Before mercury, my blood used to fill thermometers.

Tuesday, October 15, 2013


Because of school, fall is when I establish or dismantle routines. I never had a summer job, so that's when I get into my idling ruts. Now I feel like I'm waking up.

Days have been, in effect, one long yawn after a fitful sleep. Which — no complaints. Hung up on the New York Review Books' use of a Francesca Woodman cyanotype as the cover of William Gass' On Being Blue. TO SAY NOTHING OF THE HONOR that is being name-checked in the glorious Megan Milks' article in the glorious Lambda Literary on the glorious Kristen Stone's perfect Unthinkable Creatures!
From Scratch the Bone: “Yes, I really am this vulnerable.” Tenderly written and tenderly housed, these chapbooks beat hard and bright. Theirs is a beautiful hurt.
I'm traveling to the northwest in a few weeks and will slither around Seattle and Portland and find and read Jessica Mitford's journalism and see an old friend, who I miss. Before that, I'm going to conserve my energy and lie in bed under my Francesca Woodman poster (the same image as the book cover).

And listen to this (I encounter a lot of things and think, I could have used that when I was younger, and this, I think, I wish I could have used it just when I was younger, but I need it now):

Bleecker Street by Simon & Garfunkel on Grooveshark

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