Jon-Sands

8

asoiaf meme [¼] quotes

Sansa, permit me to share a bit of womanly wisdom with you on this very special day. Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same.

When I said I wasn’t with another girl
the January after we fell in love for the 3rd time,
it’s because it wasn’t actual sex.

In the February that began our radio silence,
it was actual sex. I hate the tight shirts
that go below your waistline.

Not only do they make you look too young,
but then your torso is a giraffe’s neck attached to tiny legs.
I screamed at myself in the subway

for writing poems about you still.
I made a scene. I think about you almost
each morning, and roughly every five days, I still

believe you’re there.
I still masturbate to you.
When we got really bad,

I would put another coat of mop water on the floor of the bar
to make sure you were asleep when I got to my side of the bed.
You are the only person to whom I’ve lied, knowing

I was telling the truth. I miss the way your neck
wraps around my face like a cave we are both lost in.
I remember when you said being with me

is like being alone with company.
My friend Sarah wrote a poem about pink ponies.
I’m scared you’re my pink pony.

Hers is dead. It is really sad. You’re not dead.
You live in Ohio, or Washington, or Wherever.
You are a shadow my body leaves on other girls.

I have a growing queue of things I know
will make you laugh and I don’t know where to put them.
I mourn like you’re dead. If you had asked me to stay,

I would not have said no.
It would never mean yes.

—  Jon Sands, “A Working List of Things I Will Never Tell You”
Running order at Eurovision 2017 final

Following the proposal of the UA_PBC (Ukrainian public channel) and the approval of Jon Ola Sand, the following order of action has been determined in the Grand Final of the Eurovision 2017 Festival with the aim of making a show pleasant and simplifying the work and rythm of a show with 26 live performances.

Thus, the order will be as follows:

  1. Israel
  2. Poland
  3. Belarus
  4. Austria
  5. Armenia
  6. The Netherlands
  7. Moldova
  8. Hungary
  9. Italy
  10. Denmark
  11. Portugal
  12. Azerbaijan
  13. Croatia
  14. Australia
  15. Greece
  16. Spain
  17. Norway
  18. United Kingdom
  19. Cyprus
  20. Romania
  21. Germany
  22. Ukraine
  23. Belgium
  24. Sweden
  25. Bulgaria
  26. France
10

“Twelfth Night” by William Shakespeare

Shakespeare in the Park, 2009

Starring Raúl Esparza, Herb Foster, Anne Hathaway, Jay O. Sanders, Julie White, Hamish Linklater, David Pittu, Audra McDonald, Michael Cumpsty, Charles Borland, Stark Sands & Jon Patrick Walker

jon sands / the shoreline

I threw my hands from my wrists because I liked
the way the beat sniffed around the speakers
like a dog searching for the right place to shit.
My butt was against my blue jeans
against the ripped leather of some couch listening to some
beautiful poet profess what they dreamt about once,
because they are scared to write out the new dreams,
because they are happening right now,
which is a good time to tell you that I am not alone.
I’m next to one hot cup of soup. She could melt the wax
off the wick if you catch my baseball. Now, I don’t
know her. Just two people, one couch,
and a bundle of old dreams, but I cross my left leg
in her direction like a knight
if the couch were a chess board.

In my newest dream I think I see her see me. I think
I see her adjust her butt against her pants against
the leather right now, which is a good time to tell you
that my heart has not been working right.
It’s a cold bowl of wax. It could freeze the juice
off a mango. I have been carrying 
this pistachio in my ribs for months.
I have been trusting people only when I write about them.
I have been straight to voicemail. I have been sewing 
a dress from all of these books and wearing it
to my one-man prom. And I don’t know
what her hair smells like, but I want to.
I don’t know what her mother’s name is
but I want to send her an email questionnaire.
I want to reach my arm to the right now,
which is a good time to tell you that she
is two ladies–

and only one I got an email from that said
she’d only met me but she knew me.
Only one I got an email from that said
she only knew me but she loved me,
and I said I don’t believe in magic outside of my poems,
I said you can’t love me, all I did was write a book,
and she still wrote me back. Only one did I like the comment
she made on someone else’s Facebook status,
and it isn’t the one right here, but my elbows
heard the beat ride out the speakers on horseback.
And my shoulders got yanked by some invisible lasso.

I am talking to the air with my entire body, and if I
was waiting for the perfect time to say HowDoYouDo?
If I was waiting for an invitation to a dinner party?
If I was waiting for a flow chart to say
Trust is risk like poetry; for a sign to spark
in the back of all these dreams that she said,
Jon, let it ride; to hit send until I already
had a transcript of the reply–

I am already thirty, old enough
to know one day my heart will shut down
altogether. I get to choose for what.

A Working List of Things I Will Never Tell You | Jon Sands

When I said I wasn’t with another girl
the January after we fell in love for the 3rd time,
it’s because it wasn’t actual sex.

In the February that began our radio silence,
it was actual sex. I hate the tight shirts
that go below your waistline.

Not only do they make you look too young,
but then your torso is a giraffe’s neck attached to tiny legs.
I screamed at myself in the subway

for writing poems about you still.
I made a scene. I think about you almost
each morning, and roughly every five days, I still

believe you’re there.
I still masturbate to you.
When we got really bad,

I would put another coat of mop water on the floor of the bar
to make sure you were asleep when I got to my side of the bed.
You are the only person to whom I’ve lied, knowing

I was telling the truth. I miss the way your neck
wraps around my face like a cave we are both lost in.
I remember when you said being with me

is like being alone with company.
My friend Sarah wrote a poem about pink ponies.
I’m scared you’re my pink pony.

Hers is dead. It is really sad. You’re not dead.
You live in Ohio, or Washington, or Wherever.
You are a shadow my body leaves on other girls.

I have a growing queue of things I know
will make you laugh and I don’t know where to put them.
I mourn like you’re dead. If you had asked me to stay,

I would not have said no.
It would never mean yes.