It has a strong, strong
blackberry taste. The nose sucks.
That just went down wrong.
Chuck.
…complete tale.
I didn’t dislike it.
Yea. Yea. Yeah.
Damn those must be old.
I prefer whiskey buzzes.
Nice, sit in your belly—nice candle
burning in your belly.
Music: play some music.
Netflix.
It’s on my bed.
We all sort of rely on you for
music
Drinking the kool-aid.
Bullshit what you talking about.
…ready to agree with him?
This is not a joke so please stop smiling.
What do you mean by death?
I am trying to break your heart.
What the Fu—I mean this is Bull—…
I absolutely believe this
at all…
Sand bag…that night
It’s not about having guts or…
I guess I am just saying…
That was delicious.
It was a...2003 was one of the best
years in France.
Some kind of bitter—
It’s a lot of air; have to let it sit
for at least 20-30 seconds.
Tastes more alcoholic.
20 March 2009
18 March 2009
From the hand of Djuna Barnes
Excerpt from Nightwood
Those who love everything are despised by everything, as those who love a city, in its profoundest sense, become the shame of that city, the détraqués, the paupers; their good is incommunicable, outwitted, being the rudiment of a life that has developed, as in man's body are found evidences of lost needs.
Those who love everything are despised by everything, as those who love a city, in its profoundest sense, become the shame of that city, the détraqués, the paupers; their good is incommunicable, outwitted, being the rudiment of a life that has developed, as in man's body are found evidences of lost needs.
25 February 2009
Morning Catalyst
Maybe it's time to try that 5 AM wonderment of waking up and acting on that dream or impulse - rather, sloshing from side to side in your head, for you would have been sleeping anyway (and sleep--what is sleep to the dreamer who needs a reality of uninhibited dreams to instill the strength of dreaming further? Why, wake up!).
28 January 2009
Open Your Hand
Open your hand
tightly.
Each vertebra—
bone by bone—
submerged
below cracks of mountainous veins.
Twist into two
and preserve yourself
There
in time
tautly clasped,
walking down the rue.
tightly.
Each vertebra—
bone by bone—
submerged
below cracks of mountainous veins.
Twist into two
and preserve yourself
There
in time
tautly clasped,
walking down the rue.
18 December 2008
T.S. Eliot Made Me Do It
They come and go
They come and go
Talking of the tide that’s low
Thinking that they’ll have a go
With an almond filled croissant.
Often times they come in to flaunt
The hummer they drive, the jewels they want
(These are issues of importance for young debutantes!)
I could continue—on and on—but I shaun’t
For one is now at the front to weigh
His options; so after much strenuous delay,
Digging through purses, pockets, pickles, he finally pays
Then starts to chitchat of the day
Remarking “how do you like your job” by the way;
I merely laugh and prepare the over-calorific drink.
Next moment, hot water near the sink
Splashes on a girl who’s pink
And red due to the ignorant fink—
The one who originally started the kink
In the coffee maker.
All of the jolly, sweet-tongued bakers
Crowd the joint—a place ridiculous to exclaim an acre—
Debating with the boss, (the ultimate creator),
If the lad should be kept, tossed or dealt with later
But good ol’ Bruno makes a speech.
He first glances inside each
Of the bakers’ eyes to angrily leach
Out the truth of the matter; their motive to impeach
The youthful boy who did nothing worse than James of the Peach,
But fair is fair and Bruno begins his words:
“My boy you did not learn from your last curd,
When you tripped over the herd
Of baguettes lined up to be shipped to Lord Uward,
The greatest ruler I have ever heard
Who cried straight 88 nights in a row.
You did not think that I would see you and every crow
Who fumbles more than once running to and fro,
Losing my money with each cup he spills on a newly ironed bow,
(The ones you can only purchase in Cairo!)
No—you did not think at all.
Well, what’s done is done, so time to make that call
The one to the girl who you caused a fall
And gain a new burn, an original
One on her left shoulder, halting her admittance in the semi-final
Coffee Making Competition.
Oh ominous partition
I am forced to graze upon! Tell me lad, what’s your definition?
What’s the cause of this debacle? Was it a premonition?
Was I or my shop worthy of your spiteful ammunition?
I have no more to question upon.
The decision is made; Son, go wait out there on the lawn.
I will call ahead my workers who never once partook in a con
Or thought to thwart their jobs; Mon Dieu they always got here at dawn
To serve my people without the slightest yawn.
But wait, what’s this, a possible rumor…
A letter from a fellow consumer,
A kindly one who thought it a humor
Of the situation I made for tad boy (which frankly has given me the greatest tumor!)
I’d be better off to rest with slices of cucumber
On my eyes. Alas! No time for that, let’s forget the note.
I am faltering, fading away like a little boat.
Quick get me to bed, I might roll over right now of this tumultuous goat,
The boy who ruined me. I am done. Je suis fini was all he wrote.
They said some prayers and then wrapped him in his red petticoat…
But onward his café continued for all relations near or not of kin.
They come and go
Talking of the tide that’s low
Thinking that they’ll have a go
With an almond filled croissant.
Often times they come in to flaunt
The hummer they drive, the jewels they want
(These are issues of importance for young debutantes!)
I could continue—on and on—but I shaun’t
For one is now at the front to weigh
His options; so after much strenuous delay,
Digging through purses, pockets, pickles, he finally pays
Then starts to chitchat of the day
Remarking “how do you like your job” by the way;
I merely laugh and prepare the over-calorific drink.
Next moment, hot water near the sink
Splashes on a girl who’s pink
And red due to the ignorant fink—
The one who originally started the kink
In the coffee maker.
All of the jolly, sweet-tongued bakers
Crowd the joint—a place ridiculous to exclaim an acre—
Debating with the boss, (the ultimate creator),
If the lad should be kept, tossed or dealt with later
But good ol’ Bruno makes a speech.
He first glances inside each
Of the bakers’ eyes to angrily leach
Out the truth of the matter; their motive to impeach
The youthful boy who did nothing worse than James of the Peach,
But fair is fair and Bruno begins his words:
“My boy you did not learn from your last curd,
When you tripped over the herd
Of baguettes lined up to be shipped to Lord Uward,
The greatest ruler I have ever heard
Who cried straight 88 nights in a row.
You did not think that I would see you and every crow
Who fumbles more than once running to and fro,
Losing my money with each cup he spills on a newly ironed bow,
(The ones you can only purchase in Cairo!)
No—you did not think at all.
Well, what’s done is done, so time to make that call
The one to the girl who you caused a fall
And gain a new burn, an original
One on her left shoulder, halting her admittance in the semi-final
Coffee Making Competition.
Oh ominous partition
I am forced to graze upon! Tell me lad, what’s your definition?
What’s the cause of this debacle? Was it a premonition?
Was I or my shop worthy of your spiteful ammunition?
I have no more to question upon.
The decision is made; Son, go wait out there on the lawn.
I will call ahead my workers who never once partook in a con
Or thought to thwart their jobs; Mon Dieu they always got here at dawn
To serve my people without the slightest yawn.
But wait, what’s this, a possible rumor…
A letter from a fellow consumer,
A kindly one who thought it a humor
Of the situation I made for tad boy (which frankly has given me the greatest tumor!)
I’d be better off to rest with slices of cucumber
On my eyes. Alas! No time for that, let’s forget the note.
I am faltering, fading away like a little boat.
Quick get me to bed, I might roll over right now of this tumultuous goat,
The boy who ruined me. I am done. Je suis fini was all he wrote.
They said some prayers and then wrapped him in his red petticoat…
But onward his café continued for all relations near or not of kin.
22 November 2008
A Blank Page
You told me to write, so I'll write. And I'll write, and I'll write and I'll write.
How could it have slipped away? Itself, a privilege with time (and damn- there is only so much). Nowadays they prescribe a quantitative, not qualitative measuring dose of time. How much you got? Value? Scotch value. It's all about the number of lines crossed off the list. A day in the park with the dog would be nice, but no- you've got work to do. Let's dissolve this method. Let's loosen it up. Breathe some fresh air and get outside. Let it all melt down to the wick. Prerequisites and thesis galore: throw them up in the air. Let them flutter and fly. Give them the life they deserve and grasp onto your own.
It's known as a requirement of life; necessary by all means. You want to make it in life don't you? What kind of question is that? What if I do, what if I don't? I'll take my own route, thank you. I wont' put up with that. You'll get squashed, they say. Hey now, at least I tried. I'm gonna put an end to the numbering of what's important in life. What's now merely an act forced between a coffee here, an essay there; it needs to die. Stop it, just stop it! Write. Go ahead now, the pages are crisp, creamy and waiting.
How could it have slipped away? Itself, a privilege with time (and damn- there is only so much). Nowadays they prescribe a quantitative, not qualitative measuring dose of time. How much you got? Value? Scotch value. It's all about the number of lines crossed off the list. A day in the park with the dog would be nice, but no- you've got work to do. Let's dissolve this method. Let's loosen it up. Breathe some fresh air and get outside. Let it all melt down to the wick. Prerequisites and thesis galore: throw them up in the air. Let them flutter and fly. Give them the life they deserve and grasp onto your own.
It's known as a requirement of life; necessary by all means. You want to make it in life don't you? What kind of question is that? What if I do, what if I don't? I'll take my own route, thank you. I wont' put up with that. You'll get squashed, they say. Hey now, at least I tried. I'm gonna put an end to the numbering of what's important in life. What's now merely an act forced between a coffee here, an essay there; it needs to die. Stop it, just stop it! Write. Go ahead now, the pages are crisp, creamy and waiting.
13 October 2008
Les 'Elms,' Au Revoir!
"After years of study and with advice from arborists and plant pathologists, the College has made a difficult decision regarding the dying elm trees that form Scripps' historic and beloved Elm Tree Lawn. Rather than continue the policy of replacement as needed, which Scripps has followed since late 1999, the College will renew the entire landscape with contract-grown trees in five or six years. 
Elm Tree Lawn, an allée of 18 paired American elms, is one of the signature landscapes at Scripps.Annual commencement exercises and other major events at the College take place under this canopy, designed by Edward Huntsman-Trout in 1939. For several years, the College has had concerns with the health of the trees. Elm trees are not native to Southern California; in this climate, they live for only 75-80 years.
Over the past several years, the College has engaged two consulting arborists to study the condition of the elm trees. In December 1999, the Buildings and Grounds Committee of the Board decided to remove and replace trees as they neared the end of their lives or became a safety concern. One tree was removed in 2001 for safety reasons, and three of the weakest trees were removed during the 2004-05 semester break.
In the summer of 2004, Jim Clark, a plant pathologist with a specialty in elm trees, was contacted to examine the trees. His report was received by the Buildings and Grounds Committee in September 2004. Along with the recommendation to renew the entire landscape with contract-grown trees in five or six years, Dr. Clark advised that the College continue to carefully onitor and prune the remaining elms until the replacement trees reach a height of 25 or 30 feet.According to Lola Trafecanty, director of grounds, the replacement trees will be disease-resistant Princeton elms.
Don Johnson, chairman of the Buildings and Grounds Committee, said:
'Contemplating the removal of the trees in Elm Tree Lawn has been one of the more difficult topics we have faced on the Buildings and Grounds Committee over the last several years...The difficulty has been in arriving at an approach which will provide for the safety of all persons on campus and preserve the traditional setting for our graduation ceremonies. Elm Tree Lawn is a special place on campus and is in the heart of each and every alumna.The adopted approach of removing any trees posing a hazard, while contract growing replacement trees, will provide the required safety while minimizing the impact upon the campus.'"
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