Our own Nick, in 1975:
Have been without trances for nearly a month
and have no idea how I will pay my bills.
Wow! I didn’t know trances were at all lucrative!
Month: September 2003
Not a Crushlist, Exactly
(but an extremely incomplete list of bloggers I should like to invite to a real — as opposed to a virtual — party)
Jean Gier
Stephanie Young
Tim Yu
Sawako Nakayasu
Heriberto Yepez
Johanna R.
Bill Marsh
Alli Warren
I am doing my utmost to ignore a certain group of kids trying to reify themselves under a dopey name, having swiped my schtick only to execute it less complexly.
OK, now I’ve said something suitably provocative. Will my numbers go up?
Barking at the mooooooooooon.
The people just want rhetoric. Rhetoric and conflict and more rhetoric.
If you’re smart, compassionate, concerned, and curious, as I know you all are, you’ll go to Baghdad Burning instead. Thanks Patrick, for this fascinating link to a “Girl Blog in Iraq.”
It’s funny, but there’s this dual voice:
Don’t patronize me!
vs.
Patronize me!
The Tuba and the Piccolo
Very seriously beginning to question my own apologies for essentialism while thinking of the TUBA on the one hand and the PICCOLO on the other.
Which could be said to be the masculine instrument? And which the feminine?
This ponder brought on even before starting to read Feminist Aesthetics, a book of German essays (in translation) on the topic.
I am inordinately fond of italics.
My favorite word is probably idiolect.
I am not at all capacious in my interests.
You people haven’t guessed that something’s maybe a little fishy?
And I thought you were smart.
(through) the letters that (we wrote)
so pushing past is out
side-scrolling the binary
over into pieces of
this normal life
or the wished on jets
landing the largeness
of kisses and out of control
the very station of a sadness
the much too much harbinger
of sour notes off of riffs
entirety in its parts-car
rolling on land and the
view of a red sky
windowed through
constellating the big loves
turned up to eleven beyond
one on one below the deck
of clipper ships or fishing
multi-vessel trips in the
south seas motion so
tossed about it all so forth
(the transport reaches its autumn here)
this place is an only once in skin
and the signs of crying
sensate ema(s)culate
vied out for its mate
that is the inside itself
reaching makes
will it matter(?)
up the spaces in atoms of instance
to write the wake it takes to
against thinking tango (now)
the real question mark is correct (here)
drawing lines in
outrageous curves
(here here) close misses closest
which is its of metaphor
built figures in all gory
bloody guts death word play
calling attention with
killing attentions
listing deaths in flaws
the nature is evidence patterns
numb(er)ing ( . . . I’m not as sure as
it may seem
of myself I might mean)
the naming is the maiming
and of rhyme she said as to not claim
any type at all responsible
go ahead wish it ends (here)
a simple
continuance
emerges
anyway
against
allowances
this is my comment
the collaboration is my fingers
(typing)
marking on ever rafters
the limits hanging from
where I watched everything
and you were both beautiful
fluttering (wings and hearts)
we love
telling (each other)
we love
the pretty birds
we are all
and we love
folding is only
(into itself)
the living way
this missing
flying away
as animals
(are emotional anyway)
holding together
the two letters
meets (pressing together)
bodies of forever
this is so
becoming only so-so
as we go together
the virtuoso double-clicks
out on everyone
leaving one well
enough alone
the need (f)or people
dropping away from maps
the terrain that flies solo
this is no more abstract
than a Sunday drive
so you can see
out the windshield
of your own ways
turning winding roads (into)
minding your own lonesome self
to the mountains floating
it seems the horizon
still wants cloud cover
the water everyone will
drink together as the fall
comes (clear skies)
there is still this ugly thirst
Otohime 