Entries from September 2008

25 September 2008

You Are Always A Little Too Young To Understand He Is Bored With His Sense Of The Past The Artist


Wilco_No More Poetry
Wilco_Forget The Flowers
by Frank O’Hara
It’s my lunch hour, so I go
for a walk among the hum-colored
cabs. First, down the sidewalk
where laborers feed their dirty
glistening torsos sandwiches
and Coca-Cola, with yellow helmets
on. They protect them from falling
bricks, I guess. Then onto the
avenue where skirts are flipping
above heels and blow up [...]

21 September 2008

We Don’t Make Eye Contact

Fuck, I said, loudly, fuck this broke ass city.
TV On The Radio_Family Tree

My Liberty scarf was dragging in the gravel and my yoga clothes had spilled out of my backpack.

I pulled out the credit card sized map Tulane had given my class at orientation.  I’d never looked at it before: I’d evacuated from New Orleans [...]

2 September 2008

And Wear The Dress I Like So Well And Meet Me In The Old Saloon

I am safe; I left New Orleans early and now I’m in Memphis.  I’m dry, grateful, and a better houseguest to Republicans than you ever might have imagined.