Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Monday, October 03, 2005
Etc
Thanks to Shann Palmer for the shout out. We met and spoke at the James River Writers Conference, so she should have been in my initial list of "some people I spoke to."
Sappho's poetry is so good it makes my hair stand on end!
Lester is asleep right now, but I am awake.
Someone should write a paper about animals and avant-garde poetry.
Marianne Moore wrote about animals and has an essay called 'What There is to See at the Zoo' (1987): "The zoo shows us that privacy is a fundamental need of all animals. For considerable periods, animals in the zoo will remain out of sight in the quiet of their dens or houses. Glass, recently installed in certain parts of the snake house at the Bronx Zoo makes it possible to see from the outside, but not out from the inside."
Guillaume Apollinaire has several animal poems. For example: The Dove, The Dromedary, The Elephant, The Goat of Tibet, The Octopus, The Peacock.
How about Emily Dickenson?
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin,
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
Or Gary Snyder's "Smokey the Bear Sutra" ?
Or "A Noiseless, Patient Spider," by Mr. Walt Witman?
Or
Oh, John the rabbit, Yes, Ma’am
Got a mighty habit, Yes, Ma’am
Jumping in my garden, Yes Ma’am
Cutting down my cabbage, Yes Ma’am
My sweet potatoes, Yes Ma’am
My fresh tomatoes, Yes Ma’am
An if I live, Yes Ma’am
To see next fall, Yes, Ma’am
I ain’t gonna have, Yes Ma’am
No garden at all, Yes Ma’am
Sappho's poetry is so good it makes my hair stand on end!
Lester is asleep right now, but I am awake.
Someone should write a paper about animals and avant-garde poetry.
Marianne Moore wrote about animals and has an essay called 'What There is to See at the Zoo' (1987): "The zoo shows us that privacy is a fundamental need of all animals. For considerable periods, animals in the zoo will remain out of sight in the quiet of their dens or houses. Glass, recently installed in certain parts of the snake house at the Bronx Zoo makes it possible to see from the outside, but not out from the inside."
Guillaume Apollinaire has several animal poems. For example: The Dove, The Dromedary, The Elephant, The Goat of Tibet, The Octopus, The Peacock.
How about Emily Dickenson?
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin,
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
Or Gary Snyder's "Smokey the Bear Sutra" ?
Or "A Noiseless, Patient Spider," by Mr. Walt Witman?
Or
Oh, John the rabbit, Yes, Ma’am
Got a mighty habit, Yes, Ma’am
Jumping in my garden, Yes Ma’am
Cutting down my cabbage, Yes Ma’am
My sweet potatoes, Yes Ma’am
My fresh tomatoes, Yes Ma’am
An if I live, Yes Ma’am
To see next fall, Yes, Ma’am
I ain’t gonna have, Yes Ma’am
No garden at all, Yes Ma’am
Manatee in Richmond
Read all about Chessie, the manatee who swam all the way up to Richmond, VA.
Chessie Photo (c) Save the Manatee Club
Sunday, October 02, 2005
James River Writers Conference
I was in Richmond this weekend at the James River Writers Conference. It was fun. The weather was nice. I stayed with Cheryl Pallant and did yoga in her basement in the evenings and petted her cats. (Pause to scratch Lester's head).
Some of the people I talked to at the conference (other than Cheryl) were:
Things I learned:
Some of the people I talked to at the conference (other than Cheryl) were:
- Rosalind Miles--Author of I, Elizabeth, and The Guenevere Trilogy, among others. Rosalind has a fabulous sense of humor and is a lively conversationalist. Her feminist perspective was necessary and welcomed. She also wore red bejeweled high heels to the end-of conference party.
- Reb Livingston--We were on a panel together and because she lives near DC I like to claim her as a DC poet.
- Ron Hogan--Ron Hogan smokes cigars and drinks scotch. He also edits Beatrice.
Things I learned:
- That I should be more proactive about sending out work. Usually I just wait until someone solicits something from me. But if I'm going to, like, publish more fiction, I need to send out more fiction, and so on.
- In a poetry panel at a writing conference, someone will always ask "what is a poem?" or "how do you deffine a poem?" They will ask this question with some degree of hostility.
- Poets really are viewed with awe or suspicion.
- A possom is the size of a large cat, but they are not as cute and have bigger heads.
- That I am still quite young.
- That the word "craft" is frequently used at a writing conference.
- That people who write in different genres can have fun at parties together.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
On Not Joining the Circus
At the beginning of my not-yet illustrious graduate school career, which may already be over, I decided to blow off the Modernist Studies Association conference to go to Romania. Friends and acquaintances were either shocked or not shocked, depending.
Some asked, “But isn’t it important that you give papers in your field, aren’t you a modernist?” I didn't tell them that I hadn't even written my paper yet.
Others said sternly, “Resist the urge to join the circus, Lorraine.” I sulked and said nothing.
My advisor was skeptical but not unwilling to help. “What are you going to do in Romania for two weeks? Is it relevant to your thesis?” He had his pen poised to sign a form that would eventually force the department to pay for my plane ticket.
“It’s a translation studies conference,” I said. “And maybe I’ll give a reading there.”
My flight to Bucharest left from New York, so I took a bus up from Washington, DC the night before and stayed with friends in Green Point, Brooklyn.
Here’s the part where I noodle a bit:
Four or maybe five months ago for work, I attended a reading by a well-known and influential poet who said that there had been no good American poets since W. H. Auden. He’s wrong, of course. I probably only care about Auden because of the sense of energy and humor he brought to New York. I can’t fathom the arrogance needed to dismiss, for example, “Beat” poetry, the San Francisco Renaissance, Adrienne Rich, Jerome Rothenberg, the New York School, the Nuyorican Poets, and many many other individuals and groups about which I’ll have to write later.
I don’t know what kind of narrative historians and literary scholars of the future will construct to define and judge the many kinds of poetries being written and performed in the United States. But I can analyze the present, and at present there are a lot of poets. The friends I stayed with in Brooklyn are poets.
Rarely do I exist in a public context where being a poet is relevant, and it's never OK. My partner, Mark, tells a story about traveling in southern Portugal after being at the International Meeting of Poets at the University of Coimbra. He was with the performance artist and writer William R. Howe (although when Mark tells the story it is just “Bill”). Mark and Bill are tall men. At the time Bill was sporting a stiff purple mohawk. They checked into a hotel in a small walled town. They filled out cards with their name, nationality, passport number, and profession. Next to profession they wrote, “poet.” The woman behind the desk didn’t speak any English, but she recognized the word poet.
“Ah, Poetas!” She exclaimed, and gave them a twenty percent discount.
This kind of thing doesn’t happen in the United States. If anything, people want to see cash up front when they find out you’re a poet.
As it turns out, being a poet in Romania is OK, although it has its difficulties. Florin Prodan, poet, critic, and kind host, is often between jobs. When I was in Romania, his friend was making some money by writing an article about garlic.
“Ah,” Florin said, “there is an annual festival of garlic in Bucovina.”
“Tell me, tell me!” His friend replied.
I spent my first three days in Campulung Moldovenesc, a town in Bucovina, nestled in the “foothills” of the Carpathian mountains. I stayed up until 4 in the morning most nights drinking homemade afinata, a liquor made, I think, from a berry similar to blueberries. There was something in the afinata that allowed me to talk all night about poetry, politics, and art. Each morning I woke up at 7:00 am, hyper and excited, without a trace of hangover.
"Afinata is organic," Florin said. "It does not make you sick."
My hosts in Campulung Moldovenesc gave me a large plastic jug of afinata to take with me, since I seemed to like it so much. I lugged this jug on both train and bus rides. In Suceava, the provincial capital of Bucovina, I was starting to feel sentimental and lonely, which meant I haden't had enough sleep. When poet and journalist X showed me a series of achingly lovely unpublished translations of his work, I cried like the Green party/sometimes Democrat I am.
“It’s OK,” he said through a translator. “It’s not your fault you didn’t know of us. But you know us now.”
By the time we arrived in the university town of Iasi, I was strung out and overwhelmed by the number of talented writers I’d met, and had decided once again that I know nothing about anything. I like this feeling, it’s why I travel.
One evening, we retreated to the rooftop balcony in the home of poet Radu Andriescu. Radu is one of the few contemporary Romanian writers to have his work translated into English. On his bookshelves he has a complete set of Sulfur, the magazine edited by Clayton Eshleman dedicated to engaging “multiple aspects of innovative contemporary poetry in the context of international modernism,” etc.
Dizzy, I headed back up the spiral staircase to the roof and complimented Radu on his magazine collection. He looked at me and took my half full glass of Greek (yes, Greek) whisky.
He smiled and says, “let’s put on some Frank Zappa!”
I don't like Frank Zappa, but I like some of Radu's poems. Any man who uses the verb "rape" ironically in song lyrics is not OK. OK, so maybe "Little Rubber Girl" and "Bobby Brown" are ironic, but I don't identify with their glee, and I'm not supposed to, and I don't want to listen to them. But I'm glad that Zappa opposes censorship.
That night, there were no less than five wedding parties at the hotel where we were staying. The music and dancing lasted all night. I called Mark a bit drunk and lonely.
I managed to bring my plastic jug of Afinata back to Washington, DC to share with friends.
“Will it make me blind?” One asked.
------------------
Here’s a recipe for Afinata, in Romanian. Anyone who can tell me exactly what "afine" is/are...please do.
Ingrediente
5 kg afine, 3 kg zahar, 3 I votcă
Mod de preparareSe aleg afinele si se spala, se scurg si se pun in damigeana cu zaharul presarat in straturi, deasupra fiind stratul de zahar. Se leagă damigeana la gură cu tifon împăturit şi se pune la soare cca 4 saptamini. Cind afinele s-au macerat si-au lasat un sirop care acopera fructele, se adauga alcoolul. Se inchide damigeana cu un dop de pluta si se mai pastreaza la macerat cca 3-4 saptamini. Se strecoara prin tifon sau printr-o strecuratoare deasa, se pune in sticle si se pastreaza la rece. In aceleasi condiţii se prepara si zmeurata, cornata si capsunata.
Some asked, “But isn’t it important that you give papers in your field, aren’t you a modernist?” I didn't tell them that I hadn't even written my paper yet.
Others said sternly, “Resist the urge to join the circus, Lorraine.” I sulked and said nothing.
My advisor was skeptical but not unwilling to help. “What are you going to do in Romania for two weeks? Is it relevant to your thesis?” He had his pen poised to sign a form that would eventually force the department to pay for my plane ticket.
“It’s a translation studies conference,” I said. “And maybe I’ll give a reading there.”
My flight to Bucharest left from New York, so I took a bus up from Washington, DC the night before and stayed with friends in Green Point, Brooklyn.
Here’s the part where I noodle a bit:
Four or maybe five months ago for work, I attended a reading by a well-known and influential poet who said that there had been no good American poets since W. H. Auden. He’s wrong, of course. I probably only care about Auden because of the sense of energy and humor he brought to New York. I can’t fathom the arrogance needed to dismiss, for example, “Beat” poetry, the San Francisco Renaissance, Adrienne Rich, Jerome Rothenberg, the New York School, the Nuyorican Poets, and many many other individuals and groups about which I’ll have to write later.
I don’t know what kind of narrative historians and literary scholars of the future will construct to define and judge the many kinds of poetries being written and performed in the United States. But I can analyze the present, and at present there are a lot of poets. The friends I stayed with in Brooklyn are poets.
Rarely do I exist in a public context where being a poet is relevant, and it's never OK. My partner, Mark, tells a story about traveling in southern Portugal after being at the International Meeting of Poets at the University of Coimbra. He was with the performance artist and writer William R. Howe (although when Mark tells the story it is just “Bill”). Mark and Bill are tall men. At the time Bill was sporting a stiff purple mohawk. They checked into a hotel in a small walled town. They filled out cards with their name, nationality, passport number, and profession. Next to profession they wrote, “poet.” The woman behind the desk didn’t speak any English, but she recognized the word poet.
“Ah, Poetas!” She exclaimed, and gave them a twenty percent discount.
This kind of thing doesn’t happen in the United States. If anything, people want to see cash up front when they find out you’re a poet.
As it turns out, being a poet in Romania is OK, although it has its difficulties. Florin Prodan, poet, critic, and kind host, is often between jobs. When I was in Romania, his friend was making some money by writing an article about garlic.
“Ah,” Florin said, “there is an annual festival of garlic in Bucovina.”
“Tell me, tell me!” His friend replied.
I spent my first three days in Campulung Moldovenesc, a town in Bucovina, nestled in the “foothills” of the Carpathian mountains. I stayed up until 4 in the morning most nights drinking homemade afinata, a liquor made, I think, from a berry similar to blueberries. There was something in the afinata that allowed me to talk all night about poetry, politics, and art. Each morning I woke up at 7:00 am, hyper and excited, without a trace of hangover.
"Afinata is organic," Florin said. "It does not make you sick."
My hosts in Campulung Moldovenesc gave me a large plastic jug of afinata to take with me, since I seemed to like it so much. I lugged this jug on both train and bus rides. In Suceava, the provincial capital of Bucovina, I was starting to feel sentimental and lonely, which meant I haden't had enough sleep. When poet and journalist X showed me a series of achingly lovely unpublished translations of his work, I cried like the Green party/sometimes Democrat I am.
“It’s OK,” he said through a translator. “It’s not your fault you didn’t know of us. But you know us now.”
By the time we arrived in the university town of Iasi, I was strung out and overwhelmed by the number of talented writers I’d met, and had decided once again that I know nothing about anything. I like this feeling, it’s why I travel.
One evening, we retreated to the rooftop balcony in the home of poet Radu Andriescu. Radu is one of the few contemporary Romanian writers to have his work translated into English. On his bookshelves he has a complete set of Sulfur, the magazine edited by Clayton Eshleman dedicated to engaging “multiple aspects of innovative contemporary poetry in the context of international modernism,” etc.
Dizzy, I headed back up the spiral staircase to the roof and complimented Radu on his magazine collection. He looked at me and took my half full glass of Greek (yes, Greek) whisky.
He smiled and says, “let’s put on some Frank Zappa!”
I don't like Frank Zappa, but I like some of Radu's poems. Any man who uses the verb "rape" ironically in song lyrics is not OK. OK, so maybe "Little Rubber Girl" and "Bobby Brown" are ironic, but I don't identify with their glee, and I'm not supposed to, and I don't want to listen to them. But I'm glad that Zappa opposes censorship.
That night, there were no less than five wedding parties at the hotel where we were staying. The music and dancing lasted all night. I called Mark a bit drunk and lonely.
I managed to bring my plastic jug of Afinata back to Washington, DC to share with friends.
“Will it make me blind?” One asked.
------------------
Here’s a recipe for Afinata, in Romanian. Anyone who can tell me exactly what "afine" is/are...please do.
Ingrediente
5 kg afine, 3 kg zahar, 3 I votcă
Mod de preparareSe aleg afinele si se spala, se scurg si se pun in damigeana cu zaharul presarat in straturi, deasupra fiind stratul de zahar. Se leagă damigeana la gură cu tifon împăturit şi se pune la soare cca 4 saptamini. Cind afinele s-au macerat si-au lasat un sirop care acopera fructele, se adauga alcoolul. Se inchide damigeana cu un dop de pluta si se mai pastreaza la macerat cca 3-4 saptamini. Se strecoara prin tifon sau printr-o strecuratoare deasa, se pune in sticle si se pastreaza la rece. In aceleasi condiţii se prepara si zmeurata, cornata si capsunata.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Today's Ailments
Sore, still, from ten A and ten B sun salutations at the beginning of a vinyasa class on Friday
Allergies
Dry skin
Nausea
Blisters from wearing heels today
Allergies
Dry skin
Nausea
Blisters from wearing heels today
How was your weekend?
It was good, thank you for asking. I went to yoga on Friday and then grocery shopping. On Saturday morning I tutored, then I went to yoga, then I went down to the mall to protest, then I tutored some more, then I went to the bar and saw my friends, then I went to my friends house. I ate too much pizza. This post sucks.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Things my bird did today
- Bathed in his water dish
- Threw hemp seeds on the floor
- Sang to Ella Fitzgerald while sitting on my shoulder
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Sundays
So I switched to a new template and so haven't updated any of my links. They still say "edit me!"
It's Sunday, and so I am nostalgic for things that aren't even gone. I'm nostalgic for the festival of Ganesh and I've never been a festival of Ganesh.
The story of Ganesh involves decapitation, so naturally I think of it every so often.
Let's see if I can find a Ganesh picture. (As you can see, I have found a picture of Ganesh).
Hello Ganesh!
G-d! I don't want to go to sleep, because if I go to sleep that means I have to wake up and go to work and then it will be Monday.
I'm online at PEN Sound!
Hey, there's a recording of me reading in Segue at the Bowery Poetry Club in New York from December 6, 2003 online at PEN Sound. I sound good and young and nervous, and you can hear me clicking my tongue and mumbling to myself in between poems. Mark and I nearly didn't make it up that weekend. It was very very snowy.
Readings, Mice
Last night I read with M. Magnus and Megan McShea in the i.e. poetry series at Red Emma's Bookstore in Baltimore. It was fun. Being from DC (I guess I'm from DC), I like Baltimore and say things like "I'd like to live in Baltimore) everytime I go.
I'd never met Megan before--she gave a lovely reading and interesting and intelligent things to say about experimental music in Baltimore and elsewhere. She has work in Shattered Wig.
I know M and his work from DC, but he read new stuff that I'd never heard, including a hillarious T.S. Elliot spook! You can read some of M's work online in Your Black Eye.
And, ooh, Daniel Higgs of Lungfish was there.
Lester is signing/saying "Salt peanuts salt peanuts" and "Lester's a pretty bird!" in his little raspy robot bird voice--it's very cute!
Being in Baltimore last night, I didn't have the chance to go to an event at Kaplans, but I suspect he should say something about it on his blog, croissant factory.
Also, there is a tiny and brazen mouse in my apartament who is eating Lester's food. Does anyone have any advice about what to do?
I'd never met Megan before--she gave a lovely reading and interesting and intelligent things to say about experimental music in Baltimore and elsewhere. She has work in Shattered Wig.
I know M and his work from DC, but he read new stuff that I'd never heard, including a hillarious T.S. Elliot spook! You can read some of M's work online in Your Black Eye.
And, ooh, Daniel Higgs of Lungfish was there.
Lester is signing/saying "Salt peanuts salt peanuts" and "Lester's a pretty bird!" in his little raspy robot bird voice--it's very cute!
Being in Baltimore last night, I didn't have the chance to go to an event at Kaplans, but I suspect he should say something about it on his blog, croissant factory.
Also, there is a tiny and brazen mouse in my apartament who is eating Lester's food. Does anyone have any advice about what to do?
Friday, September 16, 2005
uh
ESL Textbooks
Advice Columns
The East Coast Counselor Blog
I have no brain. I'm here with my bird sitting under my hair on the back of my neck, and I'm a little headachy from my wine. I thought I was going to work tonight but in fact I was supposed to work Wednesday night. Something of a screw up.
Hey y'all, my brother is giving a seminar on "Identification and Estimation of the Efficiency and Equity Effects of Segregation" in mid-November. I like the idea that the effects of segregation can be measured and understood. I don't know if I believe it though, but I like the idea.
There is a mouse that has been crawling into Lester's cage and eating his food. I don't like this.
I have a balcony. Near the balcony are some trees. In the trees there are birds. The birds sing when the sun goes down. This is something I like.
Things my students have mentioned about the United States:
1. Strangers come up to them and make (usually) nice comments about their children.
2. People in the United States like free things.
Some things I learned today teaching ESL:
I almost never use the imparative command form. Rarely do I even bother with some of the stronger modals used to give advice (I suggest..., we ought to..., we must...etc) or make polite requests (would you mind....?). Instead, I use a very meek and polite "Let's..." or "Why don't we...?" I used "shall I..." in a poem once.
In Papua New Guinea there are Sulfer-Crested Cockatoos. I knew one named Surf. He ate our bananas. I should like to go birdwatching in Papua New Guinea someday.
There was a very large bug in my classroom this morning. It was fast and had many legs.
Look at some pictures of Tabubil (ooo, I used the imparative form)! I was there when I was a youngin' and one could (maybe one still can) swim in the rivers--I forget which one we swam in--either the OK Tedi or the OK Minga. But there is STILL no real workable road to Tabubil, more than twenty years later.
If anyone would like to fund my inevitable return trip to Tabubil, send me an email.
Advice Columns
The East Coast Counselor Blog
I have no brain. I'm here with my bird sitting under my hair on the back of my neck, and I'm a little headachy from my wine. I thought I was going to work tonight but in fact I was supposed to work Wednesday night. Something of a screw up.
Hey y'all, my brother is giving a seminar on "Identification and Estimation of the Efficiency and Equity Effects of Segregation" in mid-November. I like the idea that the effects of segregation can be measured and understood. I don't know if I believe it though, but I like the idea.
There is a mouse that has been crawling into Lester's cage and eating his food. I don't like this.
I have a balcony. Near the balcony are some trees. In the trees there are birds. The birds sing when the sun goes down. This is something I like.
Things my students have mentioned about the United States:
1. Strangers come up to them and make (usually) nice comments about their children.
2. People in the United States like free things.
Some things I learned today teaching ESL:
I almost never use the imparative command form. Rarely do I even bother with some of the stronger modals used to give advice (I suggest..., we ought to..., we must...etc) or make polite requests (would you mind....?). Instead, I use a very meek and polite "Let's..." or "Why don't we...?" I used "shall I..." in a poem once.
In Papua New Guinea there are Sulfer-Crested Cockatoos. I knew one named Surf. He ate our bananas. I should like to go birdwatching in Papua New Guinea someday.
There was a very large bug in my classroom this morning. It was fast and had many legs.
Look at some pictures of Tabubil (ooo, I used the imparative form)! I was there when I was a youngin' and one could (maybe one still can) swim in the rivers--I forget which one we swam in--either the OK Tedi or the OK Minga. But there is STILL no real workable road to Tabubil, more than twenty years later.
If anyone would like to fund my inevitable return trip to Tabubil, send me an email.
Reasons to Love Emus
There are several pictures of me with Emus, but none of them are digital yet. Resons to love Emus:- Fast runner, can reach speeds of up to 40 mph for short bursts.
- Running bird can make a stride of nine feet.
- Expert swimmer.
- Bill is broad and soft, adapted for browsing and grazing.
- When food is abundant, large stores of fat are developed.
- They move great distances for food except when males are sitting on eggs.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Jobs to apply for
Meatcutter Leader
Supervisory Chemist
Chemist
Supervisory Electronics Technician
Electronics Technician
E-Organizer/Systems Administrator/HellRaiser
Death Penalty Coordinator
Supervisory Chemist
Chemist
Supervisory Electronics Technician
Electronics Technician
E-Organizer/Systems Administrator/HellRaiser
Death Penalty Coordinator
Sunday, September 11, 2005
I am a maid
I am a maid that sleeps in love, for I am a maid that's deep in love and I dare not once complain, I am a maid supplier from Indonesia, I am a maid agency in Singapore, but I also supply maids to other agencies, I am a maid that sleeps in love and cannot feel my pain, for though I am a maid, I can easily believe as how all men are not equally agreeable, once I am recovered from the apparent physical effects, and he understands that I think I am a maid, you must convince him that the effects are only temporary and that my memory will come back by itself, I am a maid, my lord, that ne'er before invited eyes, but have been gazed on like a comet, Sir, I demand, I am a maid named Iris, I am a maid that's deep in love But, yes, I can complain I have in this world but one true love, God is my witness, I am a maid, I am a maid of shots & pills swivel the lights of Beverly Hills, it’s for to wed your eldest son I am a maid oer mean, I’ll rather stay at home and die for Hazelgreen, I told you that I am a maid, a servant, I am a maid looking for houses to clean, but Saturdays only, well I am married with 2 kids so therefore i am a maid doctor cook jungle gym teacher human napkin and a gardner, I am a maid that's deep in love but yes I can complain, for once I was a sailor on sea but now I am a maid on shore,
I am a maid-servant of the Sairindhri class. I tell thee this truly, I know to dress the hair to pound fragrant substances for preparing unguents, I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not, I am a Maid of Honor to the Queen of England, then for your heart to me resign befor your parents know it O then said she as I am a maid with you I'll freely marry I will no longer be afraid , but I am a maid and they think that I Should content me with weaving tapestry, I am no strumpet, by my life, I am a maid, and, as by my nature, and by my semblant and by my vesture, Myn handes been nat shapen for a knyf, I pretend I am a maid, the fact that I am a woman does not mean that I am a maid, am wearing a red hat in one scene, and I am a maid in another scene, and I am a lawyer in another, I am so excited you are here, I can walk down a residential street in a white neighborhood and no one will think that I am a maid or gardener, I am a Maid, not a Stone, I am a maid, but not a slave, But take this head-band, which the woman that made it gave to me; for it is not proper that I should wear it, because I am a maid-servant, people often think that I am a maid or housekeeper, and they say to me, "Oh how come they make you take care of so many children? I AM A MAID THAT NEEDS A MISTRESS TO IRON FOR AS SHE LAYS THE WHIP TO ME, I am a maid. A Big, glorified, maid. It's not that I resent doing these chores, but there's nothing special about me doing them. Anyone could do them. I am a maid within, And you're a fool without. I am a bachelor; and more than that I am a maid.
I am a maid who is looking for a lot of email training. So I want to ask all mistresses to mail me. I am a maid in sorrow to complain, I am a maid of honor (actually matron) at my best friend's wedding, I am a maid untouched, my wisdom, and somedeal of might, abideth with me, and only so long.
I am a maid-servant of the Sairindhri class. I tell thee this truly, I know to dress the hair to pound fragrant substances for preparing unguents, I'll swear I am a maid, and he knows not, I am a Maid of Honor to the Queen of England, then for your heart to me resign befor your parents know it O then said she as I am a maid with you I'll freely marry I will no longer be afraid , but I am a maid and they think that I Should content me with weaving tapestry, I am no strumpet, by my life, I am a maid, and, as by my nature, and by my semblant and by my vesture, Myn handes been nat shapen for a knyf, I pretend I am a maid, the fact that I am a woman does not mean that I am a maid, am wearing a red hat in one scene, and I am a maid in another scene, and I am a lawyer in another, I am so excited you are here, I can walk down a residential street in a white neighborhood and no one will think that I am a maid or gardener, I am a Maid, not a Stone, I am a maid, but not a slave, But take this head-band, which the woman that made it gave to me; for it is not proper that I should wear it, because I am a maid-servant, people often think that I am a maid or housekeeper, and they say to me, "Oh how come they make you take care of so many children? I AM A MAID THAT NEEDS A MISTRESS TO IRON FOR AS SHE LAYS THE WHIP TO ME, I am a maid. A Big, glorified, maid. It's not that I resent doing these chores, but there's nothing special about me doing them. Anyone could do them. I am a maid within, And you're a fool without. I am a bachelor; and more than that I am a maid.
I am a maid who is looking for a lot of email training. So I want to ask all mistresses to mail me. I am a maid in sorrow to complain, I am a maid of honor (actually matron) at my best friend's wedding, I am a maid untouched, my wisdom, and somedeal of might, abideth with me, and only so long.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Some things that are true
- I thought I saw a rat in the apartment two days ago.
- I thought I saw a rat in the apartment yesterday.
- It is Monday.
- I baked two flaxseed and soy carrot cakes on Sunday.
- My flaxseed-soy carrot cake actually tastes good.
- On Saturday I ate vegan cake with "OM" written on it.
- There is a lot of talk about food and eating, metaphorically, in the first books of the Upanishads.
- I've been reading Orlando, by Virginia Woolf.
- I've been reading fast-paced nonfiction about Papua New Guinea and Melanesia.
- I have been thinking about tree kangaroos.
- I've started writing poems every evening after reading the Upanishads and now I'm worried that I'm writing some dull feminist creation myth series. Feminist creation myths are great, but they've been done before.
- Is a Buddhist angel a dharmapala or dodhisattva?
- Encinitas, California has letter streets.
- I am going to make some mint tea.
Today's Ailments
- It is Monday
- My bird is still ill. I have begun to suspect that he may be suffering from megabacteria. I hope this is not the case
- I can't sleep. See above
- Stomach cramps
- Sore uddiyana bandha
- Heebie-jeebies--nearly screaming meemies without the screaming part
- Wheezing
- Swolen throat
- Stuffy nose
- Hives on earlobes and the backs of knees
Friday, August 19, 2005
Today's ailments
- excessive sleepiness
- tight external rotators
- bloating
- blisters from wearing high-heel slingbacks yesterday
- blotchy skin
- bloodshot eyes
- stress from missing boyfriend and taking care of sick bird.
Some things that are true
- It is 84 and rainy.
- Lester has an infection in the back of his throat and has to take an apple-flavored antibiotic. Afterwards he is allowed to eat hemp seeds.
- I did not practice full primary-series today, but only the standing sequence.
- I had leftover Mongolian dumplings for dinner.
- I moved my coats and jackets from my closet to a newly-vacant closet. My coats and jackets take up the entire newly-vacant closet.
- Someone has lost the key to the copy room.
- I own an excessive number of beauty products.
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