So we're reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy. It's post apocalyptic and crazy and spectacularly depressing. I got to thinking: what if, after such a cataclysm, people started finding information that was wrong or made up but believed it to be true (imagine a whole group of people convinced of the greatness of Gandalf and in awe of Borat's amazing ( Read more... )

Gotcha!Little ideas flit around like pixies in the ( Read more... )

freshmenHigh school freshman arrive every year ( Read more... )

Denise Levertov's first two poems set me up with expectations for more of the same. They use archaic language and frame a sort of religious zeal abut everything. Not today's religious zeal either. Dark ages religion, when witch hunts were coupled with court magicians and nobody seemed to think it strange that a young maiden should disappear in the ( Read more... )

A Rant, with commentary on this week's selected poetry. (I never write about the fiction because I'm not a fiction writer. It's good, but I'm not going to learn a whole lot from it that I can use in my writing. Sorry ( Read more... )

While reading Donald Justice I realized today that I hate rhyming poetry. But then I thought about it and realized that rhyming poetry was fun when used right. But I couldn’t think of a single instance where rhyming poetry in modern language was simultaneously deep and good. I think I have come to a conclusion ( Read more... )

You need it ( Read more... )

Welcome to Bangkok ( Read more... )

In an attempt to stay warm, we burned the car ( Read more... )

Sometimes I find it impossible to write, and I feel horrible when everyone around me can do it. Nothing means anything to me right now. I'm living right now in the hopes that I'll catch hold of the experience later.

Fuck you depression. You're my worst friend. And yet, somehow, you're a friend...