introductions

I don't like it when men walk around with one hand in their coat pocket. it makes me wonder if they are keeping their hand on a gun or other weapon. it makes me think they want to be tough and manly looking. probably they have a plastic g.i. joe or a top that they fondle in their coat pocket for security. probably they're only cold enough for one hand.

I like apple cider and sometimes apple cider with caramel.

I like coptic book binding because it takes a bent needle and exposes the knots. stitches made with bent needles make for stronger, naked binds.

I have better telephone conversations when looking at a lit candle. when I was little I used to think I could learn concentration skills by staring at a lit candle for a very long time.

I think, literarily, we're living in a new medievalism. we cobble, collage, re-create rather than create; we don't believe in real creation. we scavenge the dry bones for something worth breathing a different life into. we wonder sometimes if we should be doing this or the other thing.

I put cilantro on everything. Even eggs. Even potatoes.

When I watch movies, I don't just feel suspicious of the movie, I think in my head, "I'm suspicious of you, movie" in those exact words like I'm talking to it rather than taking it in.

I bathe with lavender salt and piano music and grapefruit soda (drinking the soda, not sitting in it).

Probably that's all the introducing I can do today. Probably there's not that much more to tell.

the roadpatcher

walking to school today I came across this amazing contraption, the roadpatcher, which looks like a truck with a giant tar-spitting snake-monster head. I took immense pleasure in its bizarreness. I even skipped a little on the sidewalk, getting close enough to it to see the black stuff its metal mouth was emitting.

for a second I thought I was inhabiting a world with real scary monsters, and it made me very happy, but actually I am just inhabiting a world with potholes and roadpatchers (potholes are bad, roadpatchers are good).

even-ing

the moon is huge tonight, and pale, and low over the buildings of downtown, and my kitchen smells like sweet and cinnamon, and everything that is happening is really happening, regardless of what I or anyone else might say about it.

I should get an old rickety guitar and sing songs on it.

firecoal chestnut-falls

6:27 p.m. and the snow falls down. the weather, and everything under it and around, makes a little more sense. I'm going to bake cookies now.

a case of the mondays

I'm super mopey this morning like the sky with the clouds that want to snow but can't quite yet because other weather conditions are not right and I want to say I reject this morning with all its attendant muted light I spit upon it I will not bake it cookies not even bad ones I tell it it should have stayed in the womb of midnight and not met me suddenly with the material remembrances of yesterpast that unfortunately were utterly and deliriously happy and now all the morning just says my god how I miss that and us like that and I'm just waxing nostalgic and I should stop and return to work because that's what I've got now and it's good but still how many hours until the sky will snow down on us.

puppy love

holy cute puppy in the times. this is a puppy that makes me want to move to new hampshire and find a little house with a fireplace and a big back yard so the cute puppy can run around all day and then sit by the fireplace with her head on my lap while I listen to music or read poems or not poems or watch late night tv. but then, I've kind of always wanted that, so I guess the cute puppy just reminds me that I've kind of always wanted that.

which reminds me that on my way to the underwear store today that rolling stones song came on that said I can't always get what I want even if its a cute puppy and big oak trees and fireplaces but maybe I'll get something else that's even better because I need it or something.

hmmmm.

earlier this week I was hand washing tempermental sweaters and I left the laundry detergent on the floor next to the shower. every time I'd go into the bathroom I'd get annoyed with myself for not putting the detergent bottle back in the cleaning stuff closet. then tonight I went to wash my clothes and couldn't find the clothes-soap. I looked in the cleaning stuff closet and the kitchen cabinets before I found it on the bathroom floor where it had been all week.

what I got to wondering was how many things are like that. these things that bother the hell out of us sitting in the middle of our otherwise clean floor until we get so used to looking at them that they become completely assimilated into our expectation of what lies behind whatever door. in a way, this is comforting. that we are such adaptabled creatures. adaptable but lazy. lazy and oblivious. nevermind. it's not comforting at all.

cute puppy though.