writing

An opening line

mir — Sat, 15 Sep 2007 18:39:43 -0400

I love my home, especially I think, because I cannot really afford to live in it. I am sitting here in the living room. Through the window I can see some trees blowing around, and a gray sky, the light in here is warm yellow, on the floor the dog is twitching in her sleep. I am on the couch, and have been since the day began. There is a stack of books to my right, and a small teak drinks table holding a variety of cracked tumbled with words from literary masterworks engraved on their sides to the left.

It's a Saturday evening, I am on way out to buy ricotta on credit, for a lasagna I'll be making later this evening. I haven't got much debt in comparison to others, but on an afternoon when I do no work, I can feel small expenditures piling up like snowdrifts around the front door, miniscule at first until one morning, the only way out is to shovel or to burn.

Poetry for periods.

mir — Mon, 02 Jul 2007 11:59:10 -0400

Pro Femina (excerpts)
Carolyn Kizer
image from poetry foundation website

While men have politely debated free will, we have howled for it,
Howl still, pacing the centuries, tragedy heroines.

****

But we need dependency, cosseting, and well-treatment.
So do men sometimes. Why don’t they admit it?
We will be cows for a while, because babies howl for us,
Be kittens or bitches, who want to eat grass now and then
For the sake of our health. But the role of pastoral heroine
Is not permanent, Jack. We want to get back to the meeting.

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A great great incredible really darn good little snippet of writing

mir — Fri, 02 Feb 2007 16:48:29 -0500

"Of course, history is always being written afresh. Music, for instance. There is morning music, afternoon music, night music. In between there is also no music. That's the hardest to quote because nobody believes it. After all, it's not Mozart."

- Walter Lowenfels.
"To An Imaginary Daughter"

When the personal gets intrusive

mir — Fri, 24 Nov 2006 18:32:52 -0500

SO people, well my friends anyways, are bugged that I stopped writing highly expository posts about my state of mind.

Here are two possible reasons for their displeasure.

#1 / My personal angst and confusion they regard as stellar reading material and an excellent diversion from their no less demanding and exciting lives and livelihoods.

#2/ Now that I am no longer an exhibitionist about my personal life online, I actually take up more time calling them up on the telephone and whining about more or less the same stuff I used to write about - except now I use proper names and swear more. Those phone calls have gotta get stressful especially as now, when I am usually sitting around with le petit cellulaire pasted to my ear screeching about some new school or work catastrophe.