You Can't Get The Facts Until You Get The Fiction [Richard Jackson]

The fact is that the Death I put on in the morning is
the same Love I take off each night. The fact is
that my life slips out the back door just as I arrive.
Just now, just as I tell you this, while I am looking
for a little dignity under the open wound of the sky,
I am putting down the story of the two lovers killed
on a bridge outside Mostar. And the fact is love is
as extinct as those animals painted on cave walls
in Spain. The fact is, there is not a place on earth
that needs us. All our immortal themes are sitting
on the porch with woolen blankets over their knees.
But who wants to believe this? Instead, I am looking
for the right words as if they were hidden under
my doormat like keys. I would like to be able to report
that the 9 year old Rwandan girl did not hide under
her dead mother for hours. There are so many things
too horrible to say. And I would like to tell you
the eyes of the soldiers are sad, that despite all
this madness I can still kiss your soul, and yes,
you might say I was angry if it were not for the plain fact,
the indisputable fact, that I am filled with so much love,
so much irrational, foolish love, that I will not take
the pills or step off the bridge because of the single
fact of what you are about to say, some small act
of kindness from our wars, some simple gesture that fools me
into thinking we can still fall, in times like this, in love.

lovebirds

this is a picture of my mom and dad on their wedding day. five days after they met, my dad proposed and about two weeks later they married. my mom found her dress at the buckle. for a honeymoon, they went camping in northern minnesota.

last summer, at their 25 wedding anniversary, my mom cried and told me that she loved my dad more now than the day they married.

my sister, recently engaged, is currently wedding planning and, cupcake-like bridesmaid dress aside, it is a pretty awe-inspiring act to watch.

i'm going to be fitted for said bridesmaid dress on saturday... photos coming soon?

i'm.in.love.

one hundred things i love:

following pbg's lead...

1. chosen family

2. vladimir nabokov

3. the smell of old hardcover books

4. motobecanes

5. nightswimming

6. kitten heels and pencil skirts

7. an apartment made warm by baking

8. rooftop access

9. hayrides

10. white figure skates

11. handknit mittens

12. horseback riding

13. crunching snow while walking

14. grocery shopping

15. minneapolis

16. priorat

17. toboggans

18. lazy saturdays

19. orchestra dates

20. the mississippi river

21. opera-length gloves

22. well-written short stories

23. sunday dinner

24. cat whiskers that gatsby has shed

25. star gazing

26. people like oak trees

27. oak trees

28. chinese lanterns

29. the midwest

30. art openings

31. paintings of ships in harbors

32. poetry

33. alphabetizing

34. champagne diamonds

35. brown eyes

36. apple orchards

37. spanish linguistics

38. blood oranges

39. cookbooks by rose levy berenbaum

40. typography

41. japanese magic realism

42. classy drinking establishments

43. comfortable reading chairs

44. fresh eggs

45. road trips

46. aptly named individuals

47. phonetics

48. reggaeton

49. mason jars

50. libraries

51. engaging conversation

52. big dinner tables

53. gmail chat

54. french new wave

55. men that cook

56. cable patterns

57. laughing until i can’t breathe

58. bengal spice tea

59. old movie theatres

60. peacocks

61. tire swings

62. craigslist missed connections

63. playing hooky from work

64. early morning sunlight

65. cat naps with my kittens

66. crosswords

67. earl grey

68. rose-flavored anything

69. semi colons

70. the smell of freshly cut grass

71. rose gold

72. russian literature

73. woodwink eyeshadow

74. fireflies

75. screen porches

76. hot, humid nights

77. authors of the lost generation

78. anticipation

79. dancing

80. red lipstick

81. station wagons

82. climbing trees

83. building forts of blankets

84. my bed

85. edward’s purr

86. dialogue-heavy plays

87. la belle vie

88. giving presents

89. freckles

90. cuttlefish

91. the madison farmers’ market

92. food blogs

93. saying words that end in –sps (wisps, wasps, crisps…)

94. halloween

95. sailing

96. secret admirers

97. handwritten letters

98. typewriters and the sound they produce

99. fresh lemonade

100. eating out

that elusive whale

those of you those of you that are taking part in my possibly over-ambitious plan for december should be well on their way into the belly of the beast... this is not a short novel.

speaking of leviathans, i have recently finished (?) a short story and would love a volunteer or two (other than christian and louisa) to take a look at it and do a bit of editing. let me know if you're interested.

the snow late friday night was almost the best surprise of the weekend.

last night, instead of heeding tucker's siren song, i stayed in. while i'm sure i missed an absolutely lovely time, it served to remind me that not every moment must be spent in perpetual motion and that sometimes i am quite happy when still.

if anyone is asking you for advice as to what to buy me for the upcoming holidays, you can really recommend to them that they buy this (link removed as it doesn't function anymore); i am quite smitten. also, emily has some absolute gems up - and i mean that quite literally.

The Secret [Jeffrey McDaniel]

When you were sleeping on the sofa
I put my ear to your ear and listened
to the echo of your dreams.

That is the ocean I want to dive in,
merge with the bright fish,
plankton and pirate ships.

I walk up to people on the street that kind of look like you
and ask them the questions I would ask you.

Can we sit on a rooftop and watch stars dissolve into smoke
rising from a chimney?
Can I swing like Tarzan in the jungle of your breathing?

I don't wish I was in your arms,
I just wish I was pedaling a bicycle
toward your arms.

boobiebrigade thank-you

november 19th, 2008 7:30 pm

menu:
jerk venison
carribean potatoes
chili truffle green beans

castell de remei ODA

asstd. berries with chocolate and cacao nibs

guest:
jonathan ackerman

this summer, jonathan was kind enough to help me organize a fundraiser for the 3 day walk for breast cancer - a bake sale at first ave that raised almost $700. embarrassingly, i just finally got around to his thank you. worth the wait? i think so.

Trouble - do not forget the capital T

this is me with my best friend.

i'm pretty sure i'd perish without her.

last night

was absolutely lovely.

home from the bar and slightly tipsy, the view of snow falling on the interstate through the double windows in my living room left me breathless. i took a photo, but i doubt it will do justice to the quiet in those snowflakes.

this is what i have been craving: long nights of reading and writing and knitting and creating, not feeling bad about hibernating, walks in the crisp dark with only the sound of crunching footsteps to keep me company.

you heard them,

now listen to louisa, ashley and tucker.

they know what's best for you. no, really.

Dear Birds [Mark Yakich]

Much is made of the size of your heart.
Or the way some of you pull an earthworm
To death. Compare for example, this portrait
Of my husband, the artist, three cocktails in:

Fish in the morning, fellatio in the afternoon,
Philosophizing after dinner. Sucking on
A hazelnut in haze and hard rain, he pulls off
It all: pain, politeness, and unemployment.

I admit, it does please me to think of him
Mourning my death. Tissue by tissue, he'll paint
The orange groves and narrow bridle paths.
He'll arrange colors like music that coats the ear.

So is heartache really a mistake? The question is
Realer than any answer can be: One comes upon
The hills and then the pills. But not everyone,
My little sugar skulls, can eat their mistakes.

Call me Ishmael.

last month, i went to the bryant lake bowl's bars and books for the booklove of my life, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, and while I enjoyed certain aspects of it quite a bit, it was too large for me to really enjoy; i've never been one for patiently keeping my hand raised in order to make my point.

in order to get everything i want said said, i've decided to start a book group of my own. it will probably take place in my living room - maybe we'll even get a fire going in that fireplace of mine and there will be a couple bottles of wine involved. Moby Dick will be the first book to read (as i've been meaning to read it forever) and we'll be meeting december 10th at 7:30. so, get on it. you have a month. i'm waiting on your rsvp.

me at work

christian: i'm going to get some tea
i have a headache
back in a few
me: okay
i'm drinking a beer.
christian: ha
that's right
you're not at work
me: no, i am.
working!
drinking beer!
i'm here 'til five.

also, voting this morning? made me a very, very happy girl. all the optimism in me cannot be contained by my cubicle walls and has something to do with the beautiful mash of english/arabic/spanish all over at my polling place. what was the only word in common in all three languages? OBAMA!

i'm not the kind to tell you you've been blind

sugar skull does halloween

but you're so little, sam.

i had no idea you were so tall, tom.

even though it was taken prior going anywhere, this photo is worth all of the words there are to describe last night.

little sister.

tammy faye: devil spawn

"don't make me turn this car around."

killing it.

i like to laugh so long and hard that i can't breathe/pull a muscle.

calavera

dear tucker, i'm sorry i drunkenly wiped my face on your towel. p.s. your flats are hot.