i applied for this nicholas kristof (op-ed columnist for the NY Times) contest, and if i win i get to travel and report with him for several months. you were supposed to be a college student or a grad student to be eligible, but i think i sufficiently argued that i should never be bound by rules! nicholas kristof and i will be best friends! and ( Read more... )

so i hear livejournal is supposed to be an actual record of things that happened to your during the day. alright, i'll cave ( Read more... )

it's the little details that make me feel insane ( Read more... )

ieatchocolatebythespoonfuls and ZOOM there goes somebody else frantic to get to mount olympus, i'm pretty sure. the man next to me on the highway is giving birth out of his head. (his ego is painted red; a little plastic jesus screams from the dashboard.) the babies can swim and they take off for the closest river, becoming the alligators(ish) that ( Read more... )

who are you, litle i

(five or six years old)
peering from some high

window; at the gold

of november sunset

(and feeling: that if day
has to become night

this is a beautiful way)

-e.e. cummings

sometimes i think the streetlamps outside flicker a little for someone to pay attention, but we rarely do. i see a lady in high heels walking her dog every day and i wonder about her at home. perhaps she wears dresses while sitting on the kitchen floor, eating fudge. tiaras in the shower. those who tap their feet on the train to the sound of the ( Read more... )

it's warm! and beautiful! a day like today should be accompanied by a view of the ocean and a typewriter and end with a thunderstorm and blackberries. today's melange : cowboy boots boxers photographs of streetlamps strangealienpinkfuzz purple bags of almonds. the shadows outside look like one of the last of the great wangdoodles. today my ( Read more... )

Past the curve where the old craftsman was run down ( Read more... )

inner monologue: this morning i'm sad and about to cry. still not sure why it's been so easy for me to slip like this ( Read more... )

it's eerie here, familiar and distant. the backroads are still the same but i know none of the faces. ghosts of me lurk behind the poster i bought when i was nine at the art museum, the moroccan rug i bought for my parents, this basement where i applied for the wyoming position. it feels stagnant and sometimes i can't believe we live close enough ( Read more... )