After we flew across the country we
got in bed, laid our bodies
intricately together, like maps laid
face to face, East to West, my
San Francisco against your New York, your
Fire Island against my Sonoma, my
New Orleans deep in your Texas, your Idaho
bright on my Great Lakes, my Kansas
burning against your Kansas, your Eastern
Standard Time pressing into my
Pacific Time, my Mountain Time
beating against your Central Time, your
sun rising swiftly from the right my
sun rising swiftly from the left your
moon rising slowly from the left my
moon rising slowly from the right until
all four bodies of the sky
burn above us, sealing us together,
all our cities twin cities,
all our states united, one
nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.
Behind the cut, a letter from the poet to Laura Bush, declining an invitation to speak at the 2005 National Book Festival. Continue Reading Poetry Monday…
You say all of us
even if we fail become lights
along the awesome bones. Separated
by darkness, humming through wires
on windy nights, bellying out
you’re so sure the current is personal
Not like the firefly
that lives for a month
jolted at random by a blank force
that never knows the brightness
of its shocked body
even on cool nights above the grasses
when it loves, victim to victim.
… that I’ve been waiting for a decent video from his new album for almost a year.
Well, FINALLY! And it’s my favorite song too.
You know that even college stoner dudes who learn Dave Matthews songs on guitar to impress girls are secretly watching this in their room, thinking that their computer’s visualizer has finally answered their prayers to make a hot girl magically appear in the swirls. Well, it wasn’t your visualizer, dudes. It was JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE, and you have to live with that knowledge every single day. Maybe now you could learn to dance and buy a nice suit and stop hating.
Speaking of guitar, he’s totally pretending to play one! How cute is that?
So yeah, I’m down with the iPod commerical vibe, even though there could have (as always) been more of a dance-off. But obviously the amazing part of this video is the transition. All of the sudden — there’s the real Justin! With his mournful, puppy-dog eyes. He’s so unassuming, hands in his pockets, nothing to prove. He’s just a boy, standing in front of a petitpoussin, asking her to love him.
Well obviously it worked. We’re getting married on Halloween, and he’s promised to grow out his old *NSYNC fro just for the occasion.
Speaking of which, and because I want a dance break. Does anyone else just wish for another moment like this one, when *NSYNC and Britney took it to the next level at the VMAs?
Also, shiny silver pants everywhere! Actually Justin’s hardly in this video but so what, it’s awesome.
Oh my gosh I am soooo white right now.
The Red Poppy
The great thing
is not having
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they
govern me. I have
a lord in heaven
called the sun, and open
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters,
were you like me once, long ago,
before you were human? Did you
to open once, who would never
open again? Because in truth
I am speaking now
the way you do. I speak
because I am shattered.
– Louise Glück
[You can hear the author read this poem here.]
It is currently 2:29am HST. I have been sick with some throat/flu thing for the last three days and have been sleeping like a koala trying to fight it off. Why am I awake at this late hour? On a worknight? The story begins yesterday…
Last night, I woke up to a strange motor-like sound, zapping around my bedroom, interrupted by the occasional thwack. As the sleep wore off, I mused that the sound reminded me, strangely, of my basement bedroom in my last apartment. Fully awake, I realized why I knew the sound, with growing horror: IT’S A FUCKING GIANT FLYING COCKROACH!!
I turned on the lights, by which time it had strategically hidden itself (one shudders to imagine where). For over an hour I sat in fear, waiting for the creature to make its attack. It never did. Finally, I was able to doze off again, praying for the daylight hours.
Fast-forward to tonight, about 32 minutes ago (it is now 2:32am HST). Again with the giant death motor sound. As soon as it senses I’m awake, it wastes no time, motherfucking DIVE-BOMBING me while I lie helpless in my bed. I scream the scream of imminent death, turn on the light, and watch with horror as it crawls ALL OVER MY BED, then rushes my head again in a second attack. After that, for several minutes, its whereabouts are unknown, as I run to the living room, call my mother, and yell incoherently. My mother makes well-meaning, but ultimately useless suggestions like ‘kill it’, ‘throw a towel over it to trap it’, ‘wake up your roommates and beg for help’. She does not understand that this is no bug; this is a highly trained assassin, sent by the ghosts of the legions of roaches killed in the aforementioned last apartment.
As I am still sick, exhausted, and up way past my bedtime on any Monday, I tiptoe down the hall back to my room, where I have left the door open in a vain hope that perhaps, after all, the little fucker was just trying to get free. I see a member of the Giant Flying Cockroach species crawling around a foot and a half from my bedroom door. Could it be that easy? I run into my room and slam the door, heart pounding. Continue Reading Vom, vom, vom….
Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake
and dress them in warm clothes again.
How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running
Until they forget that they are horses.
It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,
it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio,
how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days
were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple
to slice into pieces.
Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it’s noon, that means
Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we’ll never get used to it.
– Richard Siken
[Note: I cannot for the life of me get WordPress to respect this poem's use of white space, but I love this poem too much not to post it. Please go here and scroll about a third of the way down to read the poem with correct formatting.]