so worth watching
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
|melancholia III by Intao|
Monday this week found me brain-stuffed with all the topics I'm wildly, thoughtfully dwelling on.
I've been churning out pages from my second novel, and I'm feeling so excited, and so thrilled by it. As you can also see if you follow me on Pinterest, I've been pin-mad lately. I've found some photo boards that remind me how much I used to love diving into photojournalism books at local bookstores, then savoring the thoughts raised in my brain for the rest of the day.
I'm also full of thoughts about a Facebook topic thread raised by my friend Kyme on pornography in society; another friend, Matt, wrote another thread about judgement and religion which also finds me thoughtful. I've also been trying to decipher my opinions on the recent Obamacare decision the Supreme Court will soon hand out (I'll have a story forthcoming soon in the Seattle Globalist.)
It has also been a weekend of celebrations: steak with the family for Fathers' Day, and my youngest brother announcing his engagement.
None of these mentions adds up to serious post, I acknowledge. I'm also feeling guilt for not spending more time in the last two or three days on school matters, other than continuing to plan my dissertation strategy and carry on background reading. It's time to turn seriously back to it...
All said though, I throw these things out as indications of topics I'd like to return to in greater depth. I'm about to drive back to Seattle, and I'll leave with the fear mentioned in the ice-climbing video I'm about to post, by Steve House: "My deepest fear is that I'm not worthy of love."
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Carrying on the Southern tradition and the connection to last week's Frank Stanford, we turn this week to C.D. Wright, accompanied by a painting from Ginny Stanford:
has been written in mud and butter
and barbecue sauce. The walls and
the floors used to be gorgeous.
The socks off-white and a near match.
The quince with fire blight
but we get two pints of jelly
in the end. Long walks strengthen
the back. You with a fever blister
and myself with a sty. Eyes
have we and we are forever prey
to each other’s teeth. The torrents
go over us. Thunder has not harmed
anyone we know. The river coursing
through us is dirty and deep. The left
hand protects the rhythm. Watch
your head. No fires should be
unattended. Especially when wind. Each
receives a free swiss army knife.
The first few tongues are clearly
preparatory. The impression
made by yours I carry to my grave. It is
just so sad so creepy so beautiful.
Bless it. We have so little time
to learn, so much... The river
courses dirty and deep. Cover the lettuce.
Call it a night. O soul. Flow on. Instead.