What a week. Is this what a good week feels like?
What a week. Is this what a good week feels like?
Well, what do you know. Something happened. And now something else is happening.
RIP Peter Ostroushko
Something’s about to happen.
Thinking about Lawrence Ferlinghetti today, I just posted a short something I wrote a few years ago but never published. It’s more about my father than Ferlinghetti, really, but that’s the way of elegies sometimes: they go where they go.
RIP Lawrence Ferlinghetti, 1919–2021
Two down, one to go.
So, in the category of “bands that always wear headgear,” it’s down to Los Straitjackets and The Residents, is that right? Am I forgetting anyone?
The last time I was in a bookstore was 55 weeks ago. Since then, I’ve bought every book online, most from independent bookstores or, when I could, directly from the publisher. Only one has thought to include some bookmarks.
(Full series here.)
74: Nat’l Parks: Rainier
75: Letterpress: Genghis Kern
Good is better than great.
“Work as if you live in the early days of a better nation.”
—Dennis Leigh
(but associated with Alastair Gray, who cited it often)
73: Nat’l Parks: Denali
74: Nat’l Parks: Rainier
A poem of mine, “Polly,” is up at Autumn Sky Poetry Daily.
Here’s another straggler that just surfaced. From the same era that produced this bookmark.
(The full series is here.)
All these “Micro.blogiversaries” (e.g. @Miraz, @Burk) remind me my own third anniversary was nine days ago.
Thanks to @manton, @cheesemaker, and @jean for laying the groundwork for such a wonderful community!
Here’s another bookmark that just turned up. I remember it being cluttered and tousled, the sort of place where accident was the only real form of discovery.
Happy New Year!
Yesterday’s scones.
The scones are in the oven. A day late, but just in time to be my last creative project of 2020.
A poem of mine, Thighbones, Clay, is up at Eunoia Review.
Oh, what a year. I’m aware of (and grateful for) my privilege and my luck. But it doesn’t always help, when I’m struggling. And I’ve been struggling.
But tomorrow, I make scones.
I will build something, and add savor to the world, at least for a few moments.
“Christmas Eve, 1955, Benny Profane, wearing black levis, suede jacket, sneakers and big cowboy hat, happened to pass through Norfolk, Virginia.”
—Thomas Pynchon, V.
The first day in weeks I’ve made it through the day without a nap. Then I remembered why. I woke as usual at 5am, went to my kitchen corner to write, then I decided I just… needed to lie down… for a few minutes. I slept for two more hours on the couch.
Another entry in the intermittently active Bookmarks series. This is actually a receipt not a bookmark, but I’ll allow it.
A belated thank you to @schuth for the recommendation. I finally bought it on the last Bandcamp Friday, and I’ve been listening to it constantly ever since.
