Lit blog

yesterday had ups and downs - many of them. i went for a job interview in the morning. was invited to sit at a desk made of glass, it sure felt weird being able to see my pinked toenails under the desk. eventually, after much haggling among two existing employees over what liquid should go in which cup for morning tea, the prospective employer walks in complete with bought coffee. i guess he must have had a sixth sense about their ability to get it right. he and i wandered off into his office, the classic seating of him with his back to the window and me facing the window (and him) ensued while i tried desperately to keep my mind on the interview. something dark on the floor by the wall caught my eye but i ignored it until it began running back and forth between and behind a couple of filing cabinets. though we had plenty of eye contact, he never realised my mind was completely sidetracked with the black rodent having a ball behind his back. i thought i did quite well not to run screaming from the room holding my skirt high. mind you, there was one point when i was gripping the chair ready to climb on top the second it came my way.

i wonder what he would have thought of that.

and i wonder if i'll get the job.

nb to self: may need to buy mouse trap in a couple of weeks.
 
1.

I'm at home today watching birds at the feeder and our residential hummingbird who is brave enough, or stupid enough, to stay here through the winter months. Yesterday I marveled at how s/he managed to battle 70K winds to come and fuel up on faux nectar. I think I'm in love.
 
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Fat crow jumped up on the snow covered railing
as I poured coffee, he stared in at me and hopped around
now facing the woods, he paused, looked over his shoulder
and flew into the White Pine on the edge of the Shadows.

His fat crow body shook snow off the tree.

He hopped and turned and dissapeared over the rooftops.
 
2.

how is it that a man can beat a woman and walk away? how can he cripple her mind and scar her heart when she does everything he asks of her, and more? how can she still love him after he has blackened her body and broken her bones, when he has nailed her to the wall and stolen the life from her soul? what makes her snap? what makes her finally run?
 
wildsweetone said:
how is it that a man can beat a woman and walk away? how can he cripple her mind and scar her heart when she does everything he asks of her, and more? how can she still love him after he has blackened her body and broken her bones, when he has nailed her to the wall and stolen the life from her soul? what makes her snap? what makes her finally run?


WSO,
Her children finally are away from the home, college, job, whatever, and she sees her chance when her husband is out of town working and one day she packs her sh*t and just leaves. And she HOPES he will realize why she left, and understand that she is leaving his bitter selfish sorry ass because she can now, and she is still young enough and alive enough to find her way in the world and she sometimes hopes he wallows in the misery she is leaving behind until he disolves himself in it like an acid bath of regret that he can never ever escape. I hope each day she is gone, he feels the hurt she felt for so long...he deserves it, she never did. im sorry... :( some questions just shouldnt be answered i guess
 
Maria2394 said:
WSO,
Her children finally are away from the home, college, job, whatever, and she sees her chance when her husband is out of town working and one day she packs her sh*t and just leaves. And she HOPES he will realize why she left, and understand that she is leaving his bitter selfish sorry ass because she can now, and she is still young enough and alive enough to find her way in the world and she sometimes hopes he wallows in the misery she is leaving behind until he disolves himself in it like an acid bath of regret that he can never ever escape. I hope each day she is gone, he feels the hurt she felt for so long...he deserves it, she never did. im sorry... :( some questions just shouldnt be answered i guess

it was better than my 12 gauge answer.
 
I <yawwwn> just woke from the most wonderful catnap. I am making a cup of tea and thinking of running my whole pack of dogs at once (there are five) in hopes it may discourage the prospective buyers of the property next door. I am haggling with the owner over buying it and she wants an insane amount of money. I told her I thought she was smoking crack trying to get so much $ for it considering it has no improvements upon it like water, or electriciy and it has drainage issues that flood the neighboring properties every year. I think I may have offended her. woops! :D
I just finished off Coyote Blue and now I am on to Loren Eiseley's All the strange hours
ohhhhhhh and I just stepped on a yellowjacket! ouch!!
Does anyone else end up having chills that wave up and down your body when you get stung? I'm not allergic or anything...I just can't get the stinger out!
must be instant Karma for being mean to the landowner and gloating over it.
Damn.
 
Special Edition, Extended D.A.

Today is:

thirty-plus hours of wakefulness, sixteen of them spent at work, on two separate overnight shifts.

nine cans of redbull in under twelve hours.

sixty cigarettes.

one jittery ride behind the wheel of a truck, spent thinking, "What kind of ratfucker gives manic depressives caffeine and carkeys?"

a fucked up rhyming bit of something (which deals with above thought) that's somewhere between confession, apology and poetry.

a day off, spent trying to memorize said bit of something, before performing it this evening at the first of two open mic nights for my work 'weekend'....instead of doing laundry and sleeping.

the first beer that's trying desperately to reel me back into my brain and snatch back my beating heart (or beat that marathon madman heart into submission) so's I can sleep.

a random girl in the halfway house my townhome has become posing me the awkward question (in a roundabout way) "If you could suck your own dick, would you do it in front of me?" and not really knowing how to respond without leaping bodily from the chair to the couch and strangling her by way of reaching down her throat and attempting to yank forth her vocal chords, just so that I could hold them up and feel proud that the tangled mess of pink yarn and blood dangling and dripping in my hand meant that no one else would ever have to be posed that frightening, inappropriate (for someone who doesn't pay rent), and awful fucking question EVER, EVER................FUCKINGEVER A-FUCKING-GAIN......And then screaming my battle rage into the cosmos until a fine mist of blood began to coat all the sound pouring from my heart to my face to the air.

Today...

is going to be a long fucking night.

~D.A.
Jones: "Am I dead?" Robina: "No." Jones: "Fuck all." - Desolation Jones
 
Notes from a dog walker

We didn't see any squirrels yesterday, but Lucy Lab found several of their 'nut diggings'. She is fascinated by them and always helps enlarge the hole. Maybe I should teach her to be a truffle hound, except that I am allergic to mushrooms. Hard to believe that she will be four this month. I have been thinking of spreading some cereal for the squirrels, but I am afraid that Lucy would eat it all. Plus there is a cat problem, so I don't want to attract the squirrels to a limited area.

There is only one cat that I know of, but I haven't seen any cat tracks recently. However when we went a poopin' and a piddling and a snufflin' this morning there were no tracks but as we completed the first trip around the barn we suddenly came upon the fresh tracks of A.A.Milne's infamous woozel and wizzel, or could it have been a whiffle? Anyway, I continued around the barn while Lucy went a side-sniffin', and as I completed my second trip I saw that the woozel and wissel [If that's what they be.) had been joined by a third beastie of either woozelness or wizzeldom, unless one or two were whifflites? I stood scratching my head in ponderation when stinkfoot snore-belly caught up with me and it suddenly became apparent that the three critters stalking us had been joined by a fourth, and not expecting them to be going to a bridge tournament [unless maybe to hide under it] we made hie to finish our business and haul tarnation's butt for home and breakfast! (Scrambled eggs & kibble)

This year, both Groundhog Day and the State of the Union Address fall in the same week.
As Air America Radio pointed out, "It is an ironic juxtaposition: one involves a meaningless ritual in which we look to a creature of little intelligence for prognostication, and the other involves a groundhog."
 
The rainy winter season

Here, blogy:


i've opened a lil blog
but not self
my blog is thin and sad
i should write math instead

It's true. I've written recently to my friend with whom we were stydying mathematics in Warsaw, starting back in 1958, when I was barely 16. He's involved with a math magazine for high school students who are interested in mathematics. I have a lot of material for them in my head or even pieces and bits on the Internet. My friend's speciality is the History of Mathematics, and he's popular with the (university) students. He must know History well in general. I mentioned to him my linguistic ideas (they are more than that) and he thoughtfully responded with a detailed story of the Chinese written language. I knew all that conceptually, it was my start point back in 1985, while he had provided, off hand!, the names of the Chinese emperors, the relevant dates, ... Nice!

I live in Sunnyvale, Silicon Valley (Bay Area), near San Jose, not too far from San Francisco. If you read my poems you would know my consecutive locations. If you understood them. If you knew Polish. Until 1981 I was writing poems in Polish (but for a couple of months in 1968, when I was writing in Russian). Then English was first the exclusive language of my poems, and then dominant until 1997. There were times when I was intensive about poetry and I was writing some poems simultaneously in English and Polish. Then Polish took over again.

Thus it's easy to know about my whereabouts (knowing Polish would help). Not to mention that I am not hiding my identity. I've signed several of my poems here, on Literotica, with my full, real name, I am listed in the phone books... Still, reading poems should be more fun, since the other way (spying on me) is too easy, too boring for a challenge.

Of the places I've been to on the NA continent, I like Michigan and California (Silicon Valley) the least. It's irrational perhaps even if I have my reasons. I've been to both states three times, and longer than to the other states.

To talk about weather in Silicon Valley almost doesn't make sense. The weather here is always fantastic. Even now, during the winter raining season. It rains only for a few hours at the time. My daughter has observed that around here at least a portion of the sky is always blue, that it's blue somewhere. Yes, I have four adult children. Three daughters and one son, ggbg. Since I joined Literotica, my status has been upgraded because now I am a four times grandpa. Two of my children are around here, and two in Michigan. The same with grandchildren. I didn't see the younger ones yet, they are in Michigan. The gender of my granchildren is reversed, even chronologically, three boys and one girl, bbgb.

When after sleepless night, second in a raw, I went to bed around noon, the day was sunny, beautiful till then. The moment I don't watch it it changes. When I woke up around 4pm, it was grayish and raining a bit. It's still grayish but perhaps it's not raining. I don't remember when was the last time that I went to bed before 4am.

I live in a nice so-called junior 1-bedroom apt. The whole apt complex is nice, nicer than other apt complexes which charge about the same rent or more. It has a pretty good swimming pool and a "club house", equipped with gym machines, two billiard tables, and a ping-pong table. I don't like the exercise machines. Too boring. I am impatient and can even mildly hurt myself. The sidewalks in my apt complex wiggle. The buildings have an irregular, Spanish/Southern/Mexican(?) architecture, nothing plain, nothing boring. There are numerous citrus trees with lemons, oranges and grapefruits on the grass lawns. Some of the lemon fruits are huge, larger than grapefruits, are of the size of a child head. When you open them up (the lemons for the God's sake), those huge ones inside give you only the regular amount of the real fruitty, juicy part. Most of it is a two inch thick white layer, which in the regular fruit would be thin (up to two tents of an inch or half of a centimeter; btw, AB'sM, 13 inches = 33.02 centimeters--1 inch = 2.54 cm exactly, but I used google to get this translation, type "13 inches =" into the Google search engine).

The longer edge of the swimming pool is down some 100 feet (or about 30m) in front of my living room balcony, with its glass door down to the floor (the length of the swimming pool itself is 20 yards or 20 meters). The club house is just behind the swimming pool. When people even whisper outside the club house I can hear them perfectly, except that my hearing is not what it used to be, how fortunately. Right now I hear children running and shrieking excitedly, mostly girls, and low, soft voices of the women. No, it's not raining anymore, definitively not. They speak a languge different from English, perhaps Hindu. The planes, from time to time, are much louder. Altogether, you can hear that it's an after-rain time.

The sidewalks to the West and North of the swimming pool and club house meet, and the one behind the club house leads to a court at the end of a very short street at the end of which there is a care-house, where my father lives since the beginning of year 2000. I visit him every day to put him to bed, and most every day (but not today) to take him for a walk. You'd know if you read my poems, if you understood them, if you knew Polish (frankly and objectively, I wish I stayed with English). Year 2005 has surprised me. It was unexpectedly good for my poetry, it started at the end of 2004, when I thought I am through with poetry, and I didn't care (I still don't). Actually, for other years, my English poems make a pretty good diary too, though never one to one, never or almost never overly direct. You may check for instance my "four seasons" series of three poems (I wish more people would write in this new form, created by a Russian haikuist; in the past I have induced a few poets into writting 4 season poems, and at least two of them did great job). Obviously, if a poem has a geographic name in its title then the odds are that it is something of a diary entry. Most of them-poets are, in a way. We all know it. "men don't cry", written in Michigan, is perhaps among the most direct diary poems of mine.

Hm, talking about poems, some ten days ago I glanced at a discussion between Rybka and me about one of my short poems, which was a bit like a haiku. I was stubborn at the time, but actually Rybka was right about 70 to 95 percent, which leaves me with not more than 5 to 30% right, i.e. I was quite wrong. It's too late to change that poem. I do change sometimes my old poems, when it does not change the stamp of the time, when it does not take away the identity of that writing.

Now you are sorry guys that you have opened such a flood. Hm, no more children outside, I hear only the wind shaking water from the trees and the never ending swish of the tires against the road surfaces, distant and near by, like an ocean, and another airplane of course.
 
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I for one am not sorry the flood gates have opened. I think you have a marvelously interesting life. Write more and I will devour it all. like a moonpie, from afar.

xoxox

maria
 
A few days ago I was an observer at the installation of a top secret, multi million dollar radar into an equally top secret, multi million dollar aircraft and as I stood there wiggling my toes in boredom I wondered if I was the only one there suppressing a giggle at the thought of it falling to the floor with a clang and it rolling slowly away while one lone voice said, "Ooops!"

:D
 
Lit's Blog, Stardate 020106.5

A friend of mine invented Orlik-Solomon Algebra. I wish I knew what in the hell it means.
 
what i have learned from Lit this year

************
 
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Originally Posted by Senna Jawa: The sidewalks to the West and North of the swimming pool and club house meet, and the one behind the club house leads to court at the end of a very short street at the end of which there is a care-house, where my father lives since the beginning of year 2000. I visit him every day to put him to bed, and most every day (but not today) to take him for a walk.
SJ, it bothers me to think of you as a person with human considerations/duties/responsibilities. - I tend to much prefer you as an impersonal 'poetic guru'. :(


Originally Posted by Senna Jawa: You may check for instance my "four seasons" series of three poems (I wish more people would write in this new form, created by a Russian haikuist; in the past I have induced a few poets into writting 4 season poems, and at least two of them did great job). Obviously, if a poem has a geographic name in its title then the odds are that it is something of a diary entry. Most of them-poets are, in a way. We all know it. "men don't cry", written in Michigan, is perhaps among the most direct diary poems of mine.
I once wrote the other three seasonal poems based on Archibald MacLeish's Autumn, but at the moment I cannot find them. :confused:


Originally Posted by Senna Jawa: Hm, talking about poems, some ten days ago I glanced at a discussion between Rybka and me about one of my short poems, which was a bit like a haiku. I was stubborn at the time, but actually Rybka was right about 70 to 95 percent, which leaves me with not more than 5 to 30% right, i.e. I was quite wrong. It's too late to change that poem. I do change sometimes my old poems, when it does not change the stamp of the time, when it does not take away the identity of that writing.
WOW! I'd be happy with 5 to 10 percent. Can I save my points up and spread them aroumd? ;)


Originally Posted by Senna Jawa: Now you are sorry guys that you have opened such a flood. Hm, no more children outside, I hear only the wind shaking water from the trees and the never ending swish of the tires against the road surfaces, distant and near by, like an ocean, and another airplane of course.
Around here I hear little else except the occasional snowplow and the crows in the trees. (Lucy, my dog, only barks when whining and crossing her legs does not attract my attention.)

2/02/06
 
Dear Test Gods

I'm probably going to regret 'night-before-cram' studying for my second test in microbiology today, but hopefully I won't get what I deserve. Let me get a B please. I sees the light now and have learned the errors of my lazy study habits—I promise.

I blame my complacent attitude to the class this semester to my professor. She is a blonde hottie, but oh so fucking boring! I'd rather listen to my text CD and read the book than sit in class. That is sad.

*fantasizes about last semester's chemistry instructor*
 
To Opu god of snow

I will burn in ritual a snow board in it's smoke I will send my prayers to you and ask for new snow next week on your glorious mountains (specifically Wednesday through Saturday for Mt. Rainier and Mt. Baker on Saturday) oh ya, could I also have some visibility while I am up there...I can't stand snow blindness, gives me vertigo on the snow.

also, I would like to add good luck to Neo on his test.

Thanks.
 
i am having the crappiest birthday of all time. hopefully thing will improve soon.
though at least the book is getting done.

this folger's coffee is crap.

the aristocrats was a good movie. gilbert gottfried is criminally underrated.

this is the anniversary of three years on lit, and i still haven't really done much here. i should work on that.

i have hiccups.
 
Sabina_Tolchovsky said:
I will burn in ritual a snow board in it's smoke I will send my prayers to you and ask for new snow next week on your glorious mountains (specifically Wednesday through Saturday for Mt. Rainier and Mt. Baker on Saturday) oh ya, could I also have some visibility while I am up there...I can't stand snow blindness, gives me vertigo on the snow.

also, I would like to add good luck to Neo on his test.

Thanks.
A storm front is rolling in and there is a chance of snow this Sunday. ;)
 
3 3/2/06

it's still outside, not still like pre dawn, but as if the wind has simply run out of breath. when the birds land on the flax they shake the whole flower stem and when the tui sing the song pierces my aids in that split second before the sound is monitored. crickets are singing, they've decided it's time for the world to realise they're around. their sound is more defined these days, not one continuous whistle blow, but more the chirrup i've read about, the chirrup i recall from dawns of berry picking. the sky is pale today, a field of wild cornflowers amassed above and the sun is yellowing the eastern side of the strappy flax leaves.

it's beautiful really, when i take the time to look. how can such beauty fill my senses? and how come i have moments to understand this beauty only to be forced to leave it behind when my mind fills with the sound of screeching cicadas and the world of vehicles, teen stereos and noisy neighbours encroaches?

i long for silence but i've been thinking, the more i long for it, the less likely it is to come for me. that doesn't make it any easier to accept. never having silence.

i'll have to try harder, to spend more time hunting peace.
 
neonurotic said:
A storm front is rolling in and there is a chance of snow this Sunday. ;)


o neo's AV

how I am admiring your bones, the slope
ofyour jaw the lines of your lips
the piecing, I want to touch your face
feel the place where your poetry is born,
beneath the skin and blush, the rush
of words from brain to fingertips

I reallywant to touch your face
 
neonurotic said:
A storm front is rolling in and there is a chance of snow this Sunday. ;)


yes, I check the weather patterns every morning during the winter...I am known to disappear at a moments notice when the snow is falling in the mountains.
how was your test?
 
My son had emergency surgery last night. He's ok and he's already home. We just talked for over an hour and I cried because I miss him and even though he's a big boy, I feel like I should have been with him. I didn't tell him I cried.

He reads my poems. He says they're "awesome" and tells me I'm brave to give up everything to write. I told to drink some gatorade and not get dehydrated.

He still doesn't much like jazz. When he was a little boy I used to sing it to him. Maybe that's why. I remember that his sister and he and I used to dance together and sing The Very Thought of You.

I just got my college transcripts in the mail. eagleyez is laughing at my F in Audiology. I don't even remember taking some of the courses listed on it.

It's gray outside my window. No more snow till tomorrow though. Maybe.

I'm going to make spareribs for dinner. Pork ones. Sorry Grandpop.
 
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