case sensitive: get it here
$650 apartment for $650
"I miss the people the most." Can't it any more? Forgotten of me. Why can't I? Ergo ego. Ecconomics really. Squeezed out. Continue what I am repeating toward a purpose. Cold facts keep me in place. Walk from the beach for fries. No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service. Beach closed local news interview, grandfather at front awning leaning on cane, "It's hurt business a little, yeah." Too many onion rings per order reprimand. Seasonal removing of outdoor entrance. I know, no longer.
There is one other beauty I've been spending time with--
"burning like a ship, crashing like a pulpit"
"The heat in a wave of wind."
"In an underwater castle, I've spent the whole day as a ghost."
Sister by Gabriella Torres, the debut volume from Lame House Press. Tragic, eddy, spiral, billow, surge, ripple, twist, reap the wild whirwind.
"When he put the pistol in my hand I didn't"
Some uses of poetry. To crack, to create a crack of light (a space sometimes called "prayer"). To join. And (doesn't Keats say somewhere?) to help. To be a companion.
Asked what she believed in, answered: compost. Every year the soil is richer & blacker, holds more water. This is the first year the soybeans did really well. Butterbeans, called "Envy."
Things look a little sad out there right now. Though we still have herbs, some sweet & hot peppers, more green tomatoes. Zinnias opening like pinecones.
I have no time to garden--only real gardeners do. But every spring I forget, feel the need to cover seeds with dirt, watch and water and wait for them to sprout. Isn't that how we all got here?
C.D. Wright, Deepstep: "Morning glories. What's your favorite."
22 OCT 05Learning to make graphs & charts in Excel for work.
Excellent chart! This tells us everything we need to know.
At her new (second) blog, Laura Carter has been posting some beautiful work from the New Collected Poems of George Oppen (I'm not a desert-island-ten-books type but--definitely, this book). Back before I acquired the New Collected, I came upon a photo online (here) of a signed & folded typescript of Oppen's poem "Alpine." And although he made subsequent revisions, this is my favorite version:
We were hiding
Which must be an old dream of families
And the will cowers
The outlaw winds
As tho one had lost
And his enviable songs
Does that one die
And the distinction of what one does
Bodies dream selves
From the substance
Yet we move
Are we not
Does one hear the heavy moving
18 OCT 05
16 OCT 05
He's waiting for her in the blind spot. More & more, he's wearing his story in his face--it wasn't always like that. Lots of people are talented. I knew them all. They liked the right music. Now they want me to "believe" in Jesus... How do they do it? My face hurts.
I can't live my life for everybody else. What about art? I'm not a girl--I'm old. It's taken so much. Now my face really hurts. What will I do? What am I gonna do, right this minute? Man, now everything's starting to hurt. A lot of people have talent, but it's not enough.
We were all young, at one time. Nobody knew how it would be. Nobody had any idea. I was thinking of--what was her name? From San Clemente. She had pain and they "took a look" and it was all through her body. They gave her 2 months and she died in 2 months. That was it. She had kids. Something is definitely moving in there. It's like having a cat in there. "Don't have a kitten." [laughs] That's an expression.
I keep thinking about Jackie. The idea that God will make it up to her. He's gonna be a busy guy, making it up to everybody. I keep thinking of things I have to do. I'm just wasting the whole day here. I might be able to rest for a minute, I've gotten so tired.
Just people…and clothes… My mother… I just see her, you know? Things she wanted. I feel like I absorbed so much from her. As a child, I really absorbed from her--and from my father too--the idea that sex was something a person should avoid at all costs. Because it hurt them so much. Where the fuck do I think I'm going? I've been eating funny. Even if I wasn't sick, my stomach might feel weird. I'm not sure what that proves--it's just a thought.
Somebody's yelling out there. I have to try, don't I? Something must be real. I keep hearing that song "Bye Bye Blackbird." The body knows it's gonna die. You told me that. Bye-bye blackbird, thirteen ways.
I might feel better tomorrow. I wonder if it would be possible for me to go to sleep. If I could sleep I'd feel better when I woke up. I'd like to rest for a minute. I think I might just close my eyes. I keep thinking, "Jesus, you're wasting the whole day." But I'd like to close my eyes.