownedI saw it and it was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it, I swear.
fifth draft. sometimes i go more for the sadness and the resignation at times.
i shoot horses [fifth draft, aug 9, 5:59pm]
I shoot horses. Or, I have. I have shot horses. I have stood on a hilland written you a long and involved letter regarding my feelings. I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I pondered what life would be likewithout either you or the shooting of horses. If you were wondering about my accomplishments I would say I have shot horses in the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsets that look nothing at all like sunsetsand I wrote you a letter on my palm. It goesIn the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned and I saw it. It was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it, I swear. After thatI sent you a love letter straight to your heartfull of a vast, uncompromising beauty and also some questions like At night do you miss me? Is there an empty feeling between your thighs or in your heart? Is my face a thing you can think of with your eyes closed or open? When I say let us pray I mean turn off the lightand close your eyes. I am working on a postcard that goesWeather is shitty wish you were hereso we could walk together, arm in armdown a poorly lit street in the middle of the nightthrough a terrible part of town. If you asked me how I spend my days I'd tell you. I spend my days shooting horsesand picturing you standing before me,in a field of amber wheat near an infinitely mountainous mountain,and dressed up in a sundress, and smiling. In the evenings I take my supper and sweep up as needed.In the mornings I stand in front of a mirror and give myself a fine and glorious beardand compose my eyes in the manner of a man who has done some things, let me tell you.Last night I went out in the yard and I shot some horsesand then I shot some more and they just kept on piling upuntil I had a mountain of shot up horses there in front of mejust bleeding and crying for miles on endand it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.I mean to say I am a terrible person who has done terrible thingsand it's possible that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse. I mean that I love you and I miss you and when I close my eyesall I can see is your face encircled with fire. I mean that I have watched you undress from that sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I once heard that heavenis a place on earth here with you but I don't believe that for a second. Out herethe mountain of bleeding horses weepsand the tumbleweeds tumbleand the drunks get drunkand the sun sets on all of usand I have carved your name and likeness upon the face of the earthand that's just how it is.
i tried to trim it down in the sixth draft. i figured if i had the stuff that seemed more important then i could just make the rest of it more important later.
i shoot horses [sixth draft, aug 27, 5:08pm]
I shoot horses. Or, I have. I have shot horses. I have stood on a hilland written you a long and involved letter regarding my feelings. I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I pondered what life would be likewithout either you or the shooting of horses. If you were wondering about my accomplishments I would say that I have shot horses in the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsets that look nothing at all like sunsets.I mean to say I am a terrible person who has done terrible thingsand it's possible that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse. In the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned and I saw it. It was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it, I swear.I mean that when I close my eyesall I can see is your face encircled with fire. I mean that I have watched you undress from your sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I once heard that heavenis a place on earth here with you but I don't believe that for a second.If you asked me how I spend my days I'd tell you. I spend my days shooting horsesand picturing you standing before me,in a field of amber wheat near an infinitely mountainous mountain,and dressed up in you sundress and smiling and in the evenings I take my supper and sweep up as needed.In the mornings I stand in front of a mirror and give myself a fine and glorious beardand compose my eyes in the manner of a man who has done some things, let me tell you.Last night I went out in the yard and I shot some horsesand then I shot some more and they just kept on piling upuntil I had a mountain of shot up horses there in front of mejust bleeding and crying for miles on endand it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.
at this point i was thinking about jobs and such, and i thought i would make jokes about being a professional. i would like to be a professional at things.
i shoot horses [seventh draft, aug 31, 7:58pm]
I shoot horses. Or, I have. I have shot horses as an intern and I have shot horsesas a full-time position and alsoas a hobby. I have stood on a hilland written you a long and involved letter regarding my feelings. I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I pondered what life would be likewithout either you or the shooting of horses. If you were wondering about my accomplishments I would say that I have shot horses in the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsets that look nothing at all like sunsetsand when I close my eyes I can see your faceencircled in flames. I mean to say I am a terrible person who has done terrible things and it's quite possible that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse. I am now going to tell you a story to illustrate my understanding of the concept of remorse:Once I shot a horse in the stomach and out of the hole in its stomachcame a great feathered bird and I thoughtvery hard about setting that great feathered bird on fireso I could eat it but while I was thinking about thisthe moment passed and so did the birdand after that I went out for barbecueand it was alright but nothing to write home about.If you were to ask me how I spend my days I'd tell you that I spend my days shooting horsesand picturing you standing before mein a field of amber wheat near an infinitely mountainous mountain,and dressed up in your sundress and smilingand I'd tell you that in the evenings I take my supper and sweep up as needed. In the mornings I stand in front of a mirror and give myself a fine and glorious beardand compose my eyes in the manner of a man who has seen some things. I mean that I have seen you undress from your sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I mean that in the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned and I saw it. It was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it, I swear. I mean that last night I went out in the yard and I shot some horsesand then I shot some more and they just kept on piling upuntil I had a mountain of shot up horses there in front of mejust bleeding and crying for miles on endand it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.
for some reason in the eighth draft i thought i'd get weird with some indents and have the first line continue off from the title. i don't know why i didn't just have it be on the same line, with the title bolded. that would have been a neat idea i think.
i shoot horses [eighth draft, sept 6, 6:30pm]
, or, I have. I have shot horses as both an apprenticeand a certified professional. I have stood on a hilland written you a long and involved letter regarding my feelings. I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I pondered what life would be likewithout either you or the shooting of horses. If you were wondering about my accomplishments I would say that I have shot horses in the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsets that look nothing at all like sunsetsand when I close my eyes I can see your faceencircled in flames. I mean to say I am a terrible person who has done terrible things and it's quite possible that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse. I am now going to tell you a story to illustrate my understanding of the concept of remorse:Once I shot a horse in the stomach and out of the hole in its stomachcame a great feathered bird and I thoughtvery hard about setting that great feathered bird on fireso I could eat it but the moment passed and the great feathered bird that I should have cooked and eaten flew offand after that I went out for barbecueand it was alright but nothing to write home about.If you were to ask me how I spend my days I'd tell you that I spend my days shooting horsesand picturing you standing in a field of amber wheat near an infinitely mountainous mountain,wearing your sundress and smilingand I'd tell you that in the evenings I take my supper and sweep up as needed. In the mornings I stand in front of a mirror and give myself a fine and glorious beardand compose my eyes in the manner of a man who has seen some things. I mean that I have seen you undress from your sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I mean that in the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned and I saw it. It was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it, I swear. I mean that last night I went out in the yard and I shot some horsesand then I shot some more and they just kept piling upuntil I had a mountain of shot up horses there in front of mejust bleeding and crying for miles on endlike a flood or the slow progress of timeor a river of blood from a mountain of shot up horsesthat covers your boots in a way you can never get cleanand it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.
here is the ninth. there were two others, but they are pretty close to the ninth. the ninth is similar to the eighth, but a bit different. i will let you figure out how.
i shoot horses [ninth draft, sept 15, 6:19pm]
Or, I have. I have shot horses as both an apprenticeand a certified professional. I have stood on a hilland written you a long and involved letter regarding my feelings. I have been drunk and I have been otherwiseand not once have I pondered what life would be likewithout either you or the shooting of horses. If you were wondering about my accomplishments I would say that I have shot horses in the head and on horseback and I have ridden into sunsets that look nothing at all like sunsetsand when I close my eyes I can see your faceencircled in flames. I mean to say I am a terrible person who has done terrible things and it's quite possible that I greatly misunderstand the concept of remorse. I am now going to tell you a story:Once I shot a horse in the stomach and out of the hole in its stomachcame a great feathered bird and I thoughtvery hard about setting that great feathered bird on fireso I could eat it but the moment passed and the great feathered bird that I should have cooked and eaten flew offand after that I went out for barbecueand it was alright but nothing to write home about.Here is something to write home about:Hello. I love you and I miss you so muchthat it feels like I am going to die but then I don't dieand I have no idea what to do about that.If you were to ask me how I spend my days I'd tell you that I spend my days shooting horsesand picturing you standing in a field of amber wheat near an infinitely mountainous mountain,wearing your sundress and smilingand I'd tell you that in the evenings I take my supper and sweep up as needed. In the mornings I stand in front of a mirror and give myself a fine and glorious beardand compose my eyes in the manner of a man who has seen some things. I mean that I have seen you undress from your sundress and lay yourself down to sleepand I have cracked open a beer and bowed downin awe to what is placed before me. I mean that in the middle of the night all the houseboats drowned and I saw it. It was beautiful and sad and tragicand you would have loved it, I swear. I mean that last night I went out in the yard and I shot some horsesand then I shot some more and they just kept piling upuntil I had a mountain of shot-up horses there in front of mejust bleeding and crying for miles on endlike a flood or the slow progress of timeor a river of blood from a mountain of shot-up horsesand it was the most awful thing I have ever seen.
the tenth and eleventh drafts are just variations on the ninth, each differ by about 20 words i think. the final, twelfth draft , is dated feb 4, 4:08pm, all though i can guarantee minor edits were made after that, around feb 29/march 1, when i turned the thing in.
i don't know. if people want, i can go back and write more. this is probably a long thing that no one cares about, but whatever. who knows!
Published on March 08, 2012 09:18
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