Typic Duraquod

Need I say more?

March 2010/ June 2008

Maybe it was the lack
of my green binder
that has slowed me down

until now. But inspiration
was not otherwise lacking.
Maybe there's a feeling of

significance that caused me
to hesitate. Maybe there's
more than one way to hold

my breath. When rain fell
on the Usumacinta river as
I bathed in it, the feeling was

remarkable. Go to Guatemala,
go to Mexico, swim in the river,
and if you're lucky it will

rain, and if I'm lucky
I'll learn how to live
while drowning.

Valentine's Day

I thought maybe "Viento", but it seemed wrong.

I can't say your name has ever
sounded like the wind to me.
But I can say that wind has
made me wonder about closing
my eyes and imagining a different
place; about converging places and
silent places; about cold and brown
and rain in the spring. There is
one street that is where wind
blows, there are no faces, but
temperatures and most of them
are warm or cool. The wind doesn't
lie until you tell it to. It doesn't
cry until I have something to mourn.

Stereo box

I can only please one person at a time. Today I've chosen Billy Carter.

“I doubt that there exists in any other
system presented for scientific or
practical study a comparable degree of
complexity. Indeed, scientifically
considered, this complexity occasionally
takes on an almost appalling aspect.”

When the moon skims the water that sighs and shifts in its slumber

I can think of two stories relating to coyotes. One of them has been on my mind. The other is as follows: I went with my brother and my parents to Mexican Hat one summer. 2004, I think. It was a two night trip, we stayed at Burch's Travel Lodge (where, though there was no TV in our room, the free breakfast next door was impressive and featured watermelon and toast, among other things - also, the nightly rate they'd quoted us over the phone was for both rooms together, not per room), we drove up (but not down) the Moki dugway, we had Navajo Tacos, we saw Monument Valley and the Goosenecks of the San Juan and Natural Bridges National Monument (which we would at times call by other names), and we ate pizza in Blanding across the street from a doctor's office. There were other highlights. Here's one of them: we were on the road between Bluff and Mexican Hat when a coyote ran out into the road just a bit in front of us. We weren't in danger of hitting it, as far as I can remember. I didn't see it, however, because I was looking out the side window at the fabulous rock formations to our left. This is how I'm certain it was on the road from Bluff to Mexican Hat, because that's where those particular fabulous rock formations were. Nathan, shortly after, insisted that instead this was just south of Blanding. I think. The funny thing is, though I was absolutely positive that I was right about where we were when a coyote crossed our path then, I don't remember for sure any more. I have no memory of ever seeing a real coyote. Also at Burch's, the Pearson's Nut Rolls were 2 for a dollar. My mom went to buy one, only to be informed that they were 67 cents each if you only bought one. So she bought two for a dollar.

Conspiracy theories

I learned over the weekend about how a lot of things are conspiracies. Pretty much everything, in fact.

I also went through an entire bag of Ricola Lemon Mint Herb Throat Drops.

And at least once I had to stop singing as I choked up, moved almost to tears.

$200 well spent.

In loving memory

Oct 11 2003 - Jan 12 2010

If I could teach you to fly, I would

In a city of thousands
I am the first to watch
you fly. Jumps, boldness,
hesitation, your head and
beak pointing to distraction.

Vivid, surrounded, color and
shades of sky darker and
lighter than the blue of
morning. Sound tells you
it is warm for January.

If I could teach you to fly,
it would be the same. Color
before solitude, boldness before
company, distraction before
destination. And I falling.

In introduction to Tearing the Page

sometimes I believe that to be true and sometimes I don’t, you know every wise child is sad, but the fact of the matter is, it seems to me,

if we equate wisdom with disillusionment, that is, becoming free of our illusions, oftentimes that can lead to melancholy or sadness initially but it makes me happier to think that maybe there’s a deeper form of wisdom in which you initially experience melancholy and then you experience the ecstasy of disillusionment, but I don’t know about that.

Shadows

Do you ever have one of those days when you're going to a fake wake and a Wallace Stevens poem gets stuck in your head because of that, and then your roommate starts rolling a piece of newspaper and you think, "So you've had that poem stuck in your head too?"

Then you realize, probably not. But the fact that he made a flower out of rolled newspaper... Maybe.

I think winter has less to do with temperature than it does with longing. Or reaching. The same could be said of Summer, but less accurately, I think.

It's great to be a robot!

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