hatstuck snarl

theoretically, a hairstyling salon


Monica might smell pollen today and source plants on blossom
what wasn't an example - numbers went sky riding and along
this knot an invention of wheel ant wing gun corn con riding
those who are dead obviously
cannot protest or resist our
terminal categorization - easily,
the dead become locked into and
limited by characterizations
designed by the living, and this
terminal filing system is nowhere
more pronounced than within the
traditional english department
the look's gone a half ton change Monica
classic rock act much
worth see(k)ing

founded thus
draw fire
people simultaneously shouting about hypothetics -

wait a minute wait wait

this bleeding through radio speakers
a shouting contest it's real life a solid
state of confusion

I'm all for it and still waiting on something or other


stunned to find Creeley gone
who made so many poems

on which I've certainly fed and
in terms of Blake's Milton-

The nature of infinity is this: That every thing has its
Own Vortex; and when once a traveler thro' Eternity
Has passed that Vortex, he percieves it roll backward behind
His path, into a globe itself infolding; like a sun:
Or like a moon, or like a universe of starry majesty,
While he keeps onwards in his wondrous journey on the earth
Or like a human form, a friend with whom he livd benevolent.
As the eye of man views both the east & west encompassing
Its vortex; and the north & south, with all their starry host;
Also the rising sun & setting moon he views surrounding
His corn-fields and his valleys of five hundred acres square.
Thus is the earth one infinite plane, and not as apparent
To the weak traveler confin'd beneath the moony shade.
Thus is the heaven a vortex passd already, and the earth
A vortex not yet pass'd by the traveller thro' Eternity.

- thanks for the poems fellow traveller - left
for us as evidence of this -
his passing - through -

a man a - field - of energy divine


Cursieve equals a leaky expletive undelete in dogged delight.

People today fondly apply labels to tasks which in turn serve as personal identification. I know a plumber and an electrician, but I might easily claim to know in the same way one mother and another who repair toilet and toaster. As such, the question is commonly asked: what do you do? While this question is obviously intended to provoke conversation, one should not be surprised if it has the opposite effect, the premise being in fact rather intrusive. This intrusiveness is true even if the question is posed with respectful intent, and the questioner should not be surprised to encounter occasional resentment. Perhaps the one questioned is involved in a wide variety of activities (a high probability) and would prefer to avoid being pinned down to a singular characteristic, or perhaps he or she simply prefers to maintain certain privacies, the reasons remaining likewise confidential. In such cases, the question might create discomfort as opposed to familiarity, but does this mean that the one who chooses to withhold personal information should necessarily avoid venturing forth in public?

Such a conclusion is unfair and absurd.


calling for APA


Steve, a journal you would like and should send a paper to:

One of my students stole my class text (actually borrowed two weeks ago and is just now figuring out that it's mine); he returned it today and it had the words "whitey book" scrawled into the cover. This is especially funny because the book is Dominick Dunne's Justice (mostly about the OJ Simpson Trial, a terrible book I cannot recomend). There is a black-cover edition and a white one. (Mine is white.)


photo journalist Gregor Turk

food fro the average cerebrontaurantic (i might ad

here's a nifty little shorty

might this apply to anybody else we know of

mighty prescient, eh -
(I wonder)?

The Fall of Rome
W. H. Auden

(for Cyril Connolly)

The piers are pummelled by the waves;
In a lonely field the rain
Lashes an abandoned train;
Outlaws fill the mountain caves.

Fantastic grow the evening gowns;
Agents of the Fisc pursue
Absconding tax-defaulters through
The sewers of provincial towns.

Private rites of magic send
The temple prostitutes to sleep;
All the literati keep
An imaginary friend.

Cerebrotonic Cato may
Extol the Ancient Disciplines,
But the muscle-bound Marines
Mutiny for food and pay.

Caesar's double-bed is warm
As an unimportant clerk
On a pink official form.

Unendowed with wealth or pity,
Little birds with scarlet legs,
Sitting on their speckled eggs,
Eye each flu-infected city.

Altogether elsewhere, vast
Herds of reindeer move across
Miles and miles of golden moss,
Silently and very fast.


I am happy to say that I am ObSEssed with Mina Loy. She is so fantastic! I've been reading "Virgins Plus Curtains Minus Dots" over and over again, alongside the Carolyn Burke biography Becoming Modern. I have not blogged in awhile. There are all these easy to use features now. If only I had a dash key that I didn't have to copy and paste. And a six. (I typed sex.) Someday I will get a new computer.

For anyone near Orono, Bread and Puppet Theater will be here in late March! I am so excited as my post grad school dream is to live in a tent in rural VT. I plan to do it, and I think I will.

I also want to learn French. Steve (Evans) has recently suggested I do this in Montreal. Kevin (Davies) is arguing for New York. Perhaps neither will win. But one idea will triumph most likely.

I'm planning to hold a bakesale followed by a bikini carwash to supplement the acquisition of my third language. (Not that my second, Latin, is sooo solid.)

Does anyone know the translation for the word "borghese"? It might be Latin, Italian, or even French. Please advise.