Thursday, January 15, 2004
snap
Temperatures may be milder by large bodies of water, but not in areas made prominent by a somewhat raised elevation and lots of spaces cleared from the forests of the North shore of Paumanok, and not in times of scalding snow and brittle, arctic air. Record lows and screeching winds have sent my sense-memory reeling back to my days in Alaska.
How do Russians do it? Greenlanders? Eskimos?
Vodka. Sheep. Language.
I'm usually arrogant about my tolerance for cold weather. I love snow, while many of my students pine for California or The South. I suppose age is beginning to factor in. And crabbiness. Although I dont mind being shut in, I'd rather not be as cold inside as I would be out: my heat doesn't seem to be working. I tried running the shower for a few minutes, but the chill usurping the room seemed to eat the warm vapor like it was cheating, somehow. Bastard cold. Usually, the oversize register in my tiny bedroom — only labelable as a bedroom because of some shoddy drywall work — bakes me and my dreamings at a high, dry temperature at night (Jon can testify, even from the other room on the futon), and it's not unusual for me to run the AC unit on milder nights in winter. I prefer being a little cold while sleeping for the night, so as to allow for the joy of writhing around for heat, and then settling down with my own warmth like a boy and his myths. In this present case, I'd prefer cotton-mouth and dessicated nostrils to shivering half-sleep and sleeping in layers of cotton. At least the wool sweater-vest my grandmother made for me is prooving useful, plus it fits perfectly.
In Watertown today, the temp. with windchill was -33F, and the superintendent did not cancel school. Not much has changed since Fargo and his day. School tomorrow? I have quizzes to give. I've made them, and they're waiting.
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Temperatures may be milder by large bodies of water, but not in areas made prominent by a somewhat raised elevation and lots of spaces cleared from the forests of the North shore of Paumanok, and not in times of scalding snow and brittle, arctic air. Record lows and screeching winds have sent my sense-memory reeling back to my days in Alaska.
How do Russians do it? Greenlanders? Eskimos?
Vodka. Sheep. Language.
I'm usually arrogant about my tolerance for cold weather. I love snow, while many of my students pine for California or The South. I suppose age is beginning to factor in. And crabbiness. Although I dont mind being shut in, I'd rather not be as cold inside as I would be out: my heat doesn't seem to be working. I tried running the shower for a few minutes, but the chill usurping the room seemed to eat the warm vapor like it was cheating, somehow. Bastard cold. Usually, the oversize register in my tiny bedroom — only labelable as a bedroom because of some shoddy drywall work — bakes me and my dreamings at a high, dry temperature at night (Jon can testify, even from the other room on the futon), and it's not unusual for me to run the AC unit on milder nights in winter. I prefer being a little cold while sleeping for the night, so as to allow for the joy of writhing around for heat, and then settling down with my own warmth like a boy and his myths. In this present case, I'd prefer cotton-mouth and dessicated nostrils to shivering half-sleep and sleeping in layers of cotton. At least the wool sweater-vest my grandmother made for me is prooving useful, plus it fits perfectly.
In Watertown today, the temp. with windchill was -33F, and the superintendent did not cancel school. Not much has changed since Fargo and his day. School tomorrow? I have quizzes to give. I've made them, and they're waiting.
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Wednesday, January 14, 2004
fragment...
[She knew the very things we’d be needing
With a purpose like vision like the black shine on a wasp
But she wasn’t removed from me like that, like through
A series of glass similies. It was so near, that vision,
Like we were sharing a dream that wrapped an idea
Like a pearl like a fetus, and we knew this litany of hungers together.
At the breakfast table we decide about filling bags
with blunder. The chilly knees' cold temple]
[She knew the very things we’d be needing
With a purpose like vision like the black shine on a wasp
But she wasn’t removed from me like that, like through
A series of glass similies. It was so near, that vision,
Like we were sharing a dream that wrapped an idea
Like a pearl like a fetus, and we knew this litany of hungers together.
At the breakfast table we decide about filling bags
with blunder. The chilly knees' cold temple]
PhiLL has accepted a hasty review of the new film The Cooler on the phiLLer website. After finishing and editing late, I reread it the next morning and regretted some of my postures. Foremost, I don't deny being as culpable for being fooled by the dream of what The Cooler could be as my guest and friend, I just didn't mention it in the opening paragraph where I should have. Sometimes I'm actually blind just when I feel the moment of writing becoming a clarity of self.
Monday, January 12, 2004
Marked
THE DATE has been at least more than tentatively set: Saturday, March 5th, 2005. Locations are still under consideration.
THE DATE has been at least more than tentatively set: Saturday, March 5th, 2005. Locations are still under consideration.
