Book Club followed up Goon Squad with How Should A Person Be? by Sheila Heti. I’m going to skip the majority of our collective critique points from Saturday and keep it short: it reads as a collection of personal essays or do-dads (a blog) written by a person in her twenties, with a few toothless fictions thrown… Continue reading How should a person write?
The continued accumulation of snow and cold gives an indication why Imbolc is one of the Celtic fire festivals. Ostensibly marking the annual alteration of the Goddess from the crone back into the maiden, this year she seems to’ve returned in the form of the Snow Queen instead. Had a lovely walk through Prospect Park… Continue reading Imbolc’s capricious concoction of fanciful confections
Handsome Red Late night at the farm; window open upstairs and a squeaking distant sound of coyotes through the cricket-song. Tig hears them too. They seek the feral cats that live around here (dinner). The new kitten, Piwaket, was one of same; a runt or cast-off, living on her own and scrappy as hell; my… Continue reading Writing steadies me, as does the farm
A continuation from last week (unpublished); always on about words, words. Waking up from an idea or a notion of something like it was a sleep-dream; acknowledging that your perception was distorted or not informed enough, and being okay with it, it’s fine. So you adjust your perception— we do it all the time. It’s… Continue reading the way something shiny looks under water, viewed from the shore
"this blog used to be a phantom organ i grew for survival during a hard time a few years ago and a constellation grew around it or i fell into its communal chaos, something, but now it's all obscured, dispersed, half-kaput. oh well oh well oh well." —from [a previous incarnation of] Bett's Blog She makes… Continue reading borrowed—
Approach (on foot) to the lighthouse on Fire Island Had some post-dinner drinks with my friend Sarah last night. She’s in publishing, a fellow reader, so we talk books and exchange suggestions. One she told me about is Night Film by Marisha Pessl. She said it reminded her very much of House of Leaves, which… Continue reading Part precious metal, part pirate
From January; a trip to Baltimore. (BUS POETRY!) Through the bus window, out of New York. Barren scores of urban cliffs— cloaked in winter trees (their unexpected softness, out-of-focus)— look like lost castles through spectacles designed for looking at things close-to. Dried drops on the wide panes from another rain lend the highway a cold… Continue reading Been awhile.
Zac's contribution to the Museum, an excellent specimen of tintype in a pocket-frame I've been enjoying reading Cloud Atlas, by David Mitchell— "Then he asked, had it not been a seismic shock to be uprooted from Papa Song's and transplanted into Boom-Sook's lab? Didn't I miss the world I had been genomed for? I answered, fabricants… Continue reading Snufkin has broken camp
Unintentionally patriotic feet, in tertiary variations on red and blue. A friend recently asked what art I've been working on, and my answer was, sadly, none. I'm feeling a need to do something so I return to the blog—I do enjoy writing. Maybe it will spark something. Independence Day yesterday; a barbecue on a friend’s… Continue reading The fleeting nature of dreams and summer
“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions.” –Rilke
e daggar art: THE MUSEUM 