Saturday, April 30, 2005
Completed my design
To keep the Menai bridge from rust
By boiling it in wine.
I thanked him much for telling me
The way he got his wealth,
But chiefly for his wish that he
Might drink my noble health.
Tunes are Lennon's "Imagine" and Reed's "Walk."
Words are the president's.
"Sunday Bloody Sunday (3:09, 2.9 MB)"
Similar to the above. Also ha.
Friday, April 29, 2005
My fingers into glue,
Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
Into a left-hand shoe,
Or if I drop upon my toe
A very heavy weight,
I weep, for it reminds me so
Of that old man I used to know-
Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow
Whose hair was whiter than the snow,
Whose face was very like a crow,
With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,
Who seemed distracted with his woe,
Who rocked his body to and fro,
And muttered mumblingly and low,
As if his mouth were full of dough,
Who snorted like a buffalo-
That summer evening long ago,
A-sitting on a gate.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
come back again,
and again falls
this quiet, persistent rain.
What am I to myself
that must be remembered,
so often? Is it
that never the ease,
even the hardness,
of rain falling
will have for me
something other than this,
something not so insistent-
am I to be locked in this
Love, if you love me,
like next to me.
Be for me, like rain,
the getting out
of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-
lust of intentional indifference.
with a decent happiness.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Even the trees know it,
those poor old dancers who come on lewdly,
all pea-green scarfs and spine pole.
I think ...
I think I could have stopped it,
if I'd been as firm as a nurse
or noticed the neck of the driver
as he cheated the crosstown lights;
or later in the evening,
if I'd held my napkin over my mouth.
I think I could ...
if I'd been different, or wise, or calm,
I think I could have charmed the table,
the stained dish or the hand of the dealer.
But it's done.
It's all used up.
There's no doubt about the trees
spreading their thin feet into the dry grass.
A canada goose rides up,
spread out like a gray suede shirt,
honking his nose into the March wind.
In the entryway a cat breathes calmly
into her watery blue fur.
The supper dishes are over and the sun
unaccustomed to anything else
goes all the way down.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
I live in that big building just to the left of the telephone pole. From where I stood to take this picture today, I could hear my fire alarm. The alarm is very loud. I'm told that- by law- it must be tested twice every semester. Today was a test day. At the time of the test, it was raining. It is important that I find a new apartment.
He had driven half the night
From far down San Joaquin
Through Mariposa, up the
Dangerous Mountain roads,
And pulled in at eight a.m.
With his big truckload of hay
behind the barn.
With winch and ropes and hooks
We stacked the bales up clean
To splintery redwood rafters
High in the dark, flecks of alfalfa
Whirling through shingle-cracks of light,
Itch of haydust in the
sweaty shirt and shoes.
At lunchtime under Black oak
Out in the hot corral,
---The old mare nosing lunchpails,
Grasshoppers crackling in the weeds---
"I'm sixty-eight" he said,
"I first bucked hay when I was seventeen.
I thought, that day I started,
I sure would hate to do this all my life.
And dammit, that's just what
I've gone and done."
Abandoned in a field
The parts of your feelings
Are starting to know a quiet
The pure conversions of your
Life into art seems destined
Never to occur
You don't mind
You feel spiritual and alert
As the air must feel
Turning into sky aloft and blue
You feel like
You'll never feel like touching anything or anyone
And then you do
Sunday, April 24, 2005
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,
For instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
'Sit down and have drink' he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. 'You have SARDINES in it.'
'Yes, it needed something there.'
'Oh,' I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is finished. 'Where's SARDINES?'
All that's left is just
letters, 'It was too much,' Mike says.
But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
I keep re-opening the letter, and looking at the same part of the letter. It's so much fun.
June-rose, by May-dew impearled;
Sweet south-wind, that means no rain;
Truth, not cruel to a friend;
Pleasure, not in haste to end;
Beauty, not self-decked and curled
Till its pride is over-plain;
Love, when, so, you're loved again.
What's the best thing in the world?
--Something out of it, I think.
-Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Friday, April 22, 2005
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Monday, April 18, 2005
Problem started on Saturday. Was bothered over having hurt my foot. So, thought I'd watch my favorite movie. Watched for a bit, went away, returned to find computer unresponsive. I mean, dead.
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
"There can be no question but that Virginia's miscegenation statutes rest solely upon distinctions drawn according to race."
Swann v. Charlotte-Mecklenburg Board of Education, 402 US 1 (1971)
"state-enforced separation of races in public schools is discrimination that violates the Equal Protection Clause. The remedy was to dismantle dual school systems."
Missouri v. Jenkins, 515 US 70 (1995)
"A district court seeking to remedy an intradistrict violation that has not 'directly caused' significant inter-district efffects ... exceeds its remedial authority if it orders a remedy with an interdistrict purpose."
Adarand Constructors, Inc. v. Pena, 515 US 200 (1995)
"any person, of whatever race, has the right to demand that any governmental actor subject to the Constitution justify any racial classification subjecting that person to unequal treatment under thhe strictest judicial scrutiny..."
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Monday, April 11, 2005
"A sprawling body of visual evidence, made possible by inexpensive, lightweight cameras in the hands of private citizens, volunteer observers and the police themselves, has shifted the debate over precisely what happened on the streets during the week of the convention."