Happy to have my art featured on the cover of Sundog Lit‘s Issue 13. Check out the new issue here!
Chopin dishes in the sink / Nocturnes unmade bed / Alive a sonata for piano / Eggs sunny side & Opus 9
I was watching an interview on YouTube with novelist Paul Auster today. He said he writes longhand when in the early phase of a book then completes the manuscript using a typewriter. I thought this was quite rare and interesting.
I personally compose poetry and prose in my journal using longhand, then I take it to the computer to finish it up.
I’ve always wondered what it would be like to compose on a typewriter. I have a feeling my writing would be considerably less filtered.
I thought I would just sit here and have a coffee
I thought I would eavesdrop on a Las Vegas woman who went on about her Yankees hat
I thought I would try not to spend money
I thought I would stick my nose up at a Starbucks cup
I thought the man next to me would have nothing else better to do
I thought I would fall short of solutions
I thought I would be out of things to say
I thought I would just read about owls
I thought I would photograph the clouds
I thought I would think about David Sedaris
I thought I would read Leo Tolstoy quotes
I thought I would just stare into my empty coffee cup
My most recent darling words are diaphanous, sinuous, lithe and finery.
Marie Antoinette’s finery.
I want to write a story or poem with all those words. Maybe I will throw in ostentatious, too. And tulle.
I noticed a model in a mag who wore a ring, its width spanning to the bend of her forefinger. Not a wedding band, of course, ‘cause the world of fashion modeling is one of availability — of disengagement, full of time to amble, with the occasional need to stare down voyeurs.
She tried to be proper with her salad but she was hungry. She could not interject as her guest spoke for fear her food bits would take flight. She asked open-ended questions here and there and then chomped during the replies.
- poetry journal
- army jacket
The lit being Gertrude Stein and the art being Robert Motherwell, and of course the journal & jacket being mine. Ha
What Doris was
was sandwiches & mustard
husband Joe drinking cold Michelob
Him with a bottle & belch at the table
beat up dungarees and missing teeth
Feral cats squatting his gutted & rusted bug
and his decrepit mitt in the shed
that smelled of cigarettes Continue reading “upstate lunch”
Women are sexy when they paint. I’ve seen women paint where they get dirty, barefoot on the studio floor (a granola blonde.) I insist that it is break time.
Just because you used the word “pairings” does not make you sophisticated.
Please do not offer to put me in contact with your mentor.