* picking chicken bones
* watching DVDs from redbox (2)
* on the phone with their lawyer about their pending divorce
* talking about making "doll babies" (2)
* reading a book
* Internet (2)
After this blog post I am going to finish putting together a chapbook of new poems. Then I will read some more and hopefully write some more.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
Oh, I Get It
Something happened and then something else happened. Then a door opened and a man walked through. Feet on the floor and then the body follows. Other things occurred. Other steps were taken and the body went other places. A strange woman's mouth is a pit. Windows were opened and closed. Dust accumulated on the records and then was wiped off. Many voices said many words but all the words meant power. More feet went more places and something else happened. The strange woman reached into the strange man and pulled out a pink and black g-string. They discovered they were sad.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Basically a good day
This morning I discovered this line in Proverbs, "my kidneys will exult when your lips speak uprightness." I had the following thoughts:
Kidneys? Why kidneys? That's weird. That's like Edith Wharton mentioning bananas weird-- it has to be some kind of cultural signifier that I'm not aware of. I'll try to Google kidney bible or role of kidney in biblical times. (bananas signify wealth)
Then I went to the bathroom and peed out my coffee and thought:
Oh! Kidneys, like the purifiers of the body! Did they know that back then? Is that why the kidneys will be happy when you take in Jesus?
Hmmm.
I confess to reading the bible only when I am in a contentious mood. Which means my husband should live on the roof. (read Proverbs 21:9)
I've also been re-reading The Energy of Delusion by Viktor Shklovsky. I've been going over the chapter called, "Everything in Life can be Montaged." I can't list all the fantastic quotes from his man because I would basically be transcribing the whole book. Here are a few:
"He (Tolstoy) detests people talking about precision as if it were realism."
"Reality is not the depiction of the mundane."
"He (Tolstoy) wants to show the strangeness of the mundane-- through detail."
"In Tolstoy's fiction, details are written as if in a different handwriting; the willful intrusion of the wide-frame shot into the main theme is intentionally emphasized."
And lastly, have you read Adam Kirsch? His book of poems Invasions was released in 2008. He uses traditional forms. He is amazingly good. Here is one of his poems:
The Gothic silhouette and flying spire
Address the campus with a confidence
Inherited from buttresses and choirs
Adapted to the Catholic skies of France.
If at the swinging summons of the bell
The snow-blind distance gradually revealed
A feudal Sunday's lost processional
Of ox-drawn peasants and their mounted lord,
It would be less surprising than the sight
Of so few Christians in these ranks of pews,
Who gather out of homesickness or habit
To hear the echoes of the old good news--
Waiting until the concrete dorms decay
For these stone arches' rediscoverer
To envy or regret the certainty
Of dead parishioners that never were.
Dude, I'm gonna post my word count every Friday at 3. Sound good?
Kidneys? Why kidneys? That's weird. That's like Edith Wharton mentioning bananas weird-- it has to be some kind of cultural signifier that I'm not aware of. I'll try to Google kidney bible or role of kidney in biblical times. (bananas signify wealth)
Then I went to the bathroom and peed out my coffee and thought:
Oh! Kidneys, like the purifiers of the body! Did they know that back then? Is that why the kidneys will be happy when you take in Jesus?
Hmmm.
I confess to reading the bible only when I am in a contentious mood. Which means my husband should live on the roof. (read Proverbs 21:9)
I've also been re-reading The Energy of Delusion by Viktor Shklovsky. I've been going over the chapter called, "Everything in Life can be Montaged." I can't list all the fantastic quotes from his man because I would basically be transcribing the whole book. Here are a few:
"He (Tolstoy) detests people talking about precision as if it were realism."
"Reality is not the depiction of the mundane."
"He (Tolstoy) wants to show the strangeness of the mundane-- through detail."
"In Tolstoy's fiction, details are written as if in a different handwriting; the willful intrusion of the wide-frame shot into the main theme is intentionally emphasized."
And lastly, have you read Adam Kirsch? His book of poems Invasions was released in 2008. He uses traditional forms. He is amazingly good. Here is one of his poems:
The Gothic silhouette and flying spire
Address the campus with a confidence
Inherited from buttresses and choirs
Adapted to the Catholic skies of France.
If at the swinging summons of the bell
The snow-blind distance gradually revealed
A feudal Sunday's lost processional
Of ox-drawn peasants and their mounted lord,
It would be less surprising than the sight
Of so few Christians in these ranks of pews,
Who gather out of homesickness or habit
To hear the echoes of the old good news--
Waiting until the concrete dorms decay
For these stone arches' rediscoverer
To envy or regret the certainty
Of dead parishioners that never were.
Dude, I'm gonna post my word count every Friday at 3. Sound good?
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
The inmates' actions were aimed at destabilizing the situation in the jail and were motivated by their refusal to accept legitimate demands of prison
Selim is in the corner holding the sharp edge between his fingers. He is waiting for the high yellow sound of noon. He is calm. My elbows move closer to my ribs and then out again. Everything is breathing with me. Dolinka, Dolinka, Dolinka: now.
Selim bends at the waist and cuts his Achilles tendon. He hands me the razor and sits down. He is happy. My feet are bare, my pants rolled to the knees. I cut my tendon and pass the razor. We put our bleeding feet in a circle and let the blood pool. We push the blood to the door, force it under.
Demiricimim is the last of our twelve to cut. He pushes the razor into a crack in the mortar. We get up on our good feet and hook elbows. Dolinka! we shout.
Dolinka! the floor answers. Dolinka! the ceiling answers. Twelve, twelve- all of us! I shout.
The count comes from the cells. Fifteen! Twenty-three! Thirteen! Twenty!
Selim is adding them up. Two-hundred and sixty-six! he screams. The guards have come by now. They see the blood under the door and stop. They watch us through the food door of our cell. We are still standing together, hooked at the waist. We hold our loose feet together.
The guards do not move. Expletives and static come out of their walkie-talkies.
Where is Dolinka? I ask them. I am white and shivering. I feel the circle weaken. Demircinim's lips are blue.
The guards leave.
Where is Kazakhstan? I ask their backs. Tell CNN, tell the BBC where Dolinka is!
We hear the ambulances and sit down on our bunks. We are sweating and shivering.
When we get back from hospital, I tell Selim, we can do the other ankle.
No, he says. The British will come. He pulls out a comb from his pocket and neatens his hair.
Selim bends at the waist and cuts his Achilles tendon. He hands me the razor and sits down. He is happy. My feet are bare, my pants rolled to the knees. I cut my tendon and pass the razor. We put our bleeding feet in a circle and let the blood pool. We push the blood to the door, force it under.
Demiricimim is the last of our twelve to cut. He pushes the razor into a crack in the mortar. We get up on our good feet and hook elbows. Dolinka! we shout.
Dolinka! the floor answers. Dolinka! the ceiling answers. Twelve, twelve- all of us! I shout.
The count comes from the cells. Fifteen! Twenty-three! Thirteen! Twenty!
Selim is adding them up. Two-hundred and sixty-six! he screams. The guards have come by now. They see the blood under the door and stop. They watch us through the food door of our cell. We are still standing together, hooked at the waist. We hold our loose feet together.
The guards do not move. Expletives and static come out of their walkie-talkies.
Where is Dolinka? I ask them. I am white and shivering. I feel the circle weaken. Demircinim's lips are blue.
The guards leave.
Where is Kazakhstan? I ask their backs. Tell CNN, tell the BBC where Dolinka is!
We hear the ambulances and sit down on our bunks. We are sweating and shivering.
When we get back from hospital, I tell Selim, we can do the other ankle.
No, he says. The British will come. He pulls out a comb from his pocket and neatens his hair.
Friday, May 8, 2009
some work stuff i found interesting
Individuals who are able to maintain noncritical family relationships [I would add the qualifier _relatively,_ I am not aware of any family which is criticality-free], strong social support networks, and lower rates of major life events are likely to experience fewer symptoms of their disorder over time. Beyond the social environment, a better course of disorder may be possible for people with fewer negative interpretations of themselves and their life events, those who are less neurotic, and those who are less dependent on others_ opinions of them [I would qualify this as follows: that the issue of dependency upon the opinions of others really has to do with a disintegration between autonomy and relatedness, e.g., if autonomy is significantly sacrificed in order to maintain an attachment relationship]...Hence, psychotherapeutic interventions may be needed to help individuals develop more supportive social environments, positive self-evaluations [similar to Gaetano Benedetti_s concept of _therapeutic positivization_], and adaptive cognitions regarding stress. Maladaptive personality traits that persist beyond the recovery period may suggest the need for more intensive therapeutic interventions as well_ (p. 87).
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