I’m a little worried that David never came home from the gas station.
Yikes! Scholars who blog! (With thanks to wood s lot.)
From the Winter 1981-92 issue of Bridge: Passenger Luis Cabalquinto A poem got on this bus at the last stop Now it sits across from you It looks you in the eye, asks about your job Your spouse, your children, what you’ve done with your life
I was accused this afternoon of not living in the 21st century because I haven’t seen The Matrix Reloaded yet. A sympathetic listener pointed out that this only meant that I was living in 1997.
John Erhardt and I have been having an (uh-oh) “interesting” exchange on Ammons, after his posting of an Ammons poem and my “huh?” response. John’s put up an informative and longer post on Ammons, apparently previously Bloggobbled.
I’m back inthe Special Collections library. There are two people kissing at the table in front of me. Books are sexy. Old books I guess are really sexy.
Cassie: Didn’t Ron Silliman just give us a sermon to doubt?
Stephanie says some of Kasey’s categories were arranged “alphabetically, which seemed properly democratic.” Stephanie–I would have thought that as somebody else who has a “Y” last name you’d recognize the alphabet for the repressive apparatus that it is! I shouldn’t pick on her. My links are alphabetical too. But by title. I hope the cat comes back.
Wow. Jordan reads me on the subway. On his Handspring. if I didn’t download ’em I’d never get any work done. Clever solution. I just don’t get any work done.
And soak the poor.