(no subject)
O CRUEL FATES WHY DOEST THOU CURSE ME SO?
Geoff Edgers is fatally unhelpful when it comes to answering the questions of this apprentice journalist. He is, dare I say it, being difficult. I understand what he's doing, though, by trying to steer away from the potentially controvertial aspect of my story. It's just not what I want him to do to avoid controversy. Perhaps I shall contact The Dig (ou, comme on l'appelle en Francais, Le Deeg). They will help.
Also: Dear Election Day, please don't be on Tuesday. Can't you be on Monday instead? (Monday is Benjamin's birthday. Happy early birthday, my dear distant older brother; I'm sure I'll remind you again in four days) Anyway, Election Day, thou vain brazen-faced jolt-head, the fact that you occur on a Tuesday means that I will either miss class entirely after being both dropped off to and picked up from work, or, that I will be very late. I do not like the fact that my mom has to make these extra trips because of you. So, dear Democratic Process, why you jockin' me? Actin all like you know me?
Also: Dear absent and sorely missed Erica Tempesta. Last night, there was the type of pantomimist that makes like a statue in Harvard Square with a beautiful smile and a glint in her eye, all painted silver and wearing grey and silver Victorian clothing, like Nancy in Oliver Twist, only made of metal. I know she had purple hair because I saw her with her hat off. I thought of you, and gave her a flower -- a purple anemonie, to be exact. I read Howl for the first time last night. It was painful, but cathartic. Where were you when I needed a shoulder to cry on? Six hundred miles away, tarted up and dancing all over town. I shake my fist at you. I miss you. I hope to see you when I appear in Oberlin next weekend, if only for a moment.
Dear Oberlin: Eight days.
Love to all
shb
Geoff Edgers is fatally unhelpful when it comes to answering the questions of this apprentice journalist. He is, dare I say it, being difficult. I understand what he's doing, though, by trying to steer away from the potentially controvertial aspect of my story. It's just not what I want him to do to avoid controversy. Perhaps I shall contact The Dig (ou, comme on l'appelle en Francais, Le Deeg). They will help.
Also: Dear Election Day, please don't be on Tuesday. Can't you be on Monday instead? (Monday is Benjamin's birthday. Happy early birthday, my dear distant older brother; I'm sure I'll remind you again in four days) Anyway, Election Day, thou vain brazen-faced jolt-head, the fact that you occur on a Tuesday means that I will either miss class entirely after being both dropped off to and picked up from work, or, that I will be very late. I do not like the fact that my mom has to make these extra trips because of you. So, dear Democratic Process, why you jockin' me? Actin all like you know me?
Also: Dear absent and sorely missed Erica Tempesta. Last night, there was the type of pantomimist that makes like a statue in Harvard Square with a beautiful smile and a glint in her eye, all painted silver and wearing grey and silver Victorian clothing, like Nancy in Oliver Twist, only made of metal. I know she had purple hair because I saw her with her hat off. I thought of you, and gave her a flower -- a purple anemonie, to be exact. I read Howl for the first time last night. It was painful, but cathartic. Where were you when I needed a shoulder to cry on? Six hundred miles away, tarted up and dancing all over town. I shake my fist at you. I miss you. I hope to see you when I appear in Oberlin next weekend, if only for a moment.
Dear Oberlin: Eight days.
Love to all
shb