Just yes and yes oh, and yes.

They left earlier you see. They went out, without telling me where they were going to. They took the torch, so I can't imagine they were lost for the dark. And really, father, I do not know where they have gone!

The scratches were heard at the door. Six long ticks, rat tat tat tat tat tat. The door shook loosely from the jam, loosening with each strike.

The door is open.

They are there, normal and unperturbed. Entering they say nothing, but they are grinning, looking at each other.

REALLY we were wondering, you two ... Where were you now .... Do you know how we waited and how worried we were ... How long was it to be before we heard from you ...

The two sat still. It had been late, later than they knew. They had gone out and lost track of the passing time, they had run into Ginny. And really -- Yes? -- Yes, we were going and then came back and we thought it hadn't been past time, so here we are. We're here now. We're here.

It had been silent before the floor creaked. He looked up. There had been rain that afternoon. He could hear the water dripping on the kitchen sill. The Christmas cards would be there soon, it was almost time now. So we could just have dinner now, we're back. He still looked yes down, a speck of dust had just settled on the edge of the sill, he had and rested his eyes on it, captivated. Dinner now, Daddy?
yes

Oh, erh, yes, yes, I was thinking that just now, might be, all things due,

and yes.

Terrible, rediculous play

Don't read this post. Watch tyler's video below. Seriously, save yourself.

I ran out of steam at the end of my finals paper writing, when I had this take home exam for my comp lit class in the Literature of the US South and South America. My teacher made the mistake of giving us the option of 'creating a dialogue' between characters instead of writing an essay for one of the essay topics. THis is what was made.

http://www.esnips.com/web/TheSouthsFinalPlay

i hope the link works. I donno.

June Second

This is a short film (actually, it was shot on video, but calling it a video has such limited conotations for style, production, and intention) which I made for my Faulkner class. It a filmic study, reading, translation of the first few pages of the Quentin chapter ("June Second, 1910") of The Sound and the Fury. I hope it works well on its own, but I think it works best when the audience knows the text, especially that chapter, and especially those few pages. For that reason I wouldn't call it necessarily a dramatization or an adaptation, although it is both. It's not meant to speak for Faulkner, but with him.

I apologize for the quality of the video. I had to post it on YouTube, because esnips has limited their upload size. It's not terrible, but its quite muddy - the original is dark, but still clear in the details.



[ps: the video is kind of jumping around the page here on Safari for some reason. If you want to view it at youtube, here is the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8o9xVz3vYC4

here's something soft for finals week. unfortunately the formatting is all messed up, and i can't figure out how to fix it.

12/14/2006

for c

breathless to say, outside it is beautiful
here where i am loving that time zones exist,
just spliced enough that they make me believe
you've got another hour of this

(only to forget of course that over in the Lone Star
the air is likely more solid, the gelatin
of clouds tingling foggy at your back
who knows how heavy the air is there)

i sit in the grass and whisper “bliss”
a few times to myself
buh-liss, buh-less, buh-lease
until the syllables elongate
and it begins to sound
like “please”

the way my lips part to start the word
each repetition softer, less pressure between,
the “buh” different when my lips meet
in the center or part closer
to the edges of my mouth

at noon a sudden lightness of form
like for clarity’s sake
i should always have a tripod
when the sun is making us wobble
from the eyelashes down

hand slanted into the sun
a holding pattern
as if i am dipping my tray
tipping my hat before
the possibility of health benefits
to a long shift of
serving chocolate cake in twos
pockets jangling with
sweaty tan new york change


“give me your hand,” he said,
billfold visible, a twenty in the palm
thinking, sly, he could trick
the rattling curlyhaired
into imagined trust

once a man left me a $100 tip
"let's call it even and you
come work for me,"
he winked, one eyebrow unsymmetrical
handing me a business card,
impressively stilled it hung there
between index and middle finger

i giggled high enough for restaurants
smiled and slipped the small card
into my pocket, where, moist,
it molded to my hip,
my lighter, my pennies

i only found it later, when, bone tired
i sagged on the subway
the card’s edges dogged, its softened
paperstock insistent,

i read aloud the title “bliss spa” and,
laughing too loud for the 4-5-6
leaned back into the bucket
of the ripped plastic seat


from the last time I imagined “blissful”
i recollect the rearrangement of your shoulder under mine
the point of contact, the end point
a purposeful admission of the end of my limb,
a fingertip to point out where you dreamt

a pointed reddening at the cast of REM sleep, like
the edge of reason when it comes to meticulous collectors
the insane reminder that in spoons or bottled gin
there is always
something left
to bring back

i collect the idea of you behind my knuckles,
flatten my palm, place you somewhere dimmer
where the light slants low in triangles
a place with room for a lined shelf
I am thinking dark wood
that someday they’ll tint red

I recollect

collect the two pm sun skew
remember a collection of pews
recollect squinting shadowless into mold
reorganize a porch within the color green
re-member a lawnful of swingsets
re-place my fingers
with what is left of the grass

I re-collect bliss

and gather my toes to stand,
stretch
lightless
among wild violets

And, collecting,

discount an hour for the sake
Of Central Standard Time.

Lord Buckley

For all you pynchon fans (OK, none of you are pynchon fans), this "Lord Buckley" fellow is apparantly a major player in Against the Day, which makes me more excited to read it. It's good watching if you got ten minutes even if yer not gonna read the book. The hipster shakespeare is especially rewarding

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qh_68zvtk8c

Just stupid shit for finals season, i guess.

Asleep on a Train

'Unfinished' for your pleasure

Roger, will you be my concubine? No, I know what you're thinking, and there need not be any gymnastics on the turnstile. There are plenty of others for that. I have a much more significant role for you in mind. As my concubine, you will have one simple chore: upon the occasion of my bowels making a gaseous utterance, you shall stand by and address me "Your excellency." You see, Roger, I have the most inconvenient habit, upon the passing of such occasions, of releasing my trousers and undgergarments from my hips and giving way to the most unsociable practice of bending over, spreading my -- (ahem,) well, Roger, I need not relate more. The purpose you will attend to, of recalling to me my high stature, and in so doing, helping me to refrain from unseemly gestures, will preclude there ever recurring such overreactions. I am a man of wealth and public standing, and you see, Roger, there is really very little permissibility among my class for reprehensible behaviors. Last Tuesday, as you well know, Miss Judy Lestenbury made her presence at the Centennial Ball quite, let us say, unpalatable, by certain activities involving two rubber oranges and a snakeskin. How one even conceives of putting fruit to such purposes I cannot well make sense of. Albeit the Lestenburys have always had a knack for creativity, and no small hindrance will keep the young Master Paul from budding into a quite fascinating and well-to-do gentleman. That is if his aunt's infamy does not outlive him. So you see, Roger, the job I ask of you is an important one: it makes not too great a lease on your charity, for the demand is small, and you might even take it for a promotion. You hesitate, Roger? I must say, I do not see how you could cling to your present occupation: it really is such a lowly station, you know, with all that business of trading hats and sitting in washbasins. It's awfully unbecoming, Roger, awfully unbecoming. What I offer is so much more rewarding. Do you wish to end up like Franklin? Doting on silversmiths, running up and down those hills all the time?

Inkbath

So here's a link to a PDF of the chapbook I made for my writing class. The website I found is annoying: you have to type in the numbers it shows you, then wait thirty seconds, then download it.

http://www.filehosting.cc/file/15473/EL118-Chapbook-pdf.html

I hope that works

But it's worth checking out if you have a second. It includes the final version of the peice I posted a few posts ago I & I, it changed a lot, and also my india peice, and other random shit, and pretty pictures.

If you want a hard copy, don't come whining to me. Press print.