"keep only what increases connections"

Catawba Falls: campsite 124. A sign nailed to a pine read many rare plants. Do not trample. Susan asked ready to unpack? Although the river was tame enough to swim, we boated. Don insisted on building a fire, sent Anthony trotting off into the woods for kindling. At the picnic table, Susan chopped an onion for chili. I boiled a pot of water on a ( Read more... )

         Thursday night. Half-peeled moon. Don walked into the living room she’ll be home late. And in almost the same breath want to smoke a little before bed? I nodded, followed him down the hall, into the bathroom. Along the bottom of the door, he placed a wet, rolled-up towel. Opened the window. With no room to turn or sit, we leaned against ( Read more... )

Anthony’s apartment bordered a burned-out pecan farm. At dusk, he called: come watch the magnolias drop. Sprawled on the floor of his living room, we stared out at the trees, ordered take-in. Four chimichangas, a burrito the size of my head. With our mouths full of salt and grease, we talked about Anais Nin and Henry Miller. I loved Anais most of ( Read more... )

“As a rule, a work is considered to touch on the theme of feminism when its leading characters are women and are repressed or in rebellion, but as far as I am concerned, a work is feminist insofar as it attempts to explain the mechanics of cruelty, oppression, and violence through a story that is developed in a world in which men and women exist.”

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"It's weird, I never really wondered whether I'm 'your type.' But maybe action's all that really matters now. What people do together overshadows Who They Are. If I can't make you fall in love with me for who I am, maybe I can interest you with what I understand. So instead of wondering 'Would he like me?' I wonder 'Is he game?'

--Chris Kraus, I ( Read more... )

Cross-Legged,
the Spider and the Web

with this body worship her
if necessary arrange
to sit before her parts
and if she object as she might
ask her for your sake to cover
her head but stare to blindness
better than the sun look until
you know look look keep looking until
you do know you do know

Charles Olson

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the entire left wall of my living room is glass, pushed back by a mammoth spanish oak. open the window: manic green floods the carpet, flypapers the walls, which are still bare, save the green, the stuff of summer in decline. tell me, please, if there's a way to revert back to rage; degrade this silence into a state of incoherency. i seek the ( Read more... )

ten am, swamped in sweat, we left for california. car packed to its outer limits; every window blocked, mirrors visible only if squinting. the first day we drove 800 miles through mississippi’s rotted maw into shreveport, louisiana. checked-in at the hotel; the clerk cleared his throat: you know yr late you know yr really really late. on the ( Read more... )