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Protected: Amorous Postulates, Or, Stalking With The Scientific Method.
Wednesday, January 27th, 2010
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Men Are From Mars, Persimmons Are From Japan.
Friday, January 15th, 2010
Each and every girl thinks she is the first to invent rebellion, the first anarchist Eve. She is the first to force open a basement window with a crowbar, the first to act for the superlative language of attachment. She is the first to hold up the tissue of intentions up to the light and [...]
Caminante No Hay Camino.
Thursday, December 24th, 2009
One of my favorite poems: Caminante no hay camino, by Antonio Machado. Caminante, son tus huellas el camino y nada más; Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar. Al andar se hace el camino, y al volver la vista atrás se ve la senda que nunca se ha de volver a pisar. Caminante no [...]
Here’s To Shoving Things Out Of Windows.
Friday, November 27th, 2009
All of a sudden, there is a burst of music. It’s less an unwelcome intruder and more an unexpected friend. The noise, pushing against the interlaced ossifications of my skull and, in a final effort, managing to break through and fall against grey matter and into my wholly satisfied arms, a lover who always leaves [...]
Terminal Buds Can Divide Indefinitely, Cells Following One After The Other.
Friday, November 20th, 2009
You know that triangle puzzle you learned in grade school one Monday when the teacher forwent the lesson plan for something a little more “out of the box”? Or maybe when your uncle Wallace drew it for you on the back of a shopping list, getting the proportions a little wrong, rounding the corners a [...]
Going To Make Myself Some Toast.
Thursday, November 19th, 2009
Today I discovered that, among other things, I will never be a salesman. The boxes of confectionery I’m supposed to sell are sitting on the kitchen table, elongated pentagonal cupolas of brown (more black than yellow) polyethylene plastic. Yesterday a boy sold ten in half an hour, and I debated between throttling him or hugging him: which [...]
How To Make Believe.
Thursday, November 12th, 2009
I wish I could blow you a rolling molten glass bowl. Bristol blue, cobalt oxide left in the inside of your mouth: a hydria, a metaphor, a background voice. Eyelids are lined purple on the insides, barring and unbarring, the hem of your jacket as you bend down to open a bag floating and connecting [...]
I Drew A Picture Of Us In A Blue Balloon.
Thursday, November 5th, 2009
There’s nothing wrong. I am girl fighting over bathroom jurisdiction, clothes still a little soggy from the clothesline, running in time with traffic lights and yes, I do catch that school bus Monday through Friday, you thought I wouldn’t, didn’t you? It’s nothing glamorous. Elbow on desk, cheek in hand, books splayed and sweater discarded [...]
I Like Not Having To Sleep Off A Hangover.
Saturday, October 31st, 2009
Sometimes I’ll be talking as if vomiting, spewing and gesticulating with few pauses and poor enunciation. The way I do anything – move, write, smack - mimics the way I talk, which is absolutely furious. More often that not I end up with my palms turned skyward, or pressed to my knees, panting like some kind of [...]