sometimes it seems i only update this thing when i have bad news. and today is no exception. my aunt rita (who i used to live with and who took care of me like a mother) passed away.


man, it's really sad.

The Wait

I waited on your porch, the summer waning into a darker sunset,
your engine cooling, and the air heavy around me--what would we be
if we could do more than whisper. I want to be closer but I never know
what to do with my hands.I tuck them under me, cradling myself and rocking.
There is smoke in the distance streaking the sky beneath where the horizon
goes red. And I am any girl sitting beneath the eaves, watching the ants crawl
out of the crevices and rebuild their universe of twigs and (seeming)randomness.
They are not as wasteful as I--they do not wait. They do not lose their July
evenings to want. I scrape my shoes against the concrete, pull my knees in
together, and imagine the creak of the opening door, and you there--also waiting
for me to stand.

-Andrea Marie Niceschwander

I've seen a whole lot of movies lately to make up for my shackled years. I'm going to list everything I've watched with a one word review. Here goes...

The Transformers: Morethanmeetstheeye
The Djarling Limited: Endearing.
Smart People: Dumb.
Eastern Promises: Interesting.
Harold and Kumar Escape to Guantanamo Bay: Hilarious.
Speed Racer: Worst.
Forgetting Sarah Marshall: Funny.
Knocked up: Soeffinhilarious
Saw iV: Bad.
Teeth: Different.
The Strangers: Cinematograficallyaokay.
The Chronicles of Narnia; Prince Caspian: Better.
Juno: Fantastic.
Stay: Endmakeslame.
Lars and the Real Girl: Reallybutinterestingandyettheplotnotsomuch.
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Krystal Skull: ClassicIdywithalienseh.
Iron Man: Fun.

A Brief for the Defense
by Jack Gilbert

Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies
are not starving someplace, they are starving
somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.
But we enjoy our lives because that's what God wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not
be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women
at the fountain are laughing together between
the suffering they have known and the awfulness
in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody
in the village is very sick. There is laughter
every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,
and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.
We stand at the prow again of a small ship
anchored late at night in the tiny port
looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront
is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning.
To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come.

from REFUSING HEAVEN (Knopf 2005)