Instead of lucidity, I want sleep.
Impulse with precision, flying is always the option
filling you with starch and water so that you jiggle
instead of cry-

those girls in your humid less valley?

Crisp Clear Curt

I’m curt, short too and livid
like mad mami, over the man
and carrots and wallpaper
and the spill from my room,
clutters the hallways
onto your barren gallery of glass
and onto those guys who whistle

like a choo-choo

their winks are blinding
I don’t want to sway any more

Its been swampy here, toxic with summer
beating with warm brown skin, that might cool
once I learn to prune in water

mostly I’d like to press my lips to your forearm
before we lock elbows outside the planet,
so that I know your stench is as lost as mine-

But, honestly, i read this and had to share how fucking stupid and hateful and ridiculous it was:

Bush wants us to cut the amount of gas we use. The best way to stop using so much gas is to deport 11 million illegal immigrants! That would be 11 million less people using our gas. The price of gas would come down. Bring our troops home from Iraq to guard the border. When they catch an illegal immigrant crossing the border, hand him a canteen, rifle and some ammo and ship him to Iraq . Tell him if he wants to come to America then he must serve a tour in the military. Give him a soldier’s pay while he’s there and tax him on it. After his tour, he will be allowed to become a citizen since he defended this country. He will also be
registered to be taxed and be a legal patriot. This option will probably deter llegal immigration and provide a solution for the troops in Iraq and the aliens trying to make a better life for themselves. If they refuse to serve, ship them to Iraq anyway, without the canteen, rifle or ammo. Problem solved.

that’s from a woman named Tara in Utah. Because clearly, she has foreign policy figured out.

I have several addictions, this is one of them.

Back in January, Sao Paolo enacted a city law that banned all outdoor advertising over a certain size. In the meantime, there have been a lot of signs taken down and nothing has yet gone up to replace them.

It seems so exciting to me that there is now all this space, that instead of being filled with advertising, there could now be public art. or just clean, quiet seeming space.

and a fairly relevant quote from Ways of Seeing by John Berger which I read today on the way to work:

Publicity turns consumption into a substitute for democracy. The choice of what one eats (or wears or drives) takes the place of significant political choice. Publicity helps to mask and compensate for all that is undemocratic within society. And it also masks what is happening in the rest of the world.

While I think the aesthetics of this building are fantastic (clean, using light in an interesting manner, books incorporated, possibly the exterior walls can go up or down depending on your preference), I can’t help but feel worried about the damage that the sunlight is going to do to those books. I mean, if you love your books and want them to be a part of the look of your house, shouldn’t you protect them? (via Coudal)

On a slightly unrelated note, whenever I buy a used book that’s inscribed from one person to another, I always wonder what could have possibly happened to make the book recipient give away the book. It always means so much to me when someone gives me a book, especially if there is a note attached. Here are the theories I feel could only be possible:

1. They died.

2. They went through such a messy heartbreaking divorce from the book-giver that they gave away everything that reminded them of this person…..even books (aghast)

3. Honestly, that’s all I’ve got. I’m stumped.

So, call me a sucker. I’m used to it. But, I have to say, the movie Paris, je t’aime looks pretty intriguing to me. I enjoy the following things:

1. Love Stories

2. Short films

3. Maggie Gyllenhaal

and honestly, when I watch a movie with Maggie Gyllenhaal in it…i feel nervous the entire time. Which is weird, because I’m watching a movie, not doing anything that requires nerves of steel.

Also, I know Gena Rowlands has been cast in a lot of bad films in recent years, but I can’t help but remember her performance in A Woman Under the Influence and think great things about her.

Here’s the trailer (Ooooooh! Romance!):

Several years ago, Damien Pratt gave me birthday presents that were basically life changers. First off, there was Pat Benatar’s Best Shots, her Greatest Hits album. Really…it made me realize the magnificence of Pat Benatar, and that’s important.

Second, was In Color by Cheap Trick. This album contains one of my favorite songs, Southern Girls. I just feel you should give it a listen. That’s all i’m saying.

Oh and here are some links that might tickle your fancy(?):

1. Some of the Better Photographs In the World

2. A Great Poem, “Scheherazade”

3. Zadie Smith speaking about what makes EM Forster worthwhile and awe inspiring

4. The Senator who put a secret hold on an Open Government Bill (say what?!?!?) has been exposed. However, I find if a little worrisome that the New York Times does not carry the story. All they have regarding Senator Kyl and secrecy is this cute article about “Senator’s Secret Offices”.

In the amNY today, there was an interesting article that involved Joy Division and Catholic Schools.

While I generally am more in favor of Joy Divison than I am of Catholic Schools:

a: This seems like a great school
b: and also a fantastic interaction that reminds me of how much I love this fair city

Yes, let’s be more indulgent.

For a variety of reasons, I’ve been reading out loud a lot recently. Specifically I’ve been reading poetry out loud, in some part because of the brevity of the medium.

In the midst of this reading…out loud, I found this publication. It’s fantastic.

Also, for a couple of months now, I’ve been trying to find the poem that this excerpt is from:

“that each of us lives in other’s minds, as they live in ours
sometimes flaring in images, sometimes feeling each other’s flesh. Each night
before I got o bed I pass myself on the stairs.”

It’s attributed to S. Berg, but I can’t figure out who that is, or what poem it is. Do you know?