Friday, October 01, 2004
Reason #5,003 why
Lemony Snicket rules.
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Last night's debate made me very happy. Bush was very squirmy; meanwhile, Kerry finally figured out how to talk without making it worse, worse, worse. Hooray!
Anyone else looking forward to the Cheney/Edwards debate? Evil Lizardman vs. the Ken Doll!
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Thursday, September 30, 2004
But here's a love flarf, so you don't get lonely.
The Blue Ox
Mama don't put me on the tilt-a-whirl,
But I'll hang out in the funhouse with
You, small at one end, so big at
The other your footprints could be
Lakebeds, you could scrunch up
Some mountains for your pillow. One
Look and then you shift away, I shift
Away, but something keeps us paired,
All songs in one go lo-fi stream, one
Slo-fi shuffle. Watching those
Huge figures of steel and concrete
With their easy, unacklowledging smiles,
Woodsman, ox, I got it. Picture it this way;
Easy on your suspension and even easier on
The eye, Babe is in the parking lot,
While Paul is inside scoring beer.
They're a good team that way, know love
Is one watchful eye, one tricky finger,
A lot of looking smaller, looking bigger,
A lot of looking like you're not doing
what you are.
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I do not write; nor do I submit.
Instead, I'm learning to knit.
Cast on, Daniel-san!
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Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Belladonna*
has a blog!
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Monday, September 27, 2004
So, I've never been able to make it all the way through
The Poetics of Space. First, it's translated from the French in a way that's kind of clunky. Or perhaps the prose was clunky in the original, or what I might think of as clunky--a sort of overwrought, too-excited method of delivery. But on top of that, all the spaces that get so much treatment -- attics, basements, sea shells, drawers, etc, are not the spaces I inhabit. They are hardly spaces I even know. Therefore, I call for a new urban poetics of space that will address the meanings of spaces in transit: airport lounges, subways, cars, trains, offices -- spaces that do not actually belong to anyone, but are inhabited by everyone, often repeatedly, for staccato bursts of time. No more wrangling over the psychological meaning of garrett staircases; let's talk about elevator shafts! Let's give the public bathroom stall its due! Whither the anonymity of the company break room? What daydreams are inspired by the headspace you create with a walkman and earphones, huh?
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My crazy love-flarf project continues apace with a treatment of homoerotic oompa-loompas. Yup.
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Shanna has returned from far-off Texas, and will be reading at Pete's Candy Store tonight. Huzzah!
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