Friday, April 30, 2004

The weather is hot (for my Ohio taste.) Only two finals and one paper left. I never remember what the date is anymore. I just want to drive, not to get away or to go anywhere, just for the drive. I'm looking forward to living and working in the funeral home next year. And writing that novel with Dan, with that typewriter. I feel like swimming.

Wednesday, April 28, 2004

Several days ago I received a package from my brother and his wife containing a plastic bag full of Campbell's soup labels, and a large paperclip with two small keys on it. I don't know what this means.

My hair is long enough to put in a ponytail.

I'm wearing sunglasses right now.

When I tell people that our phone came out of a submarine, they usually believe me.

I can see seven cigarette lighters from my desk chair. That's one lighter for every 1.7142857142857142857152857142857... cigarettes I have.

What kind of candy should I get to re-fill my gumball machine?

Monday, April 26, 2004

Mel's blog, Throw The Salt Over Your Shoulder, is AWEsome, and now has comments!

Sunday, April 25, 2004

On the way back from home this evening, we stopped at a country diner/truckstop called "Spokes." Best liver and onions I ever had, and one of the regulars was a smoking blind man.

Friday, April 23, 2004

The opening sentence of some freshman's midterm essay:

"Poetry is like art, except with words."

Monday, April 19, 2004

Sarah Hatter told me to:


1. Find the nearest book.
2. Open to page 23.
3. Find the 5th sentence.
4. Post it.

"He likes to tell them about fireflies; English girls don't know about fireflies, which is about all Slothrop knows for sure about English girls."

Gravity's Rainbow, Thomas Pynchon

Sunday, April 18, 2004

stuff seems to be making more sense lately. warm florida-like breezes, bare toes, kisses and sneezes. losing that pressing feeling of deadlines, starting to feel one day at a time. sun on the back of my neck, hot rough concrete under my elbows, or cold damp dirt, stars, clouds, moon, twilight, sun. where did time fall from, where did it limp off to? how does a place dissolve into touch and sound, trickle off polished and orange roots into a cold stream, or branches that longingly reach for swift clouds like a grandma's gnarly old fingers?

Tuesday, April 13, 2004

Belief-o-matic says I'm

1. Orthodox Quaker (100%)
2. Seventh Day Adventist (99%)
3. Eastern Orthodox (95%)
4. Roman Catholic (95%)
5. Hinduism (81%)
6. Mainline to Conservative Christian/Protestant (81%)
7. Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (72%)
8. Liberal Quakers (60%)
9. Jainism (52%)
10. Orthodox Judaism (50%)
11. Unitarian Universalism (48%)
12. Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) (46%)
13. Jehovah's Witness (46%)
14. Bahá'í Faith (45%)
15. Sikhism (44%)
16. Theravada Buddhism (42%)
17. Mahayana Buddhism (40%)
18. Islam (36%)
19. Neo-Pagan (32%)
20. Taoism (29%)
21. New Age (28%)
22. Reform Judaism (24%)
23. Secular Humanism (24%)
24. Nontheist (18%)
25. Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (15%)
26. New Thought (12%)
27. Scientology (10%)

Take the quiz and post some results, well, if you're as bored as I am, oh, and I'm not sure where the Seventh day adventist thing came from...

Saturday, April 10, 2004

my bar of soap is blue. It's getting pretty small. Sometime this week it gained a yellow spot, a lump, about an inch in diameter, and relatively circular. I suppose it is the discarded remnant of one of my dormmate's soap bars. Today, about wart-size, it turned green, as it thinned, then disappeared. I think I just might miss it.

Friday, April 09, 2004

My sister-in-law, Mel, has started a blog.

Tuesday, April 06, 2004

Gentle Hands VII

He sat himself in the dryweathered rockingchair. It felt light and cheap. Looking into the back of the front yard, remembering when the sky wasn't gray and the oak tree stood, folding his heavy forearms on his weakened stomach, he heard a gentle whisper or a brush on his cheek. He twisted quickly unfrightened to see the curtains swaying in the window to his back. On the lumpy glass of the window he could see the gravel road stretching, and everything seemed grey. Grey and empty, like that reflection, like the dead woman's face, the old wooden house. He decided to sit much longer, and strain again for that whisper.

Monday, April 05, 2004

Image Sound Text

Several people have asked me what I have been thinking about lately, so I think I'll post on what I've been thinking (about) lately. I've been thinking about the relationship of film, text, and audio. And how "interpretations" of each are attempts to convert each into the other(s). Or I think about the rising heat of the summer sun, the headaches and hopelessness it induces, and the real-live rest that follows. Or the soft curve of a straight road seen between the handlebars being devoured by a melancholy rumble. Then is it possible to disconnect image from sound and from what is possibly that perversion/perfection of both: text?