Chocolate Milk
Oh God! It’s great!
to have someone fix you
chocolate milk
and to appreciate their doing it!
Even as they stir it
in the kitchen
your mouth is going crazy
for the chocolate milk!
The wonderful chocolate milk!
Category: ain’t that the truth
Those were the days…(image).
Small, untitled poem (Inger Christensen).
I always thought reality
was something you became
when you grew up.
In the square stands Fata Morgana
looking tired, shouting
Morning paper — morning paper
(translated from the Danish by Susanna Nied)
Brunch Sonnet 6: Patti Smith at St. Mark’s Bookshop (mine).
Brunch Sonnet 6
Patti Smith at St. Mark’s Bookshop
Patti kicked the g’s off the ends of words—thinkin’,
fryin’. She had long dyed hair with undercurls of grey,
no secrets there. She arrived on time in a black beanie,
her voice skidding out of her throat like wet feet on sand.
She was amazed to have her name on a New Directions book,
she waited fifty years but it happened. Fifty years isn’t so long
for a dream. Her neighbors in Detroit used to spiff up her lawn
while she was gone on trips, she hated that, she wanted
those flowers for tea, for wine, the dandelions. The worst thing
about Detroit wasn’t the lack of a coliseum or museum, but
the lack of a café. She said she’d sit in some whitewashed
corner at the nearest 7-11 and try to read, pretending herself
at the Café des Poètes with a mug, a watch, a bit of time,
a few sips left, a cigarette, the table wooden, stained.
Off to brunch, New Year’s Eve (song).
Let me not forget…(images).
on the subject of grading and packing and goodbying to everyone and gathering presents and cleaning the house and reviewing the whole year:
(via this isn’t happiness)
also, another truth, brought to you by britt appleton:
and I’m going to see my family so soon!!!!!!
Joe Brainard loved pansies.
Joe Brainard (painter, collagist, writer) loved pansies so much. He cut them out of everywhere. He collaged them onto pages, in to entire books, which he kept and gave as presents to people like James Schuyler (I’ve seen them in the archives at UCSD–they’re beautiful; they’re shiny and layered, dozens and dozens of PANSIES).
His love of pansies (and flowers in general) reminds me of how I’ve always wanted to love football. Or the “Twilight” books. Or skateboarding. I want so badly to love something so simple, something that other people love so much. It’s incredibly appealing, the idea that there’s some new thing out there to get all excited about–I want to love these things; they are so available and other people love them and I would like to join in on that. But I can’t tell where the goddamn ball is on that huge field, even with the camera telling me where to look. And Bella is SO boring to read about. And I’m afraid of falling off a skateboard and hurting my knees.
Joe Brainard got something right with his love of flowers. He was a normal, human person like the rest of us, and by that, I mean that he was self-conscious and sensitive and he wasn’t sure he was ever doing the right thing. He made art and he tried his best to do days well. He wanted to be loved and he wanted to be known, and not as a celebrity. He loved flowers, especially pansies, and he found them everywhere. He collected and saved them. He saved them for himself, but also portioned them out to people he loved. People learned this about him and so sent him stationery with pansies on it. People learned what he loved and then there was more of pansies in his life, and voila: more of love.
Tiny tiny poem (mine).
My First Corn Nut; Age 25
for Aaron Abubo
There are a lot of things boys got to
that I didn’t.
One of the things I miss about the east (Thanksgiving photo).
Poppa Dids aka P-Ditty Poppa aka JK aka my Daddio
(thanks to Sarah Schoenberg Katz, my sissy number 1, also known as SWISS MISS, for this photo)
On the subject of bacon, part 2.
(I found this, and a lot of other good stuff, here.)
panache, perhaps 