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Wed, Sep. 10th, 2008, 11:17 pm
in praise of joe

In Praise of Joe
by Marge Piercy

I love you hot
I love you iced and in a pinch
I will even consume you tepid.

Dark brown as wet bark of an apple tree,
dark as the waters flowing out of a spooky swamp
rich with tannin and smelling of thick life--

but you have your own scent that even
rising as steam kicks my brain into gear.
I drink you rancid out of vending machines,

I drink you at coffee bars for $6 a hit,
I drink you dribbling down my chin from a thermos
in cars, in stadiums, on the moonwashed beach.

Mornings you go off in my mouth like an electric
siren, radiating to my fingertips and toes.
You rattle my spine and buzz in my brain.

Whether latte, cappuccino, black or Greek
you keep me cooking, you keep me on line.
Without you, I would never get out of bed

but spend my life pressing the snooze
button. I would creep through wan days
in the form of a large shiny slug.

You waken in me the gift of speech when I
am dumb as a rock buried in damp earth.
It is you who make me human every dawn.
All my books are written with your ink.

Wed, Sep. 10th, 2008, 10:59 pm
October 24th and 25th in Seattle

I tihnk I mentioned this earlier but for the refresher, In October I will be going to Seattle to meet my favorite author.

I should say a few things because this isn't exactly like driving or taking a train to see you favorite band. This is sitting on a bus or train for depending on which i happen to take is anywhere between 2-4 hours so that I can walk around a city i do not know (fun!) and then find myself in a bookstore sitting (from what i hear most likely dripping) and listening to a man read from a book that im going to purchase and have signed to myself so that i can sit on the bus coming back and have a very long conversation with the friends im dragging along while i really really want to tear into chapter one.

This is not any writer or storyteller im talking about though. I'm talking about the man that's written books which have carved themselves deeply into me. There are imprints of his stories in my head and hands and feet.

at one point the only way i could find to express my love for one particular woman was to steal one of his words because it replaced the word love for me as a pinnacle of emotion.

CarrollBlog 09.23

In a bookstore yesterday I bought a postcard that fascinated me. It's a photograph of two sheperds in Balou Lekh, Nepal. Backs to us, they're standing in an open meadow watching their small flock of sheep and herd dogs. It is a brilliantly sunny day. Their bodies cast long black shadows across the ground, as if they were figures on a sundial. In front of them miles in the distance is one of those astonishing panoramic views of the blue-gray Himalayas. The photo is so rich and exotic in both subject matter and locale that you don't know where to look first. When I got home I propped the card up next to the computer screen. Since then I find myself staring at it often and dreaming. An eye doctor once told me that if you work at the computer a lot, you should frequently look away, out the window if possible and focus on the natural world a while to give your eyes a rest from the electronic jitter. I used to do that, but now with this card, with an eye flick I'm in Balou Lekh.

CarrollBlog 09.20

When I was in Italy a couple of weeks ago, a magazine interviewer asked this question which I thought was interesting: A UFO lands in your backyard and the aliens knock on the door. They ask you to suggest one book they can read that best describes Mankind and the Human Condition. Which one would you suggest that gives beings from another planet a good idea of who we really are? I mentioned the first thing that came to mind and to this day I stick with the suggestion-- the children's book Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown. For those who don't know it, a little girl gets into bed at night. As she drifts off to sleep, she says goodnight to all of the things she loves and that make up her small world. It is a book about observation, love, and gratitude. When I am feeling optimistic, I think those are the qualities that make us special and will hopefully save us in the end.

CarrollBlog 09.19

If you had to choose, what would you rather drop-- something liquid, or something solid?
Explain your choice.

CarrollBlog 09.13

A man I know had been having a very good and satisfying affair with a woman for some time. As a sign of appreciation, he decided to invite her over for dinner at his apartment-- something he hadn't done before. He liked her very much and decided to do the whole thing right: candlelight, linen tablecloth and napkins, nice plates and glasses, etcetera. And of course cook something great. She arrived and they chatted while he put the finishing touches on the meal.  But as they ate and time wore on, she became more and more withdrawn and cold. Finally it got so bad that he asked if anything was wrong.

She hesitated but finally pointed to one of the plates.

"Why did use plates? Why not just plastic or something?"

Taken aback, he answered "I wanted to make a nice meal for you. I thought I'd use my nice plates, a tablecloth, you know-- the good stuff."

"But that's all? That's the only reason?" She narrowed her eyes, as if not trusting what he'd said.
Thoroughly confused now, he said "Yes, that's all."

"You're not in love with me?"

He hesitated because he didn't want to hurt her feelings, but the whole evening was becoming so weird and mysterious that he thought he should just tell the truth."No, I like you very much but I'm not in love."

Her face lit up and she smiled from ear to ear. "Oh, thank God! As soon as I walked in here and saw these nice plates I thought Oh no, he's in love with me. Because you never use plates in a situation like this unless you're in love. I was so afraid I was going to have to say that I don't love you. But now everything's okay. Do you want to go to bed?"

CarrollBlog 09.11

Italian phrase of the day: "caccati in mano e prenditi a schiaffi" which roughly translates as "Take a shit in your hands and then hit yourself with it."

If you know who im talking about then im more than pleased to know that there is a piece of artwork whether it be a story or a painting or what have you, that's left an imprint.

Wed, Sep. 10th, 2008, 06:39 pm
Stephen King's The Mist

Just gearing up for Halloween. I take it far more seriously than I usually do Holidays. Just so it's out there, I do consider my birthday a Holiday, It is in my imaginary world anyway.

from The Mist:

Stephanie Drayton: How did you two always manage to make me laugh?
David Drayton: You have incredibly low standards.
Stephanie Drayton: Mhm.

Wed, Sep. 10th, 2008, 10:28 am
movie trailer-max payne

Wed, Sep. 10th, 2008, 12:03 am
more about sway

Tue, Sep. 9th, 2008, 11:38 pm
all builldings do sway in the wind...in the wind

Tue, Sep. 9th, 2008, 11:29 am
oh the red band trailer....

Mon, Sep. 8th, 2008, 10:15 pm
at the wheel

She was always a slow driver, her grandsons never knew that though, because of her age they assumed many things and one of them was that she could not drive at the excess speeds of their mother. However her age did allow for interesting stories and when she drove at her cautious speed they were able to listen to more of them.
One in particular always made them look at each other and wonder. It was about when she was their age-this was the sentence that began so many stories, as if replacing "once upon a time."
Once, when she was their age...

Her father had a ranch. He raised horses and there was a time one particular horse unbroken and wild taunted his would be trainers for weeks. Deciding that she could do the job just as well she managed to saddle the beast and then she sat upon a fence patiently building up the courage she needed. When she felt she could not think her way out of it she led the horse to the very same fence and climbed up onto it's saddle. The horse went mad. He bucked and bucked but having made up her own stubborn mind this girl would not let go. The horse jumped the fence just as her father came out of his house and her father managed to keep pace with this daughter kidnapping horse for about thirty seconds. The story goes that the horse and the girl ran off into the sunset together in less than a minute, so the father panicked, he waited... three minutes, five minutes... ten minutes... he saw the pair of stubborn creatures come back over the sunset. The horse hadn't lost any speed and the girl was laughing and crying. Her father screamed and screamed and his daughter being sensible and either listening to so many stories herself stood on the horse and leaped at a branch as they passed by a tree.
As a kind of punishment her father left her their while he ran down the horse and put him away, she says when her dad came back to help her out of the tree she was still giggling.

These brothers young and skeptical always laughed at the story. It was grown-ups vs. adults. It was something she knew about, maybe all Grandparents,like children, are able to understand more that there are two separate species in humans and that they are not boys and girls at all but children and adults, kids and grown-ups.

To this day I still think it was something my Great Grandmother saw in a movie and wanted to pass off as part of her childhood. To this day in my secret heart I still believe that it was my Great Grandmother who did it first, some Hollywood writer probably picked up the story in a bar and kept it.

I spent have the day in the Cafe serving coffee and thinking about this. I guess some heroes never die or fade for us.

Mon, Sep. 8th, 2008, 12:26 pm
okay-i'm morer excited.

At the Hollywood (in PDX) On September 17th

Mon, Sep. 8th, 2008, 12:18 pm
R goes to Seattle!!!

Jonathan Carroll will be in Seattle in a little over a month and I shall be taking the train/bus whichever it chooses to be that day up to a new city I have never seen before. I don't care where I end up staying. I couldn't be more excited than I am now.

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