Wednesday, September 30, 2009

{radical acceptance}

"An old, old woman who has been living in the same town for many years. She sits by her window and thinks
what does she think about" {*}

The barking dog in the yard next door that belongs to the family with three children although you wouldn't know there were three children you never see them and they never play with the dog who is left outside and barks barks barks day and night and it never seems to quiet down a bit, joining in the fray of Good Humor Ice Cream Trucks and fire engines and the blaring of the air raid siren the first Tuesday of the month at one p.m.

although no one is certain whether the siren is for tornadoes or a Soviet air strike, neither of which has ever been a problem in this town, given that they are just far enough east to be out of tornado alley and something about the air currents or trade winds or Gulf Stream current or forestation in the region means the town is considered safe from the scourge of twisters, and it would be a very misguided Soviet attack indeed that hit the town instead of one of the cities several hundred miles away; why would they bother with the air raid siren for an attack on a fairly distant city, anyway, and wouldn't the planes have to come from Cuba rather than some mysteriously undetected aircraft sauntering over the Pacific and the U.S. airspace or maybe Mexican would undoubtedly raise some FAA eyebrows, and Cuba just seems audacious and unlikely given that entire Bay of Pigs fiasco which was just a media circus act of propaganda anyway, it never made any sense for Castro to take on Miami and who was president then,





reading
the combined joys of delightfully witty verbal and visual contemplations, delivered by the New York Times
weather
pastry season in full swing, perfect perfect crepes with strawberry compote will be followed by a blow-out batch of blueberry scones / but can "The Village Baker's Wife" really be out of print?

{*} many thanks to Linda for the custom prompt!

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Benevolence : Ideality : Conscientiousness

The witching hour as the crescent moon rises and the crickets work on harmonies and it becomes impossible to distinguish the memory of what might have been from the memory of what was from the memory of what is still to come from the shifting of patterns and silhouettes half revealed by fading light. The water laps against the piers as the boat rocks and settles into the waves, the beer finished among tales of lost loves and forgotten memories and bridges to the future where the fish will always taste of the warmth of a late summer afternoon.
Passengers and friends rotate around the little boat to make room for the ghosts, who do not tell their tales but emanate the memory of the intensity of lives lived and worlds left behind, unchanged by the future. From the shore a fire sparks in a barrel, night vendors of kebabs and hot dogs and the pleasures of the flesh remain open for business, the wind shifts and clouds dance around the stars, obscuring the wings of Pegasus, the arm of Orion, filling the basket of the Big Dipper. The ghosts huddle closer for warmth, inhaling the vapor of the fish and the beer, becoming flesh through the stories of memories. The moon illuminates the clouds, and suddenly it is tomorrow.



reading
Fowler's is the source of both a head schematic and a language schematic. Who could ask for anything more?

weather
final boozy Sunday mountaintop picnics, giddy descents at twilight
first experiments with cobbler

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

upcoming / incoming / outgoing

No writing this week; however, it will be interesting to see the results of the autumn writing retreat.

Mark your calendars now:


Mary Beth Brooker
& Stephanie Gibbs

reading recent writings

4 p.m.
Sunday, October 18, 2009

Neilson Library Browsing Room
Smith College



part of the Gallery of Readers series

reading
the scrumptious Leonora Carrington

weather
undeniably autumn

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

seven league boots

So when, for curiosity's sake, one has been to the Poles, to the moon, to the bottom of the ocean; when one has crossed the tracks and explored life on the other side;
when one has worn a wig, glasses, and a disguise and passed as the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, the soldier, sailor, tinker, tailor, rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief, and all of the wives of each;
when one has been a scientist, musician, poet, and statistician;
when one has built the bow and carved the arrow and downed the deer, skinned, roasted, tanned, packaged, and sold;
when one has built a hovercraft using the motor from a vacuum cleaner and sold a fake Picasso for a record amount at auction;
when one has studied voodoo and spiritualism, contacted the spirit world, and cast a hex;
when one has caused the stock market to balloon and deflate instigated by a carefully disseminated rumor about political instability in a third world country which no one had previously heard of but could potentially have 90% of the world's copper reserves;
when one has rewired an entire house to run off of the stationary bicycles in use at the gym down the street;
when one has trained cats to walk in single file and dogs to play poker and hamsters to only run on their wheels every hour on the hour for three minutes and thirty three seconds;
when one has surreptitiously reformatted all of the street signs in a town to be in German Blackletter fonts rather than Helvetica;
when one has invented a board game and exploited a Ponzi scheme and founded a university and perfected a blackjack technique;
when one has contacted aliens and released a platinum album and been on the front page of the Times;
when one has sliced, diced, and julienned all that life traditionally has to offer --
what next?



reading
the adventures of Richard Halliburton

weather
exhilarating (tho fighting the disappearance of the sun with all my powers)

Thursday, September 3, 2009

temples

In short, who was their god? Was he a he? A she? Gendered? Multi-gendered? Did gender even figure as a question or concern? Was the god a wrathful god or a loving god or an impassive god or merely a state of mind or a metaphor for the vast power of the universe? Were they naked only when actively communing with this god, and don straw hats and woven trousers when hunting and or gathering? Did the god encourage celibacy or procreation or kidnapping small children or adopting orphans or sacrificing offspring (causing the sect to die out after a generation or so)? Was it a trickster god, an oracle, a god found from the consumption of mushrooms or natural gasses, a god of the typhoon season or a god of the harvest or the god of the heavens? Did the god pay attention, visit earth, exist in bodily form?




reading
on the forming of the letters of the alphabet (from an edition job):
"Engrave them, carve them, weigh them, permute them, and transform them, and with them depict the soul of all that was formed and all that will be formed in the future."
-- The Sefer Yetzirah

weather
idyllic September: fresh apples, brisk mornings, mellowing warm afternoons and evenings suffused with golden sunlight

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

and all the boards did shrink

Yes, I know that the image quality varies from mediocre to rather bad and that the sound quality is distinctly sub-par.

Yes, I am aware that the focus isn't always reliable.

Yes, it did occur to me that four minutes of listening to and watching a variety of water sources might be tedious. That's why it isn't eight minutes long. If the viewer becomes bored, think of pirates, or sea monsters, or man-eating fish, or the adventures of Jacques Cousteau.

Yes, I would prefer a super-8 film camera. And also a VW camper van, in chartreuse.



reading
film schedule notes from a showing of a work by Bill Brown, media creator extraordinaire and a fantastically nice guy [wikipedia here]

weather
How can July and September be separated only by August? They seem worlds apart.