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Monday, August 30, 2010


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I always suspected it was like this.

I never got rid of the shoes. I think therein lies some of my problems.

Also? Hell yes. This is perfect.


This is poetry -- regret, fax, chinese food.

I want to climb in and bathe. Or dive into the box high up in my closet that holds the old letters.

This is the piece I meant to write -- damn you. Love you.

This is, obviously, a finely-wrought slice of bitterness and determination and the inability to relinquish hope... but it's your deadpan "Wherever it is people are fucking these days" that had me cackling inappropriately in front of my children this morning.

All hail the Palinode.

Rotten cheese. Yum . . .

Great writing. I would have enjoyed the scene in front of the closet more if you'd stretched it out a bit . . . Let it linger and percolate . . .

But that's just me . . .

Fucking really does make the world go round, doesn't it?

God, we're such animals. Not that I'm complaining.

This is gorgeous.

I stand at the dumpster and stare at the anonymous lumps and angles inside the bags other people have thrown in.

Hello, there is riotous applause in my head for that line.

The whole piece, really, but extra helpings for that line.

Absolutely outstanding.

This line?

She'll stay, bound by the shock and power of the word, until she understands my love more clearly.

This line is haunting.

I laughed aloud at the first line. I felt sorry for the narrator by the last two sentences. That how it is in so many of our relationships, is it not?

The Cat's Pajamas - same premise, same masterful artwork - charms me completely. Do his animal characters possess a smidge more expression? Are the compositions a titch less crowded? Are the idioms illustrated just a hair more commonplace? I don't know. I think so. What a treat. On a page captioned, "Wade had never driven a submarine before, so he couldn't wait to get his feet wet," a frog drives a Buck Rogers-y striped minisub past colorful reef fasdfish and a skeptical-looking octopus. The submarine has holes for Wade's legs, so his feet, indeed, are wet. As Camilla the Camel waits for the Oasis Express, she "cools her heels," with each foot plunged into a luscious ice cream cone, a blissed-out expression on her face.

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