Here, during my fifty-fifth year on earth, I’ve come to understand something everyone around me knew long ago: I’m not a born team player. Those who know me are underwhelmed by this revelation. Others, please read on. Really, all the evidence is there. I don’t like sports, and I loathed high school pep rallies. Churches […]
Whatever You Do, Don’t Read the Comments: Why I Don’t Argue About Politics Read More »
there’s a late night louisiana caw in the corner a humid grey night gurgle, glogging its treble birdy nightsong between folds of wet air. focus on that, I say. see the way this night does not contrast much with the tree right there, that reaching night tree, ripe in shadow and heavy with day gone
Dillard and Woolf waxed elegiac over its immolation in a candle’s flame—overcome, I imagine, by the surrealism of the juxtaposition: a single, innocuous wick lit to guide the path of the writer’s words morphs into a luminous siren calling a foundering craft to its swift and fiery end. But for me, a writer with no
Silence Sounds of words unspoken Words unheard Words, words, words Won’t stop dropping pen tops Won’t stop jumping roadblocks Won’t stop chucking hard knocks And I can’t keep calling time fake I can’t sleep so I stay awake Thinking second belated Backwards ratings about past Relationships. I’ve got some frustrations. Let me tip my hat
I am really irritated at my neighbor’s dog, a miniature schnauzer. And not for what you might think. I have had neighbors whose dogs barked incessantly and pooped indiscriminately. That’s a whole other set of problems. Of course if I am really honest, it’s my neighbor and not her dog that I am really irked
I wonder do you have any idea how you look and sound to normal people? Your braying and shrieking supposed to indicate sincerity, your pandering, your condescension, your invocations of The People, as if you knew any, your focus-tested, shopworn slogans, your Issues. Lead-poisoned children are not Issues. Shit gigs are not Issues. Collapsing bridges,