words like awesome, terrible,
once reserved for mountains and thunderstorms
now describe pizza
I can’t think of anything I love more than my 93-year-old grandmother singing ‘happy birthday’ to me on the phone. The birthday song is one of the only songs some people ever sing. People who don’t consider themselves singers will usually give it a try, and practice it over years and years at the birthdays of people they love. I’m not much enthralled with that song but I appreciate that it serves that function–I’ll get to hear someone sing, and even forget to be self-conscious, because the birthday song itself is a toss-away behind the impulse to wish someone something good.
pondering commitment and surrender, their overlapping qualities…
kimchi, ripening for the next week or so…
Reading names of the desired with Tara Greenblatt, underscoring hair band guy rebirthed as a poet (Andrew Hannah). Glorious party and performance at The Zoloft in New Ipswich, NH, part of my September tour of the northeast. As of last night I’m a new admirer of Brian King, Motel Mattress, and Dust Witch!
boxes of notebooks, writings. dusty. dust-mask involved.