Noticed this sticker in the window of a pickup truck the other day:
Here’s a closer view:
First time I’ve seen it actually slapped onto a car. But these guys have been around for a long time.
Noticed this sticker in the window of a pickup truck the other day:
Here’s a closer view:
First time I’ve seen it actually slapped onto a car. But these guys have been around for a long time.
Time to start work. Enough noodling. This thing needs to be done in two weeks. This blog has just become my journal of accountability. I know what needs to be done, I think. Now I need to do it.
How long until Season 2 of The Borgias?
Kidding. Season 1 was a big fat disappointment. Which is not to say I didn’t watch it.
The Millions is my new favorite website.
For C.M.
The high plains desert butte that serves as my desk
Awaits a sunset to match this Monday’s sunrise
Of Cyclops – the name I call my computer screen.
The incarcerations and liberties of envelopes clutter
The silence, overcrowded as any Sing Sing orRiker’s Island.
The inky indictment of pens and leaden assumptions
Of pencils stick their fatal shafts and quills
Into a coffee-cup drained of life some time
In the flux between the Business section and Personal.
My keyboard arrays its slightly raised runes
To proffer the potential poetry of a profit margin
Lurking behind the chime of the market bell,
Unread as piles of stock reports, pensees
Of profit, dividend arias, and litanies of loss.
And the smell of perfume hangs past morning –
Your perfume, White Linen, wafting its assaults
Over my cubicle, mystic in its ambush
(Though you won’t know it perhaps until much later).
You announce routine military exercises along the border,
And with hosiery’s hush you’ll cross and uncross your legs
A thousand times each day. I count them all.
The keyboard’s furrowed grey chiclets, trim and zen
As pebbles in a Buddhist garden,
Please the fingers combing for figurative gems.
A squared layer of snowfall, sheets of vellum
Rest on the office stationery shelf.
The space bar’s staccato hammer threatens to dislodge them
Like dynamite whiting out mountain slopes
To inoculate them against avalanche and ice dam.
An American-made paper clip’s early
Immortality is twisted awry by
The diplomacy of our last phone conversation –
The mangled silver wire sits by the wall jack, a futile
Inchworm of outstretched steel, a snarling cork-screw.
It gathers nothing now, collects nothing, holds nothing.
Papers fall apart. Reports cannot hold.
The stapler and tape dispenser are moved
Into defensive positions behind
The plastic-armored computer tower. The rapid fire
Of a rear-guard memorandum (“Re: Us”)
Dares me to a pre-emptive strike against mergers
That would delete my nerve and put us back together again.
…I never had the guts to just get up there and sing it. But when I was a freshman, I went and wrote my very own “Country Feedback” style REM tune.
I’ll effect a cause effect
Between the now and then
Draw distinctions order knowledge
Present past and when
I knew the way around the pathways in my head
Flags and flowers on the markers
Isn’t it enough to say
I touched the place where lonely battles
Saw the light, the light of day.
Every year, the feast of all souls, talking to the dead
in graveyards, tumble downwards, cigarette
smells sweet at first then suffocates
But I’m not beaten yet.
Snow upon the silent tombstone lies there in my stead
There’s not a lot to hold your interest
Only what’s put there by me
Drift upon the slow still waters
Freezing in my memory
Just another carpetbagger, just another vagabond
A conversation never started slowly sinks in Jason’s pond.
Please be patient, as Brown is unable to do anything for me until they figure out why their zip codes are all boshed up.
In the meantime, know that the triolet contest winner will be announced shortly – as will first through fifth runner ups!
A nod to Kierkegaard and Walker Percy: existentialist tomfoolery, political satire, literary homage, word mongering, a year-round summer reading club, Dylanesque music bits, apocalyptic marianism, poetry, fiction, meta-porn, a prisoner work-release program.
Søren Kierkegaard
Walker Percy
Bob Dylan
Literature & History
Letters from an American
Beau of the Fifth Column
This American Life
The Writer’s Almanac
San Diego Reader
The Stranger
The Inlander
Adoremus
Charlotte was Both
The Onion
From Empty Hands
Ellen Finnigan
America
Commonweal
First Things
National Review
The New Republic
All Manner of Thing
Gerasene Writers Conference
Scrutinies
DarwinCatholic
Catholic and Enjoying It
Bad Catholic
Universalis
Is My Phylactery Showing?
Quotidian Quintilian
En pocas palabras
William Wilson, Guitarist Extraordinaire
Signposts in a Strange Land
Ben Hatke
Daniel Mitsui
Dappled Things
The Fine Delight
Gene Luen Yang
Wiseblood Books
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JOB