Sunday, September 28, 2014

38 - 17 PACK!

today for you bart starr

solitary biennial road trip day two - even with what felt like the second cousin to a maj sinus infection, i felt excellent / fell in love with a wild colt off the side of the road

i always feel so metal at the canyon.  prob cause the canyon is so metal?  or because i'm the only scruffy american amongst so many fancy pants europeans and asians?

love my jeep

coming back for you babbitt ranch colt

navajo graffiti  - sacred site not for sale - fight like a woman - fiercely 

totally pulled in by the sedona vortex

biennial canyon road trip day une

let the cowboys ride!

jeep family

all we need indeed is clouds on canyons

happy place - navajo rez

visibility 10+ miles easy - storms were off in the distance

we them ole boys raised on shotguns

Monday, September 22, 2014

Sunday, September 21, 2014

nola bequeathed me a love of walker percy

Percy was fond of calling serious writers, including himself, ex-

suicides. He maintained that the writer does not create ex 

nihilo, but that “he starts with himself as nothing and makes 

something of the nothing with things at hand . . . a novelist these 

days has to be an ex-suicide.” The writer as ex-suicide becomes a 

“nought” before the challenge of the blank page, which opens him 

to the possibilities of finding an authentic “self” by discovering a 

true voice and naming reality. For Kierkegaard, one form of 

despairing “suicide” is silence before reality, which he termed 

“shut-up-ness.” Thus, Percy saw writing as a way to overcome 

despair by emptying the egoistic self in order to create a bond of 

communion with the reader. For author and reader, literature that 

honestly names the truth of being can reverse—albeit temporarily

—the death-in-life of alienation and despair. Writer and reader 

become “ex-suicides” in humility before the truth.

“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.”

― Mary Oliver

thank you to Brian Blanchfield for asking me to read! excited to read with Harmony Holiday in a couple weeks!


kristen nelson

tc tolbert

Monday, September 15, 2014

also: nfl you make me sick.

vikings organization:  you make me sick.

ray rice and roger goodell:  you make me sick.

message sent to kids:  you can beat your lady and kids so long as you are performing:  makes me sick.

luckily, the PACK are a stand-up organization.  if not, nfl you would have lost one true fan.

take that ny! aaaaaaaaand we're back! go pack 2014!

jorrrrrrrrdy you beast

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Monday, September 8, 2014

have / want

what i'm reading:

what i got to get:

we like erica wright in verse daily

[[ verse daily ]]

Spontaneous Human Combustion
You can't mask the scent of sulfur
once it sets in the upholstery.

That's as far as we've come in understanding.
Someone was here, and now he's not.

Sometimes your insides want to become
your outsides, and you have to tell them "No."

I remember chaud, but have forgotten
the French for cold, the sensation

of needing to burrow, of nosing dirt aside
to bury myself in the basement's crawlspace.

There's a sound like swing-set chains
unwinding. Not like the time I snipped

my ring finger while maneuvering scissors.
Blood pooled, and there was no way

to test for tetanus. The great chasm of years
since inoculation weighed on me. Lockjaw:

as if a key went missing along with the ability
to tell someone, "Look out!

The sky hasn't looked friendly for days."
I do not like to argue, even with people I love,

but there's only accident out there in the flatlands,
bright as any phenomena, cruel as any store-bought pyre.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Saturday, September 6, 2014

things during the first two days of my four day weekend - god love teaching only on tues/thurs

frida k by the door - tucson stylin

first game sucked - but here i look just redneck enough in papa coley's hat and my old faithful packers tee

backyard relaxing - things are coming along - i got the & from homegoods and spray-painted it yellow.  my mama taught me the love of spray-paint and yes home goods.  fun fun.

joe and i have a full on lavender bush in our backyard

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Monday, September 1, 2014

Laura Kochman in Coldfront's "Poets off Poetry, Song of the Week"

“Cello Concerto in E Minor Op. 85 – Adagio – Moderato” by Edward Elgar

Performed by Jacqueline Du Pre with the London Symphony Orchestra
I’m not really a fan of classical music. I grew up with it blasting through the house, my sister practicing violin in the next room while I was trying to sleep. It’s just not really my thing.
But I can’t help but keep this / the brown and white box of it / when the octaves rise I can see my mother crying and I cry. I have invented the story wherein she practices cello while pregnant and I listen on repeat / or maybe I have not invented it. I hang placental in the memory of these cassette tapes.
She died too young / she was too young / she never did die / my mother’s hand is shaking up and down the cello’s spine. At the center of the stage the body is shaking.
-Laura Kochman
JoelBrouwerPhoto-7063-ZF-0446-02112-1-001-001Laura Kochman, originally from New Jersey, currently lives, writes, and feeds her cat in Philadelphia. She is an assistant editor for Coconut Magazine, and her work is most recently found or forthcoming in ParcelNashville Review, Sundog Lit, Ghost Proposal, and others. Her chapbook, Future Skirt, was released in the fall of 2013 from dancing girl press.