March 2012
3 posts
Two unbreathing days. Head full of phlegm and stopped up thought. I am a grouch when I’m sick. I finished DFW’s Lynch essay, watched 3 1/2 episodes of Twin Peaks last night. We had tomato soup and sweet potato fries and mozzarella sticks for dinner. I felt like a child. I have a show next week, on Tuesday near Downtown Crossing. I’m excited and nervous. I think it...
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February 2012
71 posts
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“Amy, Amy, at this distance you’re
the smell of liver,
tinnitus that keeps me...”
– “Swan” by Ana Bozicevic, from Stars of The Night Commute
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Engine Reanima
My mother is forcing me to get the Buick repaired. She says she is afraid I’ll die on the walk home from work. I’m going to listen, and appreciate her concerns about me walking alone at night, but I have to wonder how much longer she’s going to behave this way. If/when I move to Boston, will that be a satisfactory reason for her to let me ditch the wheels? What will she try...
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The Life of an Artist...
kameelahwrites:
About 15% is creating work. The other 75% is editing created work, crafting statements, applying for grants/residences/shows/publications. Then there is that 10% spent agonizing over all these processes. Let’s not talk about how many hours I have spent in the last month crafting six paragraphs.
I am an artist. Feels good to say that.
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I find that writing recently has become a kind of divination process. I cut myself off from outside influence more and more, stay in my house or at least my room alone for as long as I can, no internet browsing, no putsing around, just quiet time with words both new and old. I switch back and forth between paper and screen. I got through old drafts and mine for things that seem important enough...
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Today
breakfast at Mazey’s, where they know we’re sisters and remember hash and well done bacon as if we go there daily
editing, submissions
emails with my Iowa lovely and a friend in Scotland about journals I like
emails with my high school English teacher who’s booking me to teach future me’s poetry for an afternoon, mohawk, nose rings, tattoos, and all
a new poem about...
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“1. I am going to make pastry dough after I finish reading for class, but I have...”
– 10 random things, January 31, 2009
How different things are now.
I’ve opened a dangerous vault and returned to my critical writing from undergrad. How terrifying to view myself as a critic again. Even more terrifying, I actually made salient points. My paper on Plath (how her biography oppresses those reading her poems into a very particular view of her life, OH JEEZ WHAT A NERD I AM) is actually quite good. And. GASP. I want to write a book on the...
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“(Belated) Elegy For Brautigan
A woman from Tacoma
screams your name
while...”
– Howie Good, in Black Heart Magazine
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Day two of walking to work. I wake up half an hour early, and my body complains, as usual. I am so spoiled.
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T.S. Eliot Kept His Day Job →
