December 2011
2 posts
September 2011
2 posts
30 tags
March 2011
1 post
February 2011
4 posts
How did we get here again. That’s what I’ve been asking myself all night, sitting on the balcony, chain smoking like the sky was about to fall apart atop me. I wish I could understand this. I really do. And I wish I didn’t feel so goddamn helpless.
I threw some things across the room. And my throat is raw from all that sweet smoke. And I wanted to hurt someone last night, so...
May 2010
10 posts
Fragmented Fridays
It’s one of those days. You know the drill…things start off strong and then just sort of fizzle out. The museum was good today, but my head is swimming with questions about grad school and things of that nature and so now I kind of have a headache.
I was given a free novel today on campus. Wild Animus. From the description on the back, I feel it will turn out to be both confusing and...
March 2010
13 posts
The Best Cigarette
There are many that I miss having sent my last one out a car window sparking along the road one night, years ago. The heralded one, of course: after sex, the two glowing tips now the lights of a single ship; at the end of a long dinner with more wine to come and a smoke ring coasting into the chandelier; or on a white beach, holding one with fingers still wet from a swim. How bittersweet these...
I really hate how you still have photographs of her…
I wish I didn’t. But I can’t help it.
Work.
Today I thought about quitting my job. It always surprises me (thought it probably shouldn’t) how very childish everyone there is. There is always drama, and for the most part I can successfully stay out of it. It’s different when it’s about you, though. Something, mind you, that is also false.
I take my job seriously. Some people don’t, and that’s fine, but I work...
February 2010
9 posts
“That which you manifest is before you”
– Enzo, The Art of Racing in the Rain.
Re-Stacks
Everything that happens is from now on,
This is pouring rain.
This is paralized.
Candle Hat
In most self-portraits it is the face that dominates: Cezanne is a pair of eyes swimming in brushstrokes, Van Gogh stares out of a halo of swirling darkness, Rembrant looks relieved as if he were taking a breather from painting The Blinding of Sampson. But in this one Goya stands well back from the mirror and is seen posed in the clutter of his studio addressing a canvas tilted back on a tall...
I really, really want to move to Seattle.
January 2010
32 posts
You're a Real Prince, Ackley Kid.
I am incredibly sad that J.D. Salinger passed away. I read The Catcher in the Rye for the first time after receiving it for my 20th Birthday. No one bothered to let us read it in school. I wish I’d found it so much sooner.
R.I.P.
The Art of Drowning
I wonder how it all got started, this business about seeing your life flash before your eyes while you drown, as if panic, or the act of submergence, could startle time into such compression, crushing decades in the vice of your desperate, final seconds. After falling off a steamship or being swept away in a rush of floodwaters, wouldn’t you hope for a more leisurely review, an invisible...
