After the Alphabets
I am trying to decipher the language of insects
they are the tongues of the future
sometimes you have to lie on a bed
so your brain can be all in a floaty place
I would be brief on the day I didn’t have a lot to say or, really, had a lot to say but wanted to make the thoughts in my head all compact the way a wintertime child can take a puff of snow and squeeze it into a ball of ice, to make it all hard and small.
So yes, I’m making a beautiful bookthing. It’s that wondermental thing known as: a labour of love.
You know how much I love words and the physical act of writing, how much I love the graphemic grace of the thing that is written? Yeah, you do. And you know how much I like holding a pencil in my hand and making marks on a paper with it — marks with meaning, I mean — and also how much I like reading a paper full of writing from someone else’s hand? Well, I like all that very much, you know I do, but I like something else too:
Dave Kinsey at Fecalface has a treat for you, me, and the lamppost:
In all the annals of object porn, there are no objects that incite greater lust in me than typewriters.
You know what I love? I love “yes”. I love “yes” so much, and so hard, and also its more boisterous adjutants “hell yes” and “fuck yes”.
A couple of days ago when I was stopped at a street corner waiting for the light to change, a man walked up from behind me, stood beside me, looked at me, smiled, and said, “Nice legs, librarian.” Now, I’m really not a woman who enjoys strangers making commentary on her appearance but he didn’t have the stink of testosterone poisoning about him so I didn’t just default to my “Fuck you, you fucking fucker” setting. Plus? He called me “librarian”. And oh good lord, I do love me a librarian, so very very much I do, and am always so happy to meet a fellow member of that tribe, which obviously that man was.
Butcher’s charts take it all apart.
Sewing patterns put it all together.
The sundering and the reconciling … they interest me, both. I maybe love taxidermy because it requires both; I should maybe love the jigsaw puzzle more than I do, for the same reason.
Often I think of the poetry of objects
about the way a seam is resolved
or the way a spine grows
about the things we make with our bodies
and the bones from out of our bodies
How to catch an octopus
by Patrick Widdess
Dock Ellis Pitches a No-No on LSD
By Jilly Dybka
From Elysian Fields Quarterly
The ball’s big — like lobbing a volleyball.
And the batter’s box is so far away.
Tiny ball, red ball, white ball, rainbow ball.
Wasn’t even supposed to play today.
The batters are whiffing in slow motion
Because their strike zone is five miles wide.
The catcher is wavy like the ocean,
Before my release, have to time the tide.
Straight bat, bendy bat, big bat, little bat.
Feels like I’m pitching inside of a dream.
I’m flying as high as an acrobat,
My fingers feel every stitch in the seam.
I wonder what all the fuss is about?
I’m just trying to get the guy out.
I don’t know why I always want to know “why” but I do. Even when the answer to “why?” is “because” or “dunno” or “what’s it to ya, mofo?” Even then, I still wanna know. Why, I wonder. Why am I like that? Dunno, really. Because, I guess. What’s it to ya anyway, mofo?
This is the postcard you might’ve received when you were 11-1/2 years old and your father was in Munich covering the 1972 summer Olympics and there had been a brief period one day the 5th of September actually when you’d thought your father might be
Once I wrote this e-mail to a friend:
There is chainmail and then there is trainmail. This here is trainmail.
Out the window of my train, I see a freight train, enormously long, car after car marked “CornProducts”. One car marked “cationic corn starch”. I don’t even know what that means but I like how it looks and how it sounds in my head.
How to Craft a Cello from Parts You Have
by Tanya Laramie
This is one of my favourite poems. I think you should read it so that maybe it can become one of your favourite poems too.
Green is the colour of making. It is. It just is. A metaphor of growth is completely the right metaphor for making. Germinating, budding, flowering … those are the parts of making every bit as much as they are the parts of plant growth.
The backbone of the backbone.