MARGARET (cont'd)
I swear, it'd be fucking great for
someone to have the testicles to make
that book into a movie, man. Instead of
this bullshit all the time. Something
not about sex and violence and car chases
and love stories, people learning
profound lessons. Jesus, isn't nature
enough?

Labels: film, passages

So we find ourselves
wandering from thought to thoughts
ghosts in each others minds
trespassing from page to page
the little distance
keeps us sane

And it’s what we know
written from nerves to wires
invisible behind the mirror
which keeps us high like gods
almost touching I
as in Icarus

So, you sit like this
wondering what box this fits in
foolish, old, or with a grin
counting deeper in the picture
who the watcher is
of the three

---

Inspired by:

A passage from
Draft 88: X-Posting
Rachel Blau DuPlessis
A free variation on “Keine Delikatessen” by Ingeborg Bachmann

Without delicacies, without delicacy,
no rhetoric either
and certainly without refinement
I stand before you
foreign and distant,
(although near and constant)
wondering
whether any part of this is worth it.
Questioning
whether I feel anything
I can talk about, and
whether thinking about feeling,
were I to bring myself to “do” it,
to make that effort,
is particularly worth it.
What is the force of my conviction?

As seen on
wood s lot

---

Labels: artform, echo, experiment, passages

Labels: artform, graphic journal, notes

Dear Charlie,

Can you see our snowstorm from where you are? Do you remember last year I told you how horrible this season was for me? I have found it to be less wicked than usual this time around. The child in me has managed to rise above the woman and the crone. I hope there is still time left to play along.

Every year the same debate goes on, to buy into winter or not. Purchase some Kodiaks and Kanuks? If I were to have the proper accoutrements, would winter seem less of an obstacle? How shall we go out? Shall we slide down the twisted staircase on our bellies full of dough? Shall we jump off the balcony into the castle made of snow?

Children laugh out loud under falling snowflakes when they can, before it disappears again. To them, the cold and sticky makes is magical. Would you find that beautiful? Do you think children stop to look for beauty? Or do they simply move with what they love? Mmm... I doubt they even think of love. I hope they don’t. They should be busy magicians, caring only to transform the world from mud to ice then to sand, and back again. If they should have any kind of adult care, let it be to have papa on their team to keep the fort safe and strong.

Last night, walking home, I studied the traces left in the snow: the boot prints, angles, pressure, drags, slides and the forgotten objects that are now frozen in the banks. Since the first autumn snowfall, I have been listening to the sound of snow being crushed under my feet, instead of music. It’s nice to hear my own progression.

Labels: Dear Charlie, turn me on