December 2011
10 posts
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Stella? Stella . . . ?
I’ve been having trouble getting back into the groove of regular writing. I was so habituated to squeezing small bits of it between classes and related projects and other obligations for most of the year that now, even with the generous spread of time I’ve got for the next several weeks, I can’t seem to get beyond more than a hundred or two words at a time before I dead-end. So...
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*
A year of running at least three times a week, and it’s at the point now that non-running days feel off. I get a line down on a story, maybe two or three, but am restless and can’t stop shifting around. I get up out of my chair, walk around, look out the window, listen at the door for what’s going on downstairs, wrestle the cats. Or even just to stand, get up on my toes. Try a...
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Poetry Sundays
Every Sunday some writer friends and I get together and each build a poem around a chosen word or theme, literal or figurative, stated or suggested. It’s good for the arty muscles. And to dig out those things that tend to collect deep down. This week’s word was: etiolate.
~.~
the etymology of a thing, its bare root, a genesis saccharum, saccharon, sarkara, saccharine ...
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listen
There is no human emotion more raw and affecting and inexpressible by almost any other means than what happens at minute 4:02 in Pearl Jam’s Black. Or at minute 2:52 in Sade’s Pearls. Or at minute 5:17 in Sigur Rós’s Untitled #3.