January 29, 2014

Collection: Grown Ass Men I Have Loved

Diaries gone lyrical gone digital.

There’s something to be said about people who use the Internet as a confessional, a makeshift dumping ground for thoughts, feelings and emotions that are better left unsaid in person. That description might sound negative—and it is, for some—but my thoughts about people who are able to spew what’s on their mind, to millions, no less, with their name attached (!!), rises above admiration to a sort of reverence. That unyielding honesty is something most people have yet to master, and something I myself continue working towards nearly every second of my sometimes boring life.

Emily Sipiora’s collection Grown Ass Men I Have Loved is a lovely depiction of unflinching truthfulness, peppered with everything from poetry to tweets, short stories to selfies, and ranges in subject matter from faraway memories to grappling with the sometimes harsh resentment felt when a friend attempts suicide. There are moments of clarity, moments of sadness, and sometimes moments of confusion – but maybe that's because I don't always understand poetry. Or maybe it's because Sipiora's work is a lyrical diary, filled with memories stated in ways we as an audience aren't meant to understand. And there's nothing wrong with that - as an artist and writer, you have free range to make sense to whoever you want to.

Reading zines (or book, really) like this remind me of what zines, and more broadly, journals and publications in general, are supposed to be about. Honesty, in an unwavering, almost terrifying sort of way. And hell, if you can make it sound gorgeous, all the more power to you. Few want to hear about how awful junior year is, except when you can make it sound as staggering as Emily Sipiora does. Even if she isn't talking about her junior year at all, amidst the lines, you don't care what she's talking about anymore, because it sounds too lovely to take notice of anything else.

If I am a deer,
mincing through our burnt plains
then you are a wolf,
knives on your paws
scratching at coals
for some temporary warmth.

Purchase a copy of Grown Ass Men I Have Loved here.

Written by Molly Morris