August 2012

   1 234

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Thursday, November 3rd, 2011 05:41 pm
Lisa: Well aren't you just a precious little snowflake....

Me: I am not A precious little snowflake, I am THE precious little snowflake. I resent all insinuations that there might be other snowflakes out there that are also precious! I even resent the idea that there might be other snowflakes!

xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx

"When one does not know what it is, then it is something; but when one knows what it is, then it is nothing. What is it?"

"It is a riddle."

"I stand on one leg, with my heart in my head."

"A cabbage,"

"What comes once in a minute, twice in a moment, but never in a thousand years?"

"The letter M."

"A white dove flew down by the castle. Along came a king and picked it up handless, ate it up toothless, and carried it away wingless. What is it?"

"Snow melting in the sun."

"What belongs to you, but other people use it more than you do?"

"Your name."

"What is it that you can keep after giving it to someone else?"

"Your word."

"What breaks even when you name it?"


"I have a little house I live in all alone. It has no doors or windows, and if I want to leave I must break through the wall."

"A chick in the egg."

xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx xOx

I Imagine The Gods, by Jack Gilbert

I imagine the gods saying, We will
make it up to you. We will give you
three wishes, they say. Let me see
the squirrels again, I tell them.
Let me eat some of the great hog
stuffed and roasted on its giant spit
and put out, steaming, into the winter
of my neighborhood when I was usually
too broke to afford even the hundred grams
I ate so happily walking up the cobbles,
past the Street of the Moon
and the Street of the Birdcage-Makers,
the Street of Silence and the Street
of the Little Pissing. We can give you
wisdom, they say in their rich voices.
Let me go at last to Hugette, I say,
the Algerian student with her huge eyes
who timidly invited me to her room
when I was too young and bewildered
that first year in Paris.
Let me at least fail at my life.
Think, they say patiently, we could
make you famous again. Let me fall
in love one last time, I beg them.
Teach me mortality, frighten me
into the present. Help me to find
the heft of these days. That the nights
will be full enough and my heart feral.


Anonymous( )Anonymous This account has disabled anonymous posting.
OpenID( )OpenID You can comment on this post while signed in with an account from many other sites, once you have confirmed your email address. Sign in using OpenID.
Account name:
If you don't have an account you can create one now.
HTML doesn't work in the subject.


Notice: This account is set to log the IP addresses of everyone who comments.
Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.