Now & Then (a Log)
Tuesday, April 08, 2003
toward a lightless place too conspicuous to pass
The new issue of sidereality
is out, and with it a poem of mine, "From the Roots, Out." Go there and find my name to read the poem (frames, alas), or visit this page
to read the printable version.
Lately I've been too busy and/or exhausted to post; the kitty gave me a mild scare that resulted in a trip to the vet tonight and no small amount of hand wringing. And of course there's the School Thing to resolve, as well as other paperwork-related tasks I dread even contemplating (ack, paperwork), much less doing.
I'll soon do my best to respond to this post
by Ray, if I can figure out what the hell he's trying to say. Ever the oblique collage artist is Ray. And I do admire that, but I sometimes don't have the mental strength and stamina required to fully appreciate
Friday, April 04, 2003
It's About Time...
Outside my window at work, down at the Point: trees with pink leaves! Like they're wearing coats made of raspberry sherbert. And behind them, trees with bright green leaves make themselves at home among their still-barren neighbors. Everywhere around the city, tulips trumpet the season. I do love Pittsburgh in the spring.
Thursday, April 03, 2003
After being away for a week on my recent trip, I had a work anxiety dream on the eve of my return to the office. I was among some co-workers, in the office I believe, and something mildly negative was happening (can't remember what). My boss then started handing out books to everyone. (This was a riff on something that actually happened during waking hours; for Christmas he personally selected books for each of us as gifts. I was the surprised recipient of Wittgenstein's Poker
In my dream he gave everyone the same book. The title? Dialogues on the Iraqi War
. I remember thinking to myself in the dream, "Finally, someone is enabling opposing viewpoints about the war to share the same space... but I'd better wake up now before this book-giving somehow leads to mass destruction."
Anyway, a friend of mine has struck on an interesting idea to promote such a dialogue (sans the potential for mass destruction). She got sick of feeling like discussions of the war were all argument, delivered with the kind of rhetoric that only serves to sustain polarization. Although it would be premature to discuss the actual idea right now, I'm intrigued with it and look forward to helping her make it a reality.
In other news, I'm quite busy right now with various endeavors. The two I'll mention here are finishing up the grad school app
and playing around with Movable Type
. It may be a while before I make the switch, simply because I can't bear the thought of using one of the standard MT templates but I don't know enough CSS yet to be dangerous.
Wednesday, April 02, 2003
Miss Melmotte's Mind
From The Way We Live Now
Lord Nidderdale was, she thought, not at all beautiful. He had a common-place, rough face, with a turn-up nose, and bright laughing eyes -- not at all the Adonis such as her imagination had painted. But if he had only made love at first as he had attempted to do it now, she thought that she would have submitted herself to be cut in pieces for him.
This is the work of Abbi Ball, and is licensed under a
Creative Commons License.