omgyay and also *relief*
guess what? go on, guess. :D i signed a lease for a new apartment! the one in the nice neighborhood with the dogs downstairs. :D now i have to do all that administrative type shit you have to do before you move - change addresses, cancel utilities, set up utilities, buy a couple storage things, get a resident parking sticker, shred papers (oh god so much shredding), acquire moving boxes, call movers.... fortunately because i keep everything and sometimes i'm actually smart, i have all the moving stuff from last time, which means i know which movers to call. :D because i liked them. (it took them an hour and a half to move me into my current place, but i think it will take slightly longer to move me into the next place.) i need to make a list. a comprehensive one. possibly two.
so, uh, anyone have any moving tips? mostly what i remember from last time is "pack some clothes and toiletries in a suitcase" and "label your boxes".
in other news, uh, my bang draft is thisclose to being done and i have a title! which i settled on this morning. i wrote a summary but i'm not sure how i feel about it, but i have a day to fix it. never let it be said i did things early when i could put them off.
You don’t need me, I know, here on
this podium with my poem. You
hunched in the back of the room,
tilted in your hard-earned reservation
lean. You ho-hum your gaze out the
window toward some other sky.
Dear new blood, dear holy dear fully
mixed up mixed down mixed in and
out blood, go ahead and kick the shit,
kiss the shit from my ears. I swear I
swear I’ll listen. Stutter at stutter at me you
uptown weed you thorn you
petal, aim my old flowered face at the
sky.
I know you don’t need me, here on
this podium with my poem. You
pressed flat to the wall, shoulders
cocked, loaded for makwa, for old
growlers like me. You yawn your
glance out the window at the
tempting sky.
Wake me. Bang my dead drum drum,
clang clang my anvil my bell. Shout me
hush me your song, your shiny
impossible, your long, wounded song.
Tell me everything you know, you
don’t. Tell me, do you feel conquered
and occupied? Maybe I’ve forgotten.
Sing it plain, has America ever let you
be you in your own sky?
Sing deep Chaco, deep Minneapolis,
deep Standing Rock, deep Oakland
and LA. Sing deep Red Cliff, sing
Chicago, deep Acoma, deep Pine Ridge
and Tahlequah. Mourn. I think you,
too, were born with broken heart.
Rise. Smash your un-American throat
against the edge of the sky.
You don’t need me, I know. But don’t
go don’t look away. I need you.
(makwa: bear)
--"Dear New Blood", Mark Turcotte
so, uh, anyone have any moving tips? mostly what i remember from last time is "pack some clothes and toiletries in a suitcase" and "label your boxes".
in other news, uh, my bang draft is thisclose to being done and i have a title! which i settled on this morning. i wrote a summary but i'm not sure how i feel about it, but i have a day to fix it. never let it be said i did things early when i could put them off.
You don’t need me, I know, here on
this podium with my poem. You
hunched in the back of the room,
tilted in your hard-earned reservation
lean. You ho-hum your gaze out the
window toward some other sky.
Dear new blood, dear holy dear fully
mixed up mixed down mixed in and
out blood, go ahead and kick the shit,
kiss the shit from my ears. I swear I
swear I’ll listen. Stutter at stutter at me you
uptown weed you thorn you
petal, aim my old flowered face at the
sky.
I know you don’t need me, here on
this podium with my poem. You
pressed flat to the wall, shoulders
cocked, loaded for makwa, for old
growlers like me. You yawn your
glance out the window at the
tempting sky.
Wake me. Bang my dead drum drum,
clang clang my anvil my bell. Shout me
hush me your song, your shiny
impossible, your long, wounded song.
Tell me everything you know, you
don’t. Tell me, do you feel conquered
and occupied? Maybe I’ve forgotten.
Sing it plain, has America ever let you
be you in your own sky?
Sing deep Chaco, deep Minneapolis,
deep Standing Rock, deep Oakland
and LA. Sing deep Red Cliff, sing
Chicago, deep Acoma, deep Pine Ridge
and Tahlequah. Mourn. I think you,
too, were born with broken heart.
Rise. Smash your un-American throat
against the edge of the sky.
You don’t need me, I know. But don’t
go don’t look away. I need you.
(makwa: bear)
--"Dear New Blood", Mark Turcotte