The good ol’ fashioned war
between the brain and heart
has finally ended.

Guns ceased their love songs
and the generals
hung their worn uniforms,

dusty from strategy
and maneuvering through
body bag deserts. Boots

put to rest, their soles safe
from marching. All of the
soldiers wept in the streets.

The treaty was written
out of necessity,
peace, and desperation.

It was a joint effort
composed by both armies.
We call it, Poetry.

The Treaty Between The Brain And Heart by Alex Dang!

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We’ve been driving for the last 8 hours
across the Nevada landscape which,
for this native, born and bred Oregonian,
is fucking insane. The landscape here is so
wide I feel like it can swallow me at any moment.
I’m used to seeing borders and hills and all these
textures, but here, it is flat. Here, it looks like
there truly is an edge of the world and I could
drop off at any second. It is so wide. It is so
beautiful. With plateaus that look like mountains
with the tops chopped off perfectly still,
the ruby sun sinking back into the horizon,
we’re driving in a place where we look out
for coyotes and lizards and where the moon
and the stars look truly massive. We drive
past bullet-ridden road signs and pull
into Denny’s parking lots and have
conversations that last longer than these roads.
Then, we look at each other and think,
This could be home-
As long as you’re here.

Nevada by Alex Dang!

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It starts with the stars looking more than
just lint against a black cloth sky:
it’s become something prettier than the
girl with the smile bigger than your story.
It continues with the earth scrambling
underneath your feet as you stumble
aimlessly, truthfully, still confused
how you’re able to make a homecoming
every Saturday evening with thoughts
as shaky as your laughter hobbling
along you, arms wrapped tightly over
shoulders. Take a quick stop to spill
gold along the sidewalk before
you collapse back into your bed.
The morning will be kind to you. Probably.

The Drunk Walk Home by Alex Dang!

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We are the American Hooligans.
We come from milk crate furniture
and empty alcohol bottles as tasteful decoration.
We are the party when you can and
fuck it, I’m gonna have a drink because
sometimes Tuesdays are too hard.
We come from home-made tattoos
and we’re made to find homes in
ourselves when we have forgotten that
shelters are harder to build alone.
This is that,
free pizza here, free samples there,
and spend the rest of the money on
cheap beer and textbooks.
That,
sun doesn’t set the standards on when
to be awake because we find that there
are a lot of flowers out there that look
the most breathtaking in starlight.

Alex Dang!

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Rumble, young man, rumble.
Dig deep into the soil and climb
every tree, every obstacle and knock
down the opportunities that you thought
were owed to you, but then you
realized that nothing is owed
so you make it on your own.
Keep rumbling down the
mountain side, through
the cityscape and
past into the
night.

Alex Dang!

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Fractured mirrors forced
into naive knuckles.

Portrait Of An Artist At Age 16 by Alex Dang!

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Haaaaave you met TEDxUOregon?

Hey y’all! I get to do a TEDx talk at my school which I’m pretty stoked about. If you happen to be in the area, stop on by! If not, keep your ear to the internets and watch out for the video being posted on the YouTube. Things are happening.


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There are yawns tucked into
every corner of my body.
I have naps lodged
like bookmarks
and alarm clocks
adorn the lank of my neck.
Some days, I can feel the
drowse slowly roll out
foggy from the back of my throat.

This snow resting
on my bones makes
for shorter springs.

Alex Dang!

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Kick your feet up. You deserve it.
That cubicle you’ve spent 9 hours in today?
Not a prison. Make that bitch your own haven.
This is your tiny kingdom and you rule like
the royalty you know courses through your veins.
Kick your feet up. You earned it.
The library you’ve poured 3 days into?
An asylum? Never. This is the last bastion
in which you are gifted with the sacred scriptures
and only you can interpret them. That essay
is living proof that minds cut sharper than swords.
Kick your feet up. You did it.
Become the stretched leg, relax champion
of your bedroom, of your city.
Take a breather. You’ve been working
so hard. Then grin and look at your
hands. You’ve got so much more you want
to accomplish, don’t you?

Alex Dang!

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Anonymous asked:
Do you currently have a girlfriend/boyfriend/comfy person?

A girlfriend/the comfiest person in the world!


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Anonymous asked:
1. I still love reading your bits of poetry 2. I still love watching your videos because your writing and voice are inspiring 3. How do you think metaphors and fantasy become reality? 4. What things make your heart sing? 5. What do you think of people who can only write poetry by rhyming? (Like me) 6. What subject when you're writing writing, to you has the most meaning? Side note: I think you're a cutie, sorry that's a little embarrassing

1.) i’m glad you’re liking the little bits I’m posting! I am writing longer pieces, I promise! They just take longer to write and college is so time consuming!

2.) Hopefully I’ll be able to film a few more poems! I’ve got some ideas.

3.) I kind of think there’s a middle ground between the two that you never realize. Obviously it’s a little impossible for metaphors to come to life but then again, I don’t think there’s a total reality. There’s always something transcendent about existence.

4.) I have a lot of people in my life that enrich it so much. I owe an immense amount to the ones that are dear to me.

Although spending time with Clementine this weekend was phenomenal. She really has been such a supportive person in my life and truly someone I’m inseparable to. She makes my heart do a lot of fancy things.

5.) I don’t think there is a wrong way to write! I used to be the exact same way (started with my wiggity raps) but no growth can really happen inside your comfort zone. So when I started challenging myself and tried something new, I found something I liked even more. You might want to try it and see what will happen!

6.) Well, of course about the things that have happened to me personally. Most of my poetry (if not all) stems from an individual place, and I never go into writing thinking “This is going to change everybody’s perspective.” It often is just my way of processing my own feelings. It just so happens that people feel like me sometimes. That’s why I write poetry: every individual story has equal weight to anyone else’s. You could be anyone and write.

Side note: Oh shucks! 


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There’s that old saying,
If a tree falls down in the forest,
and nobody is there to hear it,
does it make a sound?
While scientifically we know it will,
I like this thought for myself.
If I do something incredible
and none of my loved ones are
there to share it with me, is it
still an amazing moment?

Alex Dang!

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Some of us are born electricians
with circuit board minds, a handle
and deft precision of slim copper wiring.
They understand the ebb and flow of
currents. While a lot of us,
we are the electricity.

Alex Dang!

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