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| Everyday life, excerpt #1 |
| 04.24.04 (4:45 pm) [edit] |
I'm sorry to disturb you, she said. I was wondering if by any chance Milo was here. If he came by.
I looked up. Milo? Why, no.
Well, it's okay. Nevermind. You haven't seen him.
No. I'm afraid not. Did you try
At home? I left him a message. I'm sure he'll be home soon.
I shifted my arm against the doorframe. Should we be worried?
No. A slight hint of irritation. I had left the window open in the other room, and the draught passed through the entire room. She started playing with her hands.
Do you want to call Erin? I stopped shifting my weight from foot to foot.
[Reading: Kazuo Ishiguro's A Pale View of Hills]
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| I am going to fry in hell |
| 04.23.04 (3:17 pm) [edit] |
I have a paper
it is very due
for my professor
last semester
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| Japan, 15 August 1945 |
| 04.18.04 (5:38 pm) [edit] |
The rice-seedlings we had planted
on the eastern fringe of our village
were on fire the day the Emperor
spoke. We were trying to put out
our roofs which were on fire. We
used to believe we would win. Next
morning we brought shrapnel
and the unexploded to our shrines
and saw them for the first time.
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| Body language |
| 04.16.04 (7:21 pm) [edit] |
Yesterday an out-of-town poet gave a workshop and reading. I went to this reading instead of to another given by a Berkeley sociologist-turned-boxer.
According to the blurb on his book:
He reveals them to be devoted artisans of the virile body who patiently hone an honorific craft, share a protected and protective sociability, and seek recognition and redemption in the closed brotherhood of the ring. He shows how the gym functions at once as a sanctuary against the dangers of the street, a scaffolding for the silent pedagogy of skilled organisms in motion, and a school of discipline and morality in which occupational ethic is literally inscribed in flesh.
Wait. Lemme say it again.
devoted artisans of the virile body
What it would be like to turn yourself into a work of art.
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| Field notes (warning: nerdy content) |
| 04.13.04 (1:24 pm) [edit] |
Two changes in my strategy for submitting to poetry journals:
1. I'm going to put together a main packet of five best poems, both experimental and traditional; if the journal asks for three maximum, then I remove the two poems they are least likely to pick (e.g. experimental poems if they are traditional in emphasis, and vice-versa)
2. I'm going to send only to journals that don't explicitly say "no simultaneous submissions"
My saved cover letters will allow me to keep track of submitted poems. Having a main submission packet reduces clutter because it won't be necessary to keep separate submission packets for individual journals.
Every 3 months, this main packet will be updated with the best of 12 poems written within those 3 months. (1 poem per week x 4.2 weeks per month x 3 months = 12.6 poems, rounded down to 12 poems per cycle)
[sound of Particle Projection Pitchfork powering up]
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| Specimen #571: The Red Leather Jacket |
| 04.12.04 (6:06 pm) [edit] |
In all matters of importance, I defer to Rufus Wainright, whose astute observations on "straight men reading fashion magazines" has become standard reading in the field. I especially trust those perspectives expressed in his ballad to his red leather jacket.
The $10 red leather jacket, as found in St. Vincent de Paul thrift stores, is a peculiar specimen in the red leather outerwear kingdom.
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| Swedish for common sense |
| 04.10.04 (11:20 pm) [edit] |
Fortunately, I found a Scandanavian furniture designer to provide a fresh new look for this site.
The warm hypnotic colors are designed to make you feel good inside.
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