Of the 53%

I have spent my adult life thus far working to feed, clothe, and house myself.

I have faced hardship and adversity on occasion, and done so with a small amount of grace.

But I am a thinking person.

As such, I am capable of recognizing a few things:

Of a Brush With Fame

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Of Freedom: Director's Cut

This is a paragraph that I wrote about Freedom for my last entry but didn't include because it didn't fit the tone. I still think it's pretty funny on its own, though, so here you go.

I just finished Freedom by Jonathan Franzen. It had this strange, constant dramatic pressure that would build as it subsided, so invariably congruous that it could not be said to be cyclical. Reading it was like taking a dump that never stops, just snakes endlessly out of your ass into the luminous depths of your hyper-toilet.

Of Freedom

After two weeks, I'm finally done with Jonathan Franzen's Freedom. In an alternate dimension, I'm still reading it, and will be reading it forever, just like in another, altogether different place, I'm still watching The Sound of Music and listening to American Pie.

The takeaway, in short: I'm amazed that Franzen was able to build a book that I was unable to stop reading out of settings I don't give a shit about, characters I uniformly hated and themes that were old hat in the fifties.

Of Poems III

One poem, two forms. The first is a sonnet, the second is free verse in triplets (and one couplet).

I'd Forgotten What I Said About Her Hair

I had a dream wherein I met a girl.
Her world died, inside out, while I watched.
I saw the last light fade, then unfurl
and fold back in on itself, worn and notched.

Of Poems II

A new poem. Not my best. It'll do.

Photographs
----
We have four pictures.
It is my father's family
or mine or
us or ours.
It is Halloween,
and it is not. and not and not.

Of Poems

Here's a poem I wrote.

Candles
-----
I light my candles
and nobody touches me.
I am thus privileged.