Shorter Posts – Jamais Mayville

A Poem From My Notes App

I’m on my man like Peleton.

Your man is on my telephone.

I’m 151816 Pink —

look that number up in Pantone.

I’m available for songwriting/ghostwriting. HMU!

Growing Up

I feel like all of my diary entries are childish and unimportant.

When I see that Carrie Mae Weems moved out at 16 and became a professional artist, and that I’m nearly 30 and still writing about petty arguments, I realize I need to get my shit together.

Target Audience

I once described Lana Del Rey’s oeuvre as “the perfect soundtrack for taking Quaaludes in your married boyfriend’s ice blue, rusty-handled Thunderbird.”

It still feels true. I admire somebody who can make music for a very specific demographic.

I love the idea of someone throwing their all into making songs for beautiful alt-rock femcels who are too scared of needles to get real piercings or TGI Fridays managers who drive blue PT Cruisers and look like Guy Fieri.

Although, you know, it seems like every song on Top 40 radio back in the early 2000s was made specifically for both of those demographics. Amazing.

Preacherman

He’s a man of the cloth — so long as the cloth is lambskin.

This sounds like a tagline for a church-sploitation movie.

Substitute Teacher

“Aidan, turn off your rizz and put it away. Brandon, simp quietly at your desk. Good. That’s better.”

A Cross The Universe

The fact that I listened to the titular album all of the time in tenth grade — and even asked my parents to buy a copy for me — and they still didn’t take me to get evaluated for ADHD is mind-boggling.

Fifteen years later, or thereabouts, and I feel like it’s just too much. I mean, I listened to Girl Talk, too, so the driving beats and tempo changes were part of that … indie sleaze party music scene. But Justice was more like … rock-club-swag-booming non-stop knives-out-in-the-nightclub music.

This album came from a time when we were fueled by Red Bull, Polyvore, Cobra Snake photographs, and Vitamin Water.

What a time to be alive!

A Fleeting Thought

Imagine getting injured in a daggering contest — now that’s suffering for your art!

A Flirt

Sometimes, I won’t smile at a man because I don’t want him to think I’m silly and/or flirty — but then I feel silly for not being flirty.

That isn’t very coquettish, is it? The teens over on TikTok would be disappointed in their non-coquettish auntie.

I’m serving nun’t.

Spring Screaming

Too many storyyellers, not enough storytellers.

Craftiness

Sometimes, I feel like a “bad” woman because I don’t know how to make crafts.

I feel like, someday, I’ll find a craft that I can do — a craft that I have a real passion for.

I’ve thought about making zines, but I’m not very handy with paper and scissors. I couldn’t even make paper snowflakes, back when I was in kindergarten.

I suppose, for me, writing is the closest I get to crafting, to creating, to making something out of nothing.