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Wednesday, August 30th, 2006

Subject:Book ME ME ME ME
Time:10:21 pm.
1. One book that changed your life:
In Parables: The Challenge of the Historcal Jesus, by John Crossan

2. One book that you’ve read more than once:
Valencia by Michelle Tea- which is funny, because out of all the times I've read it I have yet to finish it.

3. One book you’d want on a desert island:
Residence on Earth, by Pablo Neruda

4. One book that made you laugh:
Naked by David Sedaris

5. One book that made you cry:
Vows: The Story of a Priest, a Nun, and their Son, by Peter Mannseau

6. One book that you wish had been written:
The Gospel According to James

7. One book you wish had never been written:
Any of the books in the kid version those FUCKS made of the Left Behind series- SUBVERSIVEHATEMONGERINGFUCKERFUCKS!

8. One book you’re currently reading:
The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down by Anne Fadiman

9. One book you’ve been meaning to read:
not a book, but I've been meaning to read Hedda Gabler by Henrik Ibsen
Comments: Read 1 orAdd Your Own.

Saturday, August 5th, 2006

Subject:letter from the young poet
Time:8:08 pm.
I may have mentioned to some of your that I've been writing a lot more this summer. As I've looked back over the stuff I've turned out, I think this is the greatest poem that I have to offer from the bunch (though others have disagreed). I think it may be he greatest thing I've written, period, as an amature. Anyway, I'll be pulling it off of here in a couple of days, for copyright reasons, but I just wanted to get some critical feedback- I may pursue publication, which I also need advice on. Let me know what you think.


For the beauty of his clean white teeth
Which in smiling blazed their gum-set ivory
She wept.

Swept clean out by a baseball bat
Which hewed a cleft faucet of blood
To swirl his black-pink flesh with garish red
And spit
Perhaps some tears
If he had time for those
While pleading for his life.

As it is,
She has no time for them herself.
So beauty holds instead:
The ruby flowers which he leaves
To open slowly on the gauze
While he soft
In sleep and rain
Lets the swaying bamboo scrape across
The muddy compund walls.
Comments: Read 2 orAdd Your Own.

Tuesday, July 25th, 2006

Subject:love letter
Time:11:03 pm.
so, i'm moving back in with the boys to 105 wilson.

i can't tell you how happy this makes me, despite the fact that my mantra for the past several months has been, "i live alone now, i can't live with roommates again." as it turns out, i didn't believe myself.

the devils advocate which is not my heart said: "isn't moving back into the exact same living situation you were in two years ago the most literal manifestation of taking a step backward possible?"

to which my heart said: "no- who gets an opportunity like that anyway?"

then my heart broke it down:

"its not a step backward, its like a nest, not like a birds nest, but the way one function nests another as in f(g(x)) where the past year of solitude is g(x) which feeds into and informs the shape of f(x) which is living with jamie and ben."

which is when the devils advocate said: "that's not how functions work"

and heart said, "bitch, look:

what have i learned?

when i think back on that year, i have so many fond memories- its holds this almost magical veneer in my head that is most fairly represented by the way sunlight filtered through the bamboo and glass brick, or the bouqet we bought on thanksgiving when you made those brownies-"

and devil said: "you're romanticizing, plus you were high then"

and heart said: "BITCH I SAID YOU LOOK:

what have i left of this year- what memories in this place? none- because i was alone here. i grew, and i was happy at times, but i didn't have company like i had company then, and that is all that makes learning worth living. d(not devon) said, 'i got to a place where i decided if i wasn't sleeping with someone i couldn't live with them', but the truth is there are no lovers that i wouldnt trade for those friends, and who else gets a chance to live inside a memory while they're still moving forward, and turn it into something new? thats what i meant with the function reference, do you get it now?"

but as it was the devil never showed up anyway and so his advocate went home since he wasn't getting paid.
Comments: Read 1 orAdd Your Own.

Friday, July 21st, 2006

Subject:summer 2006
Time:9:36 pm.
dear upstairs neighbor,

i know that you are smoking pot.

did you know that i am a cop?

dear spouse/boyfriend/lover/other,

i find it difficult to take care of myself alone. i forget to do too many things because my head is in the clouds. i'd tell you to hurry up, but i don't want to be around anybody. i'm trying hard not to be bitter about having used any vacation time. i'm a hard person to be around sometimes, but i am entirely lovable, and well worth the loving.

dear god, dear stars, dear sky, dear trees, dear peoples,

i have a new love.

his name is calculus.

i've always said that it wasn't rock bottom that you have to be afraid of, but the uneasy moments that hover just above it, the ones tht simply annoy you and make you sort of uncomfortable and stay that way forever. now thanks to calculus i realize that what i meant to say was that its not the local minimum i fear, where at least the only thing to have is hope for an incline, but the point of inflection with the steepest downward slope. fortunately it doesn't last long.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Sunday, July 2nd, 2006

Time:9:16 pm.
things that are good:

going out hunting for a wireless conection and finding one in the meadow behind my house- doing my homework with fireflies and beck

my amazing friends

the eno river festival (specifically for: hot shirtless guys, puppies, children, hot shirtless guys, hand-dipped frozen cheesecake, hand-dipped hot shirtless guys, sunshine, turtles, river)

now all i need is someone to make out with, and life will be complete.
Comments: Read 3 orAdd Your Own.

Thursday, June 8th, 2006

Subject:my shit tingles, yo; and can't noneayall haters say nothin boutit
Time:9:51 pm.
these are the abstracts for the two workshops i submited which were FREEEGEN ACCEPTED BECAUSE I ROCK and will be presneted at the NAEYC 2006 national conferenceCollapse )
Comments: Add Your Own.

Subject:i am like sunshine on a cloudy day ya'll
Time:4:51 pm.
dear jamie, if you read to the end of this entry you will see that i've included a poem i want you to read.

and when i say that children are miracles of god i mean something like this:

the fact that you know a person for two years- two whole years go by and you interact with her, laugh, play games, run, sing, smile, you see her every day, two sets of seasons come and go- two whole years of knowing! and then one day, out of nowhere: she speaks to you! whole words come from her mouth, whole words in sentences even, and its like you've heard her voice for the first time after TWO YEARS! i don't think i could explain to anyone how amazing this is- but now that i've been at this center for two years and the babies i knew when i first started are begining to speak fluently, it blows me away. it is the most sacred, profound experience i have ever been witness to, ever, EVER, above ANYTHING in my life, and it bowls me over like earthquakes and sunshine through trees and every good and holy thing i have ever felt or done or said. she espescially likes to shout, "no james!" and point and laugh when i sing silly songs. (she's probably been waiting a while to get THAT one out.)

or what about this- an infant at five weeks can barely see beyond 12 inches in front of his face. can you imagine that? twelve inches and then beyond that a fog. imagine what a face must look like, swimming out of that to you with comfort and love. imagine what it would be like now, if suddenly one moment you realized that everything you had ever seen was a fog, and the thing you wanted most to see came out of it to you like someone parting a viel.

ALSO, my two proposals for workshops to NAEYC's annual conference were FREEEEGIN ACCEPTED because i ROCK THE HOUSE and the words "I think you'd be perfect for our PhD program" came out of someone's mouth today and were directed at MOI.

so, with that, i give you two poems. one, is not a poem, it only looks like one, and it is actually a letter, and should be read like a letter. it is by me, but less by me than it is by the voices of some other poets i am reading right now. i wrote it last night when i was tired. the last is by pablo neruda, and it is for jamie.

dear christians,

it seems to me that you have
chosen for yourselves
the perfect symbol
which is the cross
because it seems to me that all you do
is go about trying to kill
so that GOD has to keep
going about ressurecting him
being patient and kind
as he is

it seems to me that christians
know well how to take a beautiful thing
which is the word of GOD
and kill it not only
but maime it
and maime it
and maime it
and maime it until you are redintheface
however well gilded
the 24-karat tool may be.

"please know"
GOD pateint and kind reminds us
"that JESUS is in all beautiful things
such as
but not limited to
the way boys kiss each other
as expansive as the catalogue is
you keep wanting to FUCK IT UP
and you're only wearing yourselves thin
or haven't you learned yet
from the seed
that everything you bury
just gets up
to dance

Ode with a Lament
by Pablo Neruda
translated by Clayton Eshleman

Oh girl among roses, oh pressure of doves,
oh garrison of fish and rosebushes,
your soul is a bottle full of thirsty salt
and a bell full of grapes is your skin.

I have nothing, alas, to give you but fingernails
or eyelashes or molten pianos,
or dreams frothing from my heart,
dust dreams racing like black horsemen,
dreams full of velocity and misfortune.

Looking at ash-colored horses and yellow dogs,
I can only love you with poppies and kisses,
with garlands drenched by the rain.
I can only love you with waves at my shoulder,
between vague blows of sulpher and brooding water,
swimming against the cemeteries flowing down certain rivers,
wet fodder growing over the sad plaster tombs,
swimming across submerged hearts
and the pallid birth certificates of dug-up children.

There is so much death, so many funerals
in my abandoned passions, my desolate kisses,
there is a water falling on my head,
while my hair grows,
a water like time, a liberated black water
with a nocturnal voice, with a cry
of birds in the rain, with an interminable
shadow of damp wings protecting my bones:
while I dress, while
interminably I stare at mirrors, at windowpanes,
I hear someone pursue me calling me
sobbing in a voice rotted by time.

You are standing on the earth, full
of lightning and teeth.
You spread kisses and murder ants.
You weep from health, from onions, from bees,
from a burning alphabet.
You are like a blue and green sword
and undulate to my touch like a river.

Come to my soul dressed in white, with a branch
of blood-smeared roses, and goblets of ashes,
come with an apple and a horse—
for here there is a dark parlour, a broken candelabrum,
some warped chairs waiting for winter,
and a pigeon dead, with a number.
Comments: Read 2 orAdd Your Own.

Monday, June 5th, 2006

Subject:in case you were wondering: 4 thesies
Time:6:53 pm.
[1] work/school life is super -super- intense, so much so in fact, that everything else fails to match up to being as ethereal. i realize the need to find some sort of 'down time' from all the hyperintensity, but i haven't found the right medium yet. i am lost in the world of my own personal education, and cannot currently be accounted for.

[2] i've sprained my foot. i can't walk. yet... i walk everywhere i go. i am in pain. lots, and lots, of pain.

[3] babies are FUCKING miracles of GOD, and i don't even know what god is. but what i do know with all of my heart is that miracles are the only thing worth living for, and that a miracle isn't a miracle if it doesn't shit all over you and drive you up a FUCKING WALL because it won't shut up about who knows what. i _love_ my job, [possibly] because it is the only thing that requires a higher emotional capacity than i have to expend. point of tension? very likely.

[4] after all of this pressure, i think it is unfair that i do not know someone who wants to raise babies with me. and i mean that in the plural as much as possible. we're waiting.
Comments: Read 3 orAdd Your Own.

Wednesday, May 24th, 2006

Time:8:13 pm.
With the evening, gardens relax their fragrant process into the new coolness, welcome after having been busied by the sun all day- indeed, every few paces there is something new for my nose to marvel at. The sky's twilight is electric, and the various grasses of my neighborhood respond with verdant songs of praise and glory. Sometimes I wonder at which is more marvelous: the individual attributes of this world, or that I have been fashioned within it in such a way that my explicit and solitary purpose is to love it, and be loved by it in return.

Whoever comes to love me in my life next will have to take long quiet walks with me- and also sit around and read on Sunday afternoons.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Friday, May 19th, 2006

Time:4:35 pm.
Has God ever made anything more perfect than a day?

Perfect, yes, and marred. My toenail has been ripped off and I've had abdominal cramps all week that leave me massaging the flatness beneath my belly button just to digest a tuna sandwhich. My grandmother died yesterday. Today my friend's school was under lockdown because a gunman was loose on its campus- Jade you were in my thoughts and prayers today. Mother, you always are, but I don't know if I can spend sixteen hours in a car right now without feeling as if I am dying myself.

Perfect, yes. I held a baby bird today that had lost its way from its nest with blue, gloved hands, as my children looked on rapturously. How will its mother find it? See, she's up there, in the tree, waiting. To be a part of a moment of learning, and the wave of ecstasy that takes you there. I live for this, and its been a much more consistent part of my days lately.

I can feel the stress from my first week of summer classes draining out of my spine as I walk slowly under trees that embroider the sunlight above them. A fragment cloud pulls itself apart at an infinitely slow pace, and I become stillness itself in my watching.
Comments: Read 3 orAdd Your Own.

Sunday, April 9th, 2006

Subject:let the holy week- BEGIN!
Time:2:38 pm.
days like today make me beam from the inside out, head to toe- proximaldistal cephlacaudal glowing. sure, the liturgy of palm sunday may be a bit bipolar, but the emotional and ritualistic roller coaster is everything it should be, and i love it with all of my heart, and i love the great communion of souls that celebrates this.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Sunday, April 2nd, 2006

Subject:for eucharistic-minded friends
Time:3:42 pm.
john dominic crossan points out that the separation of body and blood is a violent death.

in my own terms, the separation of one generation's searching from the wisdom of its predecessors, of a livlihood apart from the nurturing earth from which it was born, of family from its child at the beginning of each work day, of soul from god, of friend from friend by distance and circumstance, of calling from occupation; all are all means to a violent end.

in what manner of celebration shall we unite them within us again?
Comments: Add Your Own.

Subject:Scraps of Paper in the Wind
Time:1:42 pm.
Erich Fromm wrote, "The psychic task which a man must put before himself is not to feel secure, but to tolerate insecurity."

In times when I remember this, it appears whole, as a glistening piece of truth that stands firm and well tested. Our state on this Earth is in supreme jeopardy, and feelings of security seem foolish at best, dangerous, blind, and hard-hearted at their worst. The trouble is I never seem to remember it at the right times. Yesterday, standing perilously atop a ladder for hours with my back to a sun which was newly alive with its season, fighting paper cutouts of children flapping their loose arms and legs mercilessly in the wind as I tried to fasten them to an uncooperative brick wall, I could have stood to remember the words, "tolerate insecurity." Instead, I sunk down into a miserable hole, the very image of my task: struggling to hang up bits of thin paper in an unforgiving wind, a symbol for the futile attempts of my life at large. The situation was fairly typical of my character- a grand vision, in this case that each of the children at my school would be represented with a life-sized paper cutout in a chain of figures that would encricle the building for our "Week of the Young Child" celebration, gets trampled upon by the realities of its execution. As an idealist, I run into this scenario frequently. I have learned a few things. I had learned enough before this particular scenario that it was wise to accept the help of one of my colleagues in the venture, in spite of having the tendency to take projects such as this one entirely upon myself, in an isolating move that has come to typify my working style. The kind of assistance she offers is a blessing- someone who is as excited by my "vision" as I am, and willing to see it through despite its apparent foolishness. She was the only one who didn't approach the project with comments such as, "Aren't those all going to blow away?" or "Gee, I hope it doesn't rain." Each time I heard something along these lines I wanted to scream, "Don't you see that it doesn't matter! Think about how beautiful it will be to see our whole school of children symbolically and visually wrapped around our building!" But I kept the disappointment and hurt feelings to myself, content at least to have one person this time who shared in my appreciation for the idea. Still, even with her just around the corner, hanging up kids on a Saturday morning, cursing the wind as I was, I still managed to be overcome with doubt and despair. If its not hanging up paper children in the wind, its trying to live in a manner that reflects my desire to listen and respond with love in a life that demands so many other small and tedious things from me that my original motive seems to be suffocated. The feeling that so much of my life is vanity overwhelms me.

Francisco interjects with questions of inversion as heralds of the kingdom. Where there is futility, expect purpose. Where you feel abandoned, know that you are embraced, fully, as is, as a worthy beloved. Walk the dark lonely streets with your hand and shoulder full of God. Taste the first beam of Summer's sun with the same tongue that can smell the sickly ways the maple trees are dying from a living that is separated from the Earth by intentional pavement, uninspired, obtuse architecture, and the negligence and convenience of a conditioned room. Our life here is beautiful and unjust. Lay down your dreams on the hard wood that we have made and let them bleed into the grain, so that our tumult and our hope are as one substance, so that both will be transfigured by the light hand in hand. We are dying here. Redemption and meaning are rumors not to be trusted. Where you are sure of the rules we are playing by, close your eyes and imagine the floor turning into air, and in that instant, decide if you will be willing to adapt everything you have known of this life to patterns of flight. Resistance wears you away into a pebble, then a grain; and in that last foothold of tangibility the whole world is reborn.
Comments: Read 1 orAdd Your Own.

Thursday, January 26th, 2006

Time:7:27 pm.
Comments: Add Your Own.

Saturday, January 14th, 2006

Time:1:56 pm.
i was reading a piece in the news & record yesterday about how they grade college entrance essays, and, well:

i've decided to hold an essay writing contest. post your submission here anonymously, it should be around 500 words, in any style of your choosing. the winner will recieve a glamorous ice cream feast in my honor. then all contestants will reveal themselves. deadline is one week from now.


do you think a human being has ever seen a real live dinosaur in person?
Comments: Add Your Own.

Sunday, December 25th, 2005

Subject:for the love of reading
Time:1:50 pm.
if i spent the rest of my life taking care of children while i studied a field that i love and cherish but whose greatness i could never really contribute to, i think i would be happy.

yet as Life would have it, the rest of my life will probably be quite different than all that.
Comments: Read 3 orAdd Your Own.

Time:12:31 am.
A Merry Fucking Christmas Indeed, My FriendsCollapse )
Comments: Read 3 orAdd Your Own.

Friday, December 9th, 2005

Time:11:25 pm.
live from kramerbooks in dupont circle, washington dc:

from this moment on, my life will never be the same again.

dramatic... but true.
Comments: Read 3 orAdd Your Own.

Saturday, December 3rd, 2005

Subject:life now
Time:3:31 pm.
in the computer lab on this small campus, so much smaller than the one just two blocks west, the one where my academic life entered toddlerhood. so much smaller, sitting here, all the computers right up next to the reference shelves, not cold and isolated like the other place, the radiators clinking on as rain starts to hit the glass of windows in its ageless progression back towards the sea. and i can overhear the student librarians discussing in the lobby, their voices echo. the young mans says the same things about faith that i do, and it makes me feel wonderfully small all at once, and wonderfully large in my place. i feel plain and extraordinary. i feel silent and alive. i feel heartbroken, but with the pieces all suspended in a warm body of faith that i am, and will only undo to become and be, still, no matter what. i am a twin and never alone, though sometimes we -the world and i- rest without trying to pay attention to one another, but mostly look very closely at things and love. i am a miraculous rising of dirt, and everything seems to slip back down my fingers to where it came from- no matter how amazing it was to be with at the time.

but i wonder if someday- with all this reaching out of arms and crying, with all our screams and peals of joy- we will break as free away from here as stars that get shot out from under mud- to kiss the one our heart has loved so dearly all this time. or are we designed to simply bob and weave about the beautiful mess that contains us, and make ourselves [ed: at home] among pain, injustice, and poverty with the comforts of our own love-making, forgetfullness, and exquisitely crafted voice?
Comments: Add Your Own.

Thursday, December 1st, 2005

Time:6:53 pm.
as i always say: hoooray for professional development! next week i'm in D.C. for the National Association for the Education of Young Children Annual Conference.

i just found out that Jim Greenman will be an exhibitor at the conference, and it just so happened that i referenced work by Greenman heavily in the 25 page final project i just completed. now i get to meet him. isn't that cool?

i love that about this particular realm of education, the research all feels so immediately available and accessible.
Comments: Add Your Own.

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