yesterday i hiked with my kid brother and momthing from Faulkner's nobel prize in the special collections library at the university here to Rowen Oak, Faulkner's ex-home in Oxford, Mississippi.
I drove here past crops yesterday and its onward today to Illinois and its raining in oxford.

st. pete
tallahassee
new orleans
oxford, mississippi
savannah
st. louis (well, alton)
washington, dc
new york
countryside, i'm sure
sarasota

planes-trains-automobiles

Maybe I should speak to the RA who thinks my name is by turns Kristin and Kayla (and who I can't ever seem to correct) about my emergent pot brownie problem and its source: the fact that time keeps moving forward even without my sanction and sometimes without my notice, either ( Read more... )

But all of that was a lot of work and not very rewarding, because the biggest task was trying to varnish what's on top and drown what's underneath and keep your spirits boyant. The second you fuck up, people ask you what's wrong.

six weeks ago, we left the cabin, the lean-to, the icebox, with the purest kind of purpose. we left the confessional. we wore t-shirts printed with prefigured equations and gave our predictions a last, long, leering look. believe it or not, i was driving.

my handwriting worsens with each successive letter.

we should create
books or babies.

I've been wanting to write I don't know what for some time now.  When I was in third grade, my dad always tells this story, I wrote some vaguely remembered piece about a kingdom of M & M's being usurped by the then-heavily advertised blue addition to the bag.  The long-established browns, the old guard, had a fit.  The blues led a fierce campaign, ( Read more... )

( writing eval. )

Bought seventy-eight dollars of nothing, just to prove something to myself.

When I walked out and the door alarm failed to go off, which seemed like a relief, I turned up my iPod in time to catch issac's best bit of wisdom:
...sometimes I'm so full of shit that it should be a crime.

There I was, laughing.

I look like a waitress with my three-pocket half-apron and tight jeans and leather belt and my wet, good-smelling hair braided in pigtails, but my mind is in the immediate past. An hour ago I came home sweaty sore and blue from Admiral Farragut Academy, where I've been hired to paint over all the doorways, but just the doorways, in the faux- ( Read more... )