January 2009
49 posts
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Day Sixty-Five
Midwinter midnight, deep in untyped words, I go play in Middle-earth.
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Day Sixty-Four
The sun’s gleaming down on red deer sneaking through snow in pictures online.
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Day Sixty-Three
Winter rain billows in the street like drapes before an open sky.
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Day Sixty-Two
Little long-tailed bird, come out of winter fog: please— staring is creepy.
"We're All Gonna Die" is the best photograph... →
It’s 100 meters long, so I can’t share it here.
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Day Sixty-One
Evaporated, your sweat, scrubbed clean in the sky, rained on my windshield.
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Day Sixty
Dull winter gloaming, he’s midway across six lanes, crossing on crutches.
“Everyone you know is more than one thing.”
– Jeff VanderMeer, “Everything’s Illuminated From Multiple Angles”
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Day Fifty-Nine
Nighttime rain rattling the window, warm for winter — I thought it a thief.
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Day Fifty-Eight
Warming winter day, I was asleep long before I knew it, I see.
“In the interview book Cronenberg on Cronenberg, the director recalls the...”
– Some Came Running: Patrick McGoohan, 1928-2009 (via jaybushman)
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Day Fifty-Seven
The birds know the time. I sleep all day while they sing. There’s a world out there?
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Day Fifty-Six
Winter skate-boarder disappears into the ‘hood pulled by a black dog.
WILL: Auaurgh.
SARA: Hulk smash?
WILL: Hulk impatient with his work yet also frustrated at the unstoppable forward march of time towards an inescapable future.
SARA: Wow. Hulk articulate.
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Day Fifty-Five
Is this how I die? Frozen indoors while rats hug cozy in the walls?
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Day Fifty-Four
That skyline, sparkling through naked branches, is all empty hotel rooms.
Will: [Our dog] Clem used to be great at Pictionary.
Sara: Yeah, but her game really fell apart when she lost her thumbs.
Will: See, I was thinking about that joke, but she's a dog. She never had thumbs. That's just weird.
Sara: She used to carry them around in her mouth. But one day she set them down just for a second, and when she came back they were gone.
Will: ...
Sara: It's only fitting, though, 'cause she probably stole them to begin with.
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Day Fifty-Three
The cop cars glide by, quick, throwing lights — and silent ‘cause of my iPod.
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Day Fifty-Two
Picture freezing rain hanging still between it all. Shining, worthless gems.
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Haiku Year: The First Fifty
I’m now a little more than 50 haiku into my year-long trip. I’ve already learned a great deal and I’ve already busted through some old limitations. Some of my limits were simple matters of practice and familiarity; I couldn’t reach that high shelf because I just wasn’t tall enough yet. But I’m growing.
Other limitations were self-imposed boundaries that I put...
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Day Fifty-One
Is freezing to death like dozing off in the snow falling inside you?
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Day Fifty
I welcome the cold, but I can only love it if the cat survives.
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Day Forty-Nine
Strangers prowl my block. Strange things scratch at my ceiling. It’s getting colder.
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Day Forty-Eight
Here comes tomorrow, sneaking in during the night, to steal my haiku.
I do not sleep like a human man. Whether it’s the interaction of chemicals from Puerto Rican rum, Nicaraguan leaves, and Ethiopian beans mixing it up with a nonsensical cocktail of brain juices or not, it feels like I’m waking up from hypersleep again and again to a series of barren alien planets. Each one is a weird mix of bare trees, contorted stones, and windswept rains feeding...
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Day Forty-Seven
Skyline through bare stems.
Anyone could be the thieves.
Stray cats ask for food.
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Day Forty-Six
Burn the cigar low
to get your money’s worth, but
say it’s for the warmth.
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Day Forty-Five
See the bike lane — clean,
empty as a sky, asshole.
It is for your bike.
Watch147xxxx:
“Well it’s the only drug I do anymore” Just a fun bit of market research about coffee drinkers in America for a New York based advertising agency. Produced by Walker Lamond.
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Day Forty-Four
Windows are trouble —
see the winter, see the web.
Nothing’s getting done.
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Day Forty-Three
The cigar’s piping
heat doesn’t dispel this cold.
Today’s a flicked ash.
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Day Forty-Two
This short day’s shrinking like a blotch on the asphalt under windblown rain.
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Day Forty-One
Confused green stalks grow up through soggy winter leaves for the spring-like air.
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Day Forty
Is that rain tapping on the winter-chilled window? Check the weather app.
Luck vs. Effort? →
claytoncubitt:
“To get rich in the United States you pretty much have to work hard. But the idea that success is due to hard work ignores the fact that there are all these other people working hard and not succeeding. Hard work is much more common than success. And advantages of birth and dumb luck are making the difference — separating the hard-working partner at the corporate law firm from the...
We have never yet had a US president born and... →
The notion of the US as a static rock of unchanging resilience is a modern fallacy. Everything changes. No country lasts.
We had become used to viewing all our neuroses as... →
The financial crisis, modern anxiety, and the irrationality of fear.
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Day Thirty-Nine
Maybe it’s raining icy drops out there. Dunno. There is rum in here.
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Day Thirty-Eight
In the foggy road: poised, giggly dancers, tip-toed. The cameraman’s quick.
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Day Thirty-Seven
See the winter mist — almost snow — falling sideways in front of headlights?
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Day Thirty-Six
This new year’s first day is cold and achy and short, made mostly of sleep.