you get these words wrong (i just smile)
sometimes it seems like enough just to make oneself understood.
on necessity/contingency: i figured out what i have to write my master's thesis on in the shower sunday. the water pressure here is an abomination and i'd grown accustomed to all scalding torrents all the time in the other buildings i've called home without ever really meaning it. but that awareness of each drop works in tandem with stage three in town and the perpetual brown of the foothills and if nothing else i've learned the value of water even without the weight of drought. i spent hours on the cline library website, poring over articles on joyce; i have two hundred titles saved and one hard copy on jimmy and luddie and one best friend 2,015.6 miles away. and who shares my last name but the current editor of james joyce quarterly? it's fate, right? disregard it and thereby deprive your life of a dimension of beauty, banishing milan kundera's translated pages to dust motes and fading sunshine. the idea works, too, but it requires me to go the m.a. route with good old english lit, not a degree i've ever lusted after. but the paper is altogether different. one dream after another foretold world war that night, and i slept fitfully.
the incredible lannan foundation sponsored a lecture yesterday at the lensic, which is a lovely theatre downtown with rather loathsome acoustics. i had inquired by phone the day before whether it was necessary to get tickets in advance; the answer was a resounding no, of course it wouldn't sell out. so it was kind of funny when i walked inside half an hour before the talk was to start only to learn that it had sold out. in any case, it all worked out in the end and it was kind of different hearing an irish senator read a masturbation scene from ulysses, plus i rendered my tattered copy of revisionist homer obsolete with a nice new hardbound random house creation for $26 $12. given the number of people who didn't return after intermission i am still unclear on whether joyce is now officially hip or whether santa fe is even more confounding than initially suspected and it's just hip to be seen at these events.
there was a nice article today in a dallas paper, i think - here in new mexico we do not write our own stories but merely cull them from real publications with actual copy editors - explaining why we need to stop making fun of the french. i would like to add that our patriot act-enforced actions are much more worthy of head-shaking and we ought not to look at other people as personal roadblocks.
today it snowed a lot and i wore my poison control center shirt and mayhap is dead and i'm looking forward to seeing tasha once and sorry about dresden twice next month and i really hate dry wines and zach the new mail order person at sub pop is also my new favorite person and i do appreciate compliments but i will never ever acknowledge and/or believe them and stephanie i wish you would keep writing and i'd call if i thought you'd answer and my oh my does the new songs: ohia sound like neil young and my hair wants cutting.
i'm going to try to write stories again.
on necessity/contingency: i figured out what i have to write my master's thesis on in the shower sunday. the water pressure here is an abomination and i'd grown accustomed to all scalding torrents all the time in the other buildings i've called home without ever really meaning it. but that awareness of each drop works in tandem with stage three in town and the perpetual brown of the foothills and if nothing else i've learned the value of water even without the weight of drought. i spent hours on the cline library website, poring over articles on joyce; i have two hundred titles saved and one hard copy on jimmy and luddie and one best friend 2,015.6 miles away. and who shares my last name but the current editor of james joyce quarterly? it's fate, right? disregard it and thereby deprive your life of a dimension of beauty, banishing milan kundera's translated pages to dust motes and fading sunshine. the idea works, too, but it requires me to go the m.a. route with good old english lit, not a degree i've ever lusted after. but the paper is altogether different. one dream after another foretold world war that night, and i slept fitfully.
the incredible lannan foundation sponsored a lecture yesterday at the lensic, which is a lovely theatre downtown with rather loathsome acoustics. i had inquired by phone the day before whether it was necessary to get tickets in advance; the answer was a resounding no, of course it wouldn't sell out. so it was kind of funny when i walked inside half an hour before the talk was to start only to learn that it had sold out. in any case, it all worked out in the end and it was kind of different hearing an irish senator read a masturbation scene from ulysses, plus i rendered my tattered copy of revisionist homer obsolete with a nice new hardbound random house creation for $26 $12. given the number of people who didn't return after intermission i am still unclear on whether joyce is now officially hip or whether santa fe is even more confounding than initially suspected and it's just hip to be seen at these events.
there was a nice article today in a dallas paper, i think - here in new mexico we do not write our own stories but merely cull them from real publications with actual copy editors - explaining why we need to stop making fun of the french. i would like to add that our patriot act-enforced actions are much more worthy of head-shaking and we ought not to look at other people as personal roadblocks.
today it snowed a lot and i wore my poison control center shirt and mayhap is dead and i'm looking forward to seeing tasha once and sorry about dresden twice next month and i really hate dry wines and zach the new mail order person at sub pop is also my new favorite person and i do appreciate compliments but i will never ever acknowledge and/or believe them and stephanie i wish you would keep writing and i'd call if i thought you'd answer and my oh my does the new songs: ohia sound like neil young and my hair wants cutting.
i'm going to try to write stories again.