tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31592082011-11-27T18:01:43.955+01:00Eeksy-Peeksyaugury doggereleeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.comBlogger8871100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1160731833049896692006-10-13T11:20:00.000+02:002006-10-13T16:03:20.596+02:00BibionidaeProf. dr hab. Jarosław Buszko at Nicolaus Copernicus University has kindly identified them for me. They're not the caterpillars of lovely butterflies, but the larvae of March flies (Bibionidae), and I am doomed. No, he says that, if they are very abundant, the larvae can damage the roots of herbaceous plants. I believe I will risk some damage and let them live.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1158703285856761662006-09-20T00:00:00.000+02:002006-09-20T00:02:46.903+02:00StandOn a corner where six lanes of loud cross-town traffic and two tram lines meet the traffic jam between the train station and the airport, where cranes and excavators put up the city's largest shopping mall, one corner is dark with old chestnuts. Concrete slabs over part of the ground form a small parking lot, but the lot lies empty. Nothing profitable is done, and so I wonder what sort of eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1157202897751627732006-09-02T15:05:00.000+02:002006-09-02T15:20:48.730+02:00DecimationThe business pages all say one in ten where I work will be eliminated. Two legions of us. We will know who Tuesday night, Wednesday morning.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1157141733310111522006-09-01T22:13:00.000+02:002006-09-01T22:15:55.320+02:00FallOn the way home, tall "Zeppelin" cranes swing over a worksite and a row of "Junkers" water heaters fill the window of a plumbing supply shop. In the garden at home, I dig up broken glass, broken brick, and hear people speak German in the street. I feel exactly like September 1st.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1155247886687449522006-08-10T23:39:00.000+02:002006-08-11T00:11:26.746+02:00She Loves Me...If you were to count the whorls of flowerets on the head of a sunflower — but you wouldn't. I wouldn't. Not now. But if at another time we counted, sunwise and widdershins, the leftwise and rightwise whorls of yellow flowerets. While the bees walked around.We would count fifty-five this way and thirty-four the other, or eighty-nine this way and fifty-five the other, or some other eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1154897235678879942006-08-06T22:46:00.000+02:002006-08-06T22:47:15.690+02:00Looking UpSunflowers reduce me: I am a common pest among the stalks. Bumblebees that bow other flowers walk in twos and threes around the yellow face of a sunflower. I stand beneath one hanging head and watch a bumble work the circle. In up to its thighs, dusty as a miller's pony, grazing in summer, it kicks up yellow pollen that drifts down into my eyes.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1145881029879716762006-04-24T14:16:00.000+02:002006-04-24T14:55:16.526+02:00I'll be back when my garden grows.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1145484243628848892006-04-20T00:03:00.000+02:002006-04-20T00:04:03.640+02:00We follow the high sound of an owl to the woods, then just see it float down a dark hollow. Then cracks in the dark, something stepping ahead. We chase down the path, farther down the hollow, and hear the rush of hooves through leaves. When we stop, we are down in the dark and a shape is above us on the crest of the slope, a standing silhouette, a snout, and then gone.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1145389027622966172006-04-18T21:36:00.000+02:002006-04-18T21:37:07.636+02:00My enemies are worms, cool days, and most of all woodchucks.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1145303549270671202006-04-17T21:52:00.000+02:002006-04-18T00:07:57.643+02:00On Easter, after time with the family, I dig in the garden, tend flowers, sew seeds, but no one would mistake me for a gardener. Our plot teems with mold and ladybirds, ladybirds. Snails, two copulating in my palm. And broken bricks and broken glass, wire and bone, a chipped ink bottle. The long lower jaw of something, a something with long teeth pointed like thorns. Where I shovel through a eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1144533253624402242006-04-08T23:45:00.000+02:002006-04-08T23:54:13.640+02:00EarthshatterAll afternoon, I turn earth and think about how the sun moves. We'll try sunflowers and snapdragons and marigolds and asters, beans and peas, maybe pumpkins. And I remember my old friends, the snails. I must invite them out for beer soon.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1144099607470126012006-04-03T23:22:00.000+02:002006-04-17T21:51:42.330+02:00Saturday, Grandpa pumps up the tires on the kid's bike and raises the seat about three feet. She takes it out, makes two turns on the concrete, tests the brakes once, and rides away for the woods. I walk behind to carry her drink and push on the long hills and lead the way past scary boys, but when she goes, she goes and I cannot catch her. In the park on the other side of the woods, she spins eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1143408246369709372006-03-26T23:20:00.000+02:002006-03-26T23:24:06.406+02:00One with everythingAt the grocery, in the section for babies and sick people and other folk on odd diets, I find the tofu dogs. They are orange and float in a glass jar, plump radiant wienies floating under glass like Donovan's Intestines. At the checkout, my cashier turns and shows her friends the jar. They snort, then look at me, look down just slightly sheepishly, then turn and snort again. I eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1140992202367360522006-02-26T23:15:00.000+01:002006-02-26T23:19:13.783+01:00ObjectiveI live in the "Tri-City" for a dozen years without, until this weekend, visiting the larger of the other two cities. The 1993 guide book said it wasn't interesting. It still says that. But this week the old man who works in the book store by the canal tells me there's a good place in the other city to get used books. I take the train there, stand in front of the dirty railway station, eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1140297377557778792006-02-18T22:09:00.000+01:002006-02-18T22:16:17.576+01:00ConcaveNo matter how I google it, I have the signs and sighs of "clinical depression," everything but the clinic and the bottles of pills. And what could be more depressing than being so typically deranged?To cheer myself, I go to Bar Ikarus, the restaurant in the central bus station. I never remember to write about Bar Ikarus. Maybe the place makes me forget things or maybe that's part of the eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1140073938924208032006-02-16T08:11:00.000+01:002006-02-16T08:12:18.940+01:00"The two young ladies were summoned from the shrubbery where this conversation passed, by the arrival of some of the very persons of whom they had been speaking..."eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1139948344781722322006-02-14T21:18:00.000+01:002006-02-14T21:19:58.013+01:00ParingThis day is called St Valentine's and is declared for love. No doubt somebody filled his breast, this Valentine, with arrows or pulled out his tongue or squeezed the breath from him. It's what one did with folk for laying down the law of love unbidden love.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1139009059283423802006-02-03T23:46:00.000+01:002006-02-04T00:26:33.423+01:00LabyrinthitisAfter a cold, I am dizzy, dizzy, dizzy when I lie down or jump up or spin or bend over or roll. Dizzy, nauseated. Vertigo is often accompanied by nausea, vomiting, or malaise.But Sunday, too late to cancel, too late to change vacation plans, I go away for a week. A week at tai chi camp, where I will lie down and jump up and spin and bend over and roll for ages every day. And heave upeeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1138742780394576562006-01-31T22:24:00.000+01:002006-01-31T22:26:20.396+01:00Tongue SaladCut fresh-cooked beef's tongue or calf's tongue into dice. Have ready peeled perfectly round smooth tomatoes, take out the core and scoop out the seeds. Fill each tomato with the cubes of tongue, sprinkle over a teaspoonful of lemon juice and a little salt and pepper. Stand these on nests of lettuce leaves, put on top of each a large tablespoonful of mayonnaise. Dust thickly with eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1138742568518284812006-01-31T22:22:00.000+01:002006-01-31T22:24:24.696+01:00The Belgian CookbookGame is like Love, the best appreciated when it begins to go. Only experience will teach you, on blowing up the breast feathers of a pheasant, whether it ought to be cooked to-day or to-morrow. Men, as a rule, are very particular about the dressing of game, though they may not all be able to tell, like the Frenchman, upon which of her legs a partridge was in the habit of eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1138742511732821862006-01-31T22:21:00.000+01:002006-01-31T22:21:51.750+01:00A cold sucks the urge and energy from me.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1138057304104258582006-01-24T00:01:00.000+01:002006-01-24T00:01:44.106+01:00June in JanuaryIt is only now, after my tea has infused and my testicles have descended from somewhere deep within my abdomen, that I can enjoy this other part of winter, the one from near an open kitchen door, behind a steamy window, thawing among thawing people. This is the part that Bing Crosby tried to sell in the television specials he shot in warm weather between rounds of golf. I mention eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1137971437407045532006-01-23T00:08:00.000+01:002006-01-23T00:10:50.840+01:00PermafrostMy weekend has passed grr-manically in dishpanwashing and homeworkbadgering and coldwalkshivering and windchillfactoring and badheadachegrumbling. But now I have before me an hour and a photograph of skaters on the moat around our city. It is 1890. A brick and earth wall rises beyond the moat. It is white with snow and is many feet thick. Safely behind the wall I see the ancient jail, eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1137417306297589772006-01-16T14:11:00.000+01:002006-01-16T14:15:06.310+01:00OnionskinWhile they sleep, I open a box. Pay stubs, tax returns, cat fur, dust. Old letters from my mother, now so changed. She writes that she will send me a copy of a letter from her sister in Kirriemuir about people long gone. John Cameron apparently came to Perth to do some kind of stonework on the Cathedral. Auntie Mem, my Godmother namesake always said he came from the West -- and that was eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1136927463854231482006-01-10T22:10:00.000+01:002006-01-11T09:28:05.626+01:00She is packing the Scala horses and sled to go to the Alps. I check the bottom of my teacup. Packing the Scala horses and sled. Packing the Scala horses and sled. I make her laugh, then laugh again, then laugh again, this last time almost just to show myself I can do it. One miniature woman with bendable legs has a baby. The other, whose legs also bend, is pregnant. Preparing the Scala horses andeeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1136767907716665422006-01-09T01:49:00.000+01:002006-01-09T01:51:47.730+01:00The way home, through the mall, stop for tea. A man in green sequins and a giant gold bow tie appears on a temporary stage near the fountain. After an introduction, he hoofs and sings to recorded cabaret tunes. Two dancing girls twirl umbrellas, shadow him, wag their bums. They distract fifty shoppers for the length of a song. But I am home with cheese and bread and tomatoes and pears and cloves eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1136628655990254652006-01-07T11:09:00.000+01:002006-01-07T11:10:56.013+01:00Ouch, ouch, ouch! I give myself a chicken wing, a Chinese burn. Uncle!Every day, every day, every day, even if everyday.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1136078594789428382006-01-01T02:07:00.000+01:002006-01-01T02:23:14.803+01:00This little slope at the edge of the woods is where we sled and snowboard and, just an hour or two ago, set off rockets and Roman candles.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1136068127515521512005-12-31T23:28:00.000+01:002006-01-01T16:57:34.296+01:00Fire WorksWe call tonight "Sylwester" because this is the feast day of Pope Sylvester I, Saint Sylvester, one of the few early saints who was not a martyr. Sylvester was buried 31 December 335 in a church on the Via Salaria in Rome.Legend has it that Roman Emperor Constantine had leprosy and legend has it he was about to take the leprosy cure of bathing himself in the blood of children, or legendeeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135892702013436822005-12-29T22:44:00.000+01:002005-12-29T22:50:37.920+01:00Reading Ralph Waldo Emerson's 1836 "Cherokee Letter" to President Martin van Buren, I felt as if I was reading something new. Not that the issue is new. It's an old crime:The newspapers now inform us that, in December, 1835, a treaty contracting for the exchange of all the Cherokee territory was pretended to be made by an agent on the part of the United States with some persons appearing on the eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135849574642534602005-12-29T10:45:00.000+01:002005-12-29T10:46:14.653+01:00Mahna MahnaDo doo be-do-doMahna MahnaDo do-do doMahna MahnaDo doo be-do-do be-do-do be-do-do be-do-do-doodle do do do-doo do!eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135759082055424952005-12-28T09:36:00.000+01:002005-12-28T09:38:02.763+01:00No work for me, no school for the kid, no room at the inn, and so many hours to imitate an alien talking to Louis de Funes about cabbage soup and to sing both parts of the Mahna Mahna song.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135646430199587692005-12-27T01:59:00.000+01:002005-12-27T02:21:55.356+01:00I found myself reading the Bible in public.Catching up.But I read under the table. I didn't want to frighten anyone. But it is the mythology of the moment.A book of prophecies and dreams and signs.And, of course, an adventure.Yikes.Hmm. That seems, even in the circumstances, to be a bit overdoing the joy.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135549326598630552005-12-25T23:11:00.000+01:002005-12-25T23:24:59.580+01:00Open all the windows at once and let the cacophony in.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135536702640793942005-12-25T18:34:00.000+01:002005-12-25T19:53:08.043+01:00Guardian:The novella's full title is A Christmas Carol in Prose: Being a Ghost Story of Christmas. The fact that Dickens chose to celebrate Christmas with that most un-Christian of things, a ghost story, is typical of him. Religious piety was not his forté. In A Christmas Carol, there's one rather self-conscious aside about how we should "venerate" the festival's "sacred name and origin", and eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135495355691815732005-12-25T08:10:00.000+01:002005-12-25T08:22:35.703+01:00I crave the little cubes of colored 'fruit'.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135471800006729592005-12-25T01:48:00.000+01:002005-12-25T01:52:47.893+01:00Another ghost:Christmas - John BetjemanThe bells of waiting Advent ring,The Tortoise stove is lit againAnd lamp-oil light across the nightHas caught the streaks of winter rain.In many a stained-glass window sheenFrom Crimson Lake to Hooker's Green. The holly in the windy hedgeAnd round the Manor House the yewWill soon be stripped to deck the ledge,The altar, font and arch and pew,So that eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135471604558764272005-12-25T01:45:00.000+01:002005-12-31T23:33:48.023+01:00Another ghost:Ceremonies of Christmas - Robert HerrickCome, bring with a noise,My merry, merry boys,The Christmas Log to the firing;While my good Dame, sheBids ye all be free;And drink to your heart's desiring.With the last year's brandLight the new block, andFor good success in his spending,On your Psaltries play,That sweet luck mayCome while the log is a-tinding.Drink now the strong beer,Cut eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135471366277751522005-12-25T01:42:00.000+01:002005-12-25T01:52:13.903+01:00Another ghost:Mistletoe - Walter de la MareSitting under the mistletoe(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),One last candle burning low,All the sleepy dancers gone,Just one candle burning on,Shadows lurking everywhere:Some one came, and kissed me there.Tired I was; my head would goNodding under the mistletoe(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),No footsteps came, no voice, but only,Just as I sat there, sleepy, eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135471173323567322005-12-25T01:39:00.000+01:002005-12-25T01:51:56.933+01:00Another ghost:The Oxen - Thomas HardyChristmas Eve, and twelve of the clock."Now they are all on their knees,"An elder said as we sat in a flockBy the embers in hearthside ease.We pictured the meek mild creatures whereThey dwelt in their strawy pen,Nor did it occur to one of us thereTo doubt they were kneeling then.So fair a fancy few would weaveIn these years! Yet, I feel,If someone said on eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135470921659430252005-12-25T01:34:00.000+01:002005-12-25T01:51:42.823+01:00Another ghost:The Burning Babe - Robert SouthwellAs I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow,Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,A pretty babe all burning bright did in the air appear;Who, scorchëd with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shedAs though his floods should quench his flames which with eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135469269147725522005-12-25T01:06:00.000+01:002005-12-25T01:07:49.160+01:00Tonight I have eaten an entire fruitcake and three kinds of jellied fish, listened to twenty-five Bing Crosby songs, watched a ballet and a Dirty Harry movie, overtipped a taxi driver, helped to assemble a tortoise and unearth a triceratops, stressed the importance of finding a bra that fits, discussed the merits of becoming an archeologist, and kissed two men, two women, a girl, and a couple of eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135433136259376452005-12-24T15:05:00.000+01:002005-12-24T15:05:36.260+01:00"der Bingel"eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135432963002393312005-12-24T15:02:00.000+01:002005-12-24T15:02:43.016+01:00A man in the park with a bloody face is explaining to two women. The larger of the two women tells him in a voice I hear across the park, "Either the police or the hospital," but he is thinking of some middle ground, looking at the trees. Pa rum pum pum pumeeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135430691132769892005-12-24T14:09:00.000+01:002005-12-24T14:24:52.116+01:00I read, I think, that the simulation of happiness can induce happiness: something in the musculature of the face and how it traces back to where laughter comes from. I push the car, jump in, and pop the clutch. 'Ha, ha!' laughed Scrooge's nephew. 'Ha, ha, ha!'eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1135411259244262402005-12-24T09:00:00.000+01:002005-12-24T09:01:54.900+01:00The ghosts have come and done their work and gone, but I need a higher dose each Christmas. More ghosts! And so, in a shop under the railway station, near where the old women beg for themselves and their dogs, I bought a fruitcake. Now half of it is gone. I mean to describe it in detail if a piece holds still on my plate long enough. As I recall, though, this fruitcake has chunks of alien-sweet eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1133903413359813702005-12-06T22:08:00.000+01:002005-12-06T22:10:13.653+01:00I sleep all day under a quilt and two blankets and a cat. I dream I go to a whorehouse for Christmas. This is a quaint country whorehouse with bare wooden floorboards, with landscapes on the walls. I am sentimentally teary as I look through a drawer of past Christmases, little stickers printed with snow, years, and stars.There is a desk here and a door behindthroughwhich appears Santa from his eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1133899888750990912005-12-06T21:10:00.000+01:002005-12-06T21:11:28.763+01:00I have to unspool this thing awhile. No titles. No subjects. See what comes of the reformation.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1132307161516546602005-11-18T10:45:00.000+01:002005-11-18T10:46:01.526+01:00No desert god did this.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1132216922222446042005-11-17T09:41:00.000+01:002005-11-17T09:42:02.233+01:00first snow right noweeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1131232279078984002005-11-06T00:06:00.000+01:002005-11-06T00:11:19.093+01:00CrawlspaceToday I find a used book store I'm sure was not there before, in a basement on Heroes of the Warsaw Ghetto Street, though the place does not look new. This discovery excites me until I walk down the concrete steps. It is raining, the door is open, and the place is cold and dim and fusty. A man with long gray hair and a missing row of teeth -- I've forgotten whether it was the top row oreeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1131088671701922432005-11-04T08:17:00.000+01:002005-11-04T08:17:51.716+01:00DiscriminatingIn the window of the bakery, a sign says they're looking for counter girls. Nice counter girls. I suppose they don't want more like the woman who just served me, the one who looks as if the world is weighted against her.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1130925454497600962005-11-02T10:52:00.000+01:002005-11-02T11:00:32.946+01:00ConventicleIt's All Saints's Day, Festum omnium sanctorum, and the living outnumber the dead in our cemeteries. I take girl 11 and borrowed boy 9 to the cemetery after dark. They jump and dodge and skin their knees and lose a scarf; I walk behind. They eat candies; I chew cloves. They never stop talking; I take useless semicolons and unnecessarily elaborate possessive plurals. I wonder if there eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1130705988071682662005-10-30T21:58:00.000+01:002005-10-30T21:59:48.086+01:00Humoring MyselfI made up a joke.Q: How long does it take to die in the Okefenokee Swamp? A: One alligator...Maybe someone already made up that joke. Probably someone has. It doesn't matter. I'm engineering my own cheer.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1130441288799697662005-10-27T21:27:00.000+02:002005-10-27T21:28:34.710+02:00Zendo ShoppingIn another dingy part of town, another standard Polish flat converted, at least in name, to a zendo. Another former living room (I picture a guy with a big belly just sitting on the couch with a vacant look) is now devoted to devotion: a statue of Buddha and glamour shots of Zen masters at one end of the room and a big bonging bell at the other. On the way into the room, step in on eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1130358177152935642005-10-26T22:21:00.000+02:002005-10-26T22:22:57.160+02:00To a MooseI am the sort to eat the apple whole (but the stem) because I don't like to throw away food. And this is because I am gluttonous and greedy and even proud: watch me crunch all the scaly bits that stick in my teeth. Christ. I bite into an apple ful savourly and hit the core and swallow the unchewables. When I look down again to line up another bite, there is a dark spot and this dark eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1130099050396110022005-10-23T22:21:00.000+02:002005-10-26T22:34:56.850+02:00ClovenThis tea is complicated. I could do nothing but drink it or not drink it. I have to drink it and then write about it, drink it and then write about it. It is red. It is sweet and citric sour and bitter. I ask what kind of tea it is but the ingredients are a secret, says the woman running the tearoom, and I can know only what they call it, which translates to something like Gramps's Tea. Buteeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1129923250220843162005-10-21T21:33:00.000+02:002005-10-21T21:34:10.226+02:00ExpansionAt a company meeting, as the plan for the coming year is revealed, I flip my scrap paper and read about dark matter and why it may not be necessary, why suns might circle suns with no need to suppose great globs of unknown. But my bowels, my bowels. I engulf all fruit and vegetable matter in my path. I eat trees of fruit, upend and empty root cellars. I have eaten four apples, four pearseeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1129413717505252392005-10-15T23:59:00.000+02:002005-10-16T00:03:39.626+02:00AintsUp past the cemetery where normal folk are buried I find, in a hollow between the trees, a field of metal stars standing upright in the grass. At the closed end of the hollow is a stone platform backed by a curved wall with a bas-relief sculpture of three Soviet fighters. Inscriptions in Polish and Russian declare that the people named here were heroes of the Soviet Union who died flipping eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1128896340876577072005-10-10T00:18:00.000+02:002005-10-10T00:19:00.883+02:00GrandToday there is weather for it and I'm out with a leaking thermos and two apples and three books. I climb the bastions (where bats now breed in the tunnels) and cross the moat (which is now a railroad and tram line and six lanes of highway) and walk straight through the gates of the city. Beneath the statues of Neptune and Mercury, where Napoleon stood in 1807 and Hitler stood in 1939, I eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1128280607003179112005-10-02T21:10:00.000+02:002005-10-03T08:35:51.480+02:00Blood PressureI go into a place to get a coffee to drink by the millrace. They draw me today, the millrace and the air and a hot coffee to hold. A woman at the salad bar asks whether I speak English. I hesitate. "Yes... yes... quite a bit, actually." I don't tell her it's my native language and she doesn't appear to catch on. Do I have an accent now?She wants to know whether she can take a littleeeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1128117027814348372005-09-30T23:49:00.000+02:002005-09-30T23:50:27.823+02:00Rewards and FairiesOn the street, a white fairy on a pedestal. When any man drops a coin in her bowl, she offers a gloved hand to kiss but she looks off as he kisses and she freezes in another pose. If a little girl comes to her, the fairy blinks, she turns and smiles a gentle smile. The fairy looks into the girl's eyes, moves gracefully for her, and, just as the girl, thinking that's all, startseeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1127948440867686702005-09-29T01:00:00.000+02:002005-09-29T01:00:40.873+02:00One-Handed MeditationYou are supposed to keep your eyes just half open so you don't sleep and dream a beautiful girl in an orange sweater walking down the street, walking down the street, walking down the street. After chanting and sitting and bowing, then walking off the stiffness in our legs, and then more chanting and sitting and the reading aloud of a koan, I am asked to vacuum the dharma eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1127598359372287942005-09-24T23:45:00.000+02:002005-09-26T14:31:17.906+02:00SinistromanualIn the country, in a room we've had before, on two hard beds shoved together beneath the beams and the sloping roof, we close our eyes. The one of us with ears can hear a scrape, a scratch, a tick, a claw just in the air, a ticking in the beam. Lights out and sleep, but something gets me up. I lie with one hand holding up my head and listen to the wood. That's when a hand comes fromeeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1127419684566405722005-09-22T22:03:00.000+02:002005-09-22T22:08:04.566+02:00TranshumanceAt this pace I'll write about yesterday next year and never today. But I'll get there. If I mention summer weather or the phases of the moon, don't look up at a window.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1127335156036019502005-09-21T22:25:00.000+02:002005-09-21T22:39:16.076+02:00Ten Thousand Demons Have I mentioned I quit smoking? And coffee? And alcohol? And I have lost weight? And joined a Tai Chi class?But still I am a bag of pale gas.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1127255176354227142005-09-21T00:26:00.000+02:002005-09-21T00:31:22.823+02:00Boom BahA note arrives like this:"[She] had a (complex) seizure on tuesday at 4:30. When she arrived at the hospital she began having multiple seizures and not breathing. She is on a ventilator." and, in the next paragraph, like this:"[She] is great. Its hard for me to explain her condition because I have gotten so use to the way she is."And then I wonder what is happening now with the two shes, eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1127146378938254272005-09-19T18:12:00.000+02:002005-09-19T18:12:58.943+02:00Do "When driving, just drive; when eating, just eat; when working, just work."So I suppose there will be no magazines next to the toilet in a Zen center. I suppose incorrectly. There is a Focus magazine.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1127084760116959562005-09-19T01:05:00.000+02:002005-09-19T01:06:00.123+02:00ReviewI keep a notebook through the summer, when I can start but cannot finish. Then a cat pisses on it. Now the notebook is on a high shelf. There are dark, wavy lines in the air over it. I wonder what I wrote in it.I start another notebook.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1125090052113291822005-08-26T22:48:00.000+02:002005-08-26T23:00:52.120+02:00ClubsThe game ends. Sirens and blue lights fast past the tram stop. Twenty-three blue vans. A water cannon mounted on the roof of a square truck with caged windows. Under the train station boys in green and white scarves funnel into a line of boys in black padded vests and white helmets. Truncheons and rifles are unslung.The invisible man steps out of a store in the tunnel with a children's book eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1124925866735882952005-08-25T01:24:00.000+02:002005-08-25T01:24:26.743+02:00WyndAn alley separates the gothic church and the baroque royal chapel.One door leads from the alley into the royal chapel. Above the door is a carving of three boars' heads with long tusks and red mouths and red necks. Above the boars is a Latin inscription in gold. Another door leads into the back of the church. The church can hold 25,000 people. It is the tallest building in the city. The door eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1123363977463542452005-08-06T23:32:00.000+02:002005-08-25T01:26:08.450+02:00Salamandra salamandra The twins are gentle women with matching speech impediments: identical mouths that cannot make an R in a country where R is growled. But I am quiet and foreign, it is dark, and they talk and build a fire and talk about building fires when they were girls. Our host, a man from the Bering Strait, plays guitar, tells stories about border crossings and border guards, and goes ineeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1122731783034284562005-07-30T15:55:00.000+02:002005-07-30T15:57:12.906+02:00CociousIn the country, a girl and her father traveling share the room across from us. The man is fifty and horn-rimmed and vaguely comical. I can't see him in the girl. Sparrows fly through, thirty in a spiral between the horses and the trees.At the paddock, I read and watch the riders round and round. I take pictures and collect smiles.The sparrows, one by one, bend stalks of wheat. At once, eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1122567757054346852005-07-28T18:21:00.000+02:002005-07-28T18:22:37.066+02:00He lifteth up, he singethFrom a taxi traveling across to town, I get a call to report that the silent cat, on his way to the vet for injections, has learned to meow. The phone is handed to the cat for proof.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1122331403860054472005-07-26T00:42:00.000+02:002005-07-26T00:43:23.866+02:00Pan TonesThe corrective of the wheat-green wheat, the bird-brown bird, the stone-gray stone, the air the sun the air. I am burned red.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1121502547262020242005-07-16T10:21:00.000+02:002005-07-16T10:29:07.673+02:00What I need is a bottle of Mulliner's Buck-U-Uppo. What I'll get is a week in the country, beginning tomorrow.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1119799958701346952005-06-26T17:32:00.000+02:002005-06-26T17:32:38.710+02:00MaroonSo. So here I go. 7:30, a church bell. 731, how our old phone began. A rotary phone. We never joined anything after we moved into the trees. There was the church at first, when we lived near the river, though I remember only the basement, and then just us in the trees.We would stay out on days like this when school ended. Last night exactly at midnight I looked up and saw a flash brighter eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1119589298603694962005-06-24T06:54:00.000+02:002005-06-24T23:52:14.406+02:00Dear Patrons of the InternetIt has been brought to my attention that some of you are a little worried about Mr. EP himself. After a great deal of effort I managed to track him down, in Poland, obviously.He is alive and well and all rumours of his death are greatly exaggerated. He has been spending his time filling his backpack with wads of paper and scribbles and has had a terrible accident that Emmanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1113989647321385982005-04-20T11:33:00.000+02:002005-04-20T11:34:07.323+02:00Out of ItI am to teach technical writing this morning and I am no teacher, have never taught anyone anything.The kid, we discover, has hidden away the paperwork for school vaccinations, but we have found her out.So we go off in the morning afraid together. I wish we were in the woods. I wish we were in the woods. We could run and scream there.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1112776754879487262005-04-06T10:21:00.000+02:002005-09-20T08:35:40.496+02:00TubularThis week, Polish and papal flags fly on buildings and trams, two million Poles travel to Rome, and many who remain here will not work Friday. The cinemas are closed. The radio and television stations are in mourning. The usual pop we hear at work every day has been replaced with a generally minor-key solemn-sounding no-sex subset of the usual pop. But just now: Mike Oldfield's theme to eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1112596259196136402005-04-04T08:21:00.000+02:002005-04-04T08:33:52.983+02:00WaxingWe walk through the woods for the cemetery (just browsing) and the kid asks whether I believe in miracles. I ask why.According to the kid, when grandma was polishing her Jan Pawel II plate, it sprang from her hands and broke in three pieces. One piece struck the kid. An hour later, the pope was dead. Therefore, the kid explains, she believes this Jesus stuff after all.I ask her whether she eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1112484312684026722005-04-03T01:08:00.000+02:002005-04-03T01:25:12.683+02:00Dies SaturniIf this universe were ruled by a numerologist, the man who believes he is the third secret of Fatima would hold until May 13. But it's a beautiful day, I sit outside at the cafe, and in the evening we lock the door and go out to a movie. The pope dies as I am bewildered by beautiful Chinese women.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1112050139764193072005-03-29T00:46:00.000+02:002005-03-29T00:48:59.766+02:00DichotomyI go into the house of birds and reptiles and open my thermos pah to sip tea and warm my ears. Bird sounds. A toucan, Ramphastos swainsonii, passes a grape to another toucan, billtip to billtip, then takes another grape, tosses it into the air, and catches it in its throat. Escaped crickets hide in the wiring over the skinks. Because I am, I think, the only human being, I can (I must) eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1111855360315937002005-03-26T17:17:00.000+01:002005-03-26T22:15:08.733+01:00Upright The penguins live in huts on a small hill of mud and stone above a pond. The pond is fenced off for now, so there is nothing to do but mate or prepare to mate or watch others mate. One penguin walks with a load of straw from a hut down near the water to a hut near the rocks at the top, and then turns to start again. I cannot tell whether this is robbery or a change of address. There is eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1111358250394807942005-03-20T23:34:00.000+01:002005-03-20T23:38:08.426+01:00SpookedAt night we go out alone to a white hill in moonlight while other kids do homework or watch television. The kid is a mad laughing queen. When she is tired of the sled, she slides on her back, then on her chest, face first, and then she turns and rolls down the hill. I stay at the bottom to agree how marvelous it is and admire the moon. Then she rolls off course and stops near a large dark eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1110924216165705442005-03-15T23:02:00.000+01:002005-03-15T23:03:36.166+01:00Out of the BlueMe: Have you finished your Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs? Kid: Yes.Me: Then you had better wash your bowl.Kid: Do I have to do everything? So I wash her bowl. And she tells me as I wash her bowl that she does not believe in God. I ask her not to enlighten her grandmother.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1110523531935951482005-03-11T07:43:00.000+01:002005-03-11T08:09:30.483+01:00How I Won a Bill Bryson BookI wrote a faux-crank (well, I'm a real crank, but not this particular kind of crank) question for the Guardian to pose to Bill Bryson in an interview:Pluto was discovered only because it caused a "slight perturbation" in the orbits of the planets then known. It perturbs me to this day, and not merely slightly. Is Pluto a planet or is it just a little ball of eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1110148693679308372005-03-06T23:35:00.000+01:002005-03-06T23:38:13.680+01:00SevenAt the movies, a man crouches in the aisle and talks to a woman seated in the aisle seat. Then he floats between the seats and I see he is not crouching, but is a dwarf. The woman is much older than he is or he is magically preserved. He has beautiful skin and shining hair. I go for coffee after in a shopping center where underwear models parade on a catwalk. I see just one from the eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1109501540852479382005-02-27T11:50:00.000+01:002005-02-27T11:52:20.853+01:00PhysicsA tall skinny Frenchman in black but for red gloves gets coffee and cheesecake for himself and his companion. He counts his money out with long red woolen fingers. It is cold outside but not cold in here. His companion is just like him but short and not skinny and without red gloves. But he is also French.France is something I have read about. They speak French there, for instance. They eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1109066472871139032005-02-22T11:00:00.000+01:002005-02-22T11:01:13.000+01:006:43 6:44 6:45 6:46 6:47 6:48 6:49 6:49 6:49 I almost faint at the bus stop this morning. Burred vlision. Chills. Sweats. Freezing sweat. Concentrate on something else. I think it was Schopenhauer's birthday yesterday. I like to track the local folk. Don't fall over. Loosen my collar. (Zip!) I was reading Schopenhauer last night (Zip!) and I think that Schopenhauer was right. I hang on to a lamp eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1108802809305816002005-02-19T09:45:00.000+01:002005-02-19T09:46:49.306+01:00SnipIt happened before I could think. It was just an accident. She grabbed the scissors, she started to run, andI told her not to run with scissors. Here I am, just like all the others. The scissors lie in front of me now, mock me, dare me to pick them up and run.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1108568401394832332005-02-16T16:36:00.000+01:002005-02-16T16:40:01.396+01:00It's Fixed!I win the second annual Metamorphosism.com St. Valentine's Day Limerick Contest. Normally, I might not have gone for it, but: "Extra points this year for references to medical pioneers, microscopic animals and skin conditions."eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1108502376332183162005-02-15T22:18:00.000+01:002005-02-15T22:38:58.330+01:00SidewalkAfter coffee, there is time for a little of old Danzig. As we walk along Ulica Swietego Ducha, which in English would be the Street of the Holy Ghost and in German was Heilige-Geist-Gasse, we come to number 45 or to number 47 or perhaps to number 81, any of which may have been number 114 in the old numbering system. In fact, we come to nothing, and it is dark and cold, and we are only me,eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1108299582798032122005-02-13T13:57:00.000+01:002005-02-13T13:59:42.800+01:00SibylThe woman would be jumping horses but she is sick, sends the kid away, lives in a heap in the dark. She watches every Fawlty Towers in two sittings wearing headphones and all I hear is the laugh, her laugh, then Her laugh, Her laugh, Her laugh. The horses must miss her.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1108251534137546882005-02-13T00:38:00.000+01:002005-02-13T00:38:54.136+01:00CompressedA warm day, all birds, then snow comes hard again at night and I go out to the woods. No prints, just my creaking feet to remind me each step someone's out here. Then human tracks and I follow, the social reflex, while I write in my head. In a clearing the statue of Gutenberg, a man in a cape, is caped again in snow, and little swastikas are sprayed round the base. Then out on the eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1107990392405169972005-02-10T01:03:00.000+01:002005-02-10T00:32:10.566+01:00Test Pattern
The kid rolls over and says:
Potato, tomato, the chicken is licking the car.
I'm not very happy today but you are.
Is this on?
I'm just playing. And writing limericks.
By the way, she gave me the mitten. In fact, she gave me two.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1107500641408707332005-02-04T08:03:00.000+01:002005-02-04T08:04:01.406+01:00Hinges
It all depends, of course, on where you sit. Where I sit on the bus, the doors swing open and all the cold comes in and I am mumbling to close the things and get us on our way. The steam rolls from my nose and down my chest and it's too cold to hold my book and read.
But then the door jams open with the frost and we are off through snowy pinking woods, a morning open-air ride through theeeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1107328898768601742005-02-02T08:20:00.000+01:002005-02-02T08:21:38.766+01:00Pan Bogdan
We used to watch the gardener from our window at work and say he had the best job, out in summer in the grass or winter in the snow. He scattered grass seed with his hand and mowed the grass when it had grown long enough. We watched him on his smoke breaks in the shade.
His enemy was the mole at night. Our gardener would surround fresh molehills with bottles upended on stakes to eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1104622907964559392005-01-02T01:39:00.000+01:002005-01-02T00:44:38.370+01:00Resolution
I think my cafe must be closed, but here it is, crowded with people who think otherwise, so I take their word for it, take the last seat. From here, I can watch the street with my back to other customers.
It could be optical, chemical, mathematical. It could be brave, reductive, final.
I cross out articles and adjectives and adverbs, set it in the present tense.
I wonder about eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3159208.post-1104338680257144732004-12-29T17:42:00.000+01:002004-12-29T17:44:40.256+01:00EpiCenter
The net fills with invisible bodies and the "death toll" hit counter "mounts." A top link promises a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model spectacularly wet and undrowned, while a little blond boy snapped from the vast dark sea looks for his vacationing parents.eeksypeeksyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09208638838683999909noreply@blogger.com0