this journal blug

pascal roge :: ravel :: solo pieces for piano :: how the air inside a balloon behaves when no one is watching

as the goofy title music roles up on the end of punch-drunk love, i say emphatically to dom, "i will watch anything this director makes... anything... wouldn't you?"

dom scrunches up his face to make it clear that he would not... he asks me to switch over to channel 6... svengoolie's got pumpkinhead 2...

suzannagig jig

anyone who stumbles onto this journal blug should go read suzanne right now... just forget about everything else... go here

Giornale Nuovo

remind myself again what an excellent site this is... always so surprising and odd... and alive... and beautiful... remind myself to go here often

snowing now... more than flurries... really snowing... lightly... but real... snow

just posted this journal... said i was going to get to work on that pile of paper... but where am i... here... here i am.. reading blogs like nick's.. he's got a good thing beginning "Well, / Perhaps there's more on that / page than you think." ... and jean's ...wishing her strength and peace with her mother's illness... and thanks for sending me to tonio... whom i've added to my links because he sounds real... and... now... about those papers...

what i thought about poetry today:

while trying to read sonnet 8: it is complicated and smart... and i wish i had the footnotes

while typing a bit for fyp: it is a funny thing... and a small risk

while eating cereal for lunch: there is no poetry in the newspaper

during a class discussion: i wish we had a different name for it

so i set bovary aside for awhile today... world honors began watching truffaut's the wild child... just because

roundabout discussion with apes today on selected sonnets by shakespeare...

look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest... had them wondering why a guy would write such stuff about and to another guy... the subsequent poems built on the theme... leading to the genderbending of sonnet 20... why does the teacher have to point out these things the students don't... can't... won't see?

but the teacher does

damn cold won't go away...

go away, damn cold...

some day it will all make sense

dominic was an excellent friend and brother today... to drive me to and from the hospital... to wait hours and hours... to make not too many bad jokes... and to listen to mine...

at what point does ... stop being an affectation and become a... nervous... tic?

Your doctor may give you medication through a vein to help you relax and better tolerate any discomfort from the procedure.

an understatement... it was lights out... i remember nothing... nothing to report... but the doctor sent this postcard from his trip...

i mean what i do at fyp is fairly painless... most of the time... i enjoy it... most of the time... and don't know... what it is... some kind of writing...

{lime tree}: Comment by Robert Flach on More on Meter: "I would even go so far as to say that if one is consistently producing (so-called) poems with little effort, he or she is probably doing something wrong."

now i try to make a point of never calling the things i post at fyp "poems"... well alright sometimes they're "pomes"... but i do make certain inner distinctions between what i do there and what others do... so my things there are not even "so-called"... and yet...

the impulse that gets those things from brain to blog is not... i guess... radically unlike the impulse of others toward a "poem"... hmmm...

Mike Snider's Formal Blog and Sonnetarium

this conversation about scansion is like going back to school... or i should say... like going back to the wild and woolly smartypants school i never attended... i mean... i like it... and if i'm not "learning" anything from it... i'm... at least thinking... in a way

i don't have a theory... i've always wanted one... but it has never arrived...

porter... in his essay on madame bovary... says that one of the functions of the realistic novel is "to mine the rich ground of mediocrity"...

that seems apt... the gap that stretches between our frequently deluded and grandiose inner sense of self and our actual mundane realities... how we resist that understanding... we are these characters in this book... in these books as in our lives the hero and the heroic have not so much died as just evaporated... we are no longer able to believe in ourselves as minor deities...

or... have we gone farther by now... is oedipa maas any improvement over emma bovary... not really... but what about mat fletner and almost any other character in wendell berry's a place on earth... that book feels perfectly idealistic... bucolic... standing up against the bovary...

lisa says the cd player might need cleaning... so i blow off the dust... mostly chalk dust from my roving math teacher second period... but nothing happens... i don't even sneeze... no music today...

a head full of... mucous... makes it hard to... connect with things and people... work... i want to have ideas today... but i seem stuck with a handful of damp kleenex... some days are like this.. i guess

funny that this beat up old school cd player dies... today... right when i need it most... pretty funny

but i can still listen to dylan... and those good dylan covers on masked and anonymous... singing dylan is kind of like eating pasta... must be

cook has a worse cough than me... me i'm just snuffling still...

tomorrow there's nothing to eat... nothing to eat... not a thing

all classes are reading a selection from an essay by laurence porter on madame bovary... he mentions flaubert's satiric purposes and students say "satire? what satire?"... does it help to know that flaubert wouldn't mind our laughing at these characters? satire is hard to get... hard to spot... what is required?

this journal blug

here... during lunch i grit my teeth (bad habit) and create links to this from the main page and from fyp... i'm playing around for the moment... to see if this... a blog related to my day-to-day and this journal... might be useful... we'll see

another test... what the template did...
and didn't... know... and when did it...
know... or not know...
it...

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NY Film & Video Festival

down by the copy machine just now fitz reminds me to send good thoughts out toward nyc next monday night (11.10.03... 10p.m. eastern) while his movie... from yesterday till tomorrow... gets shown at this festival... this is a very good thing... and fitz needs to get rich and famous very soon... but not too soon... or too rich... or too famous... cuz we wouldn't want to see him travelling off away from us...

what if i used this blug to note stuff for future development... as at this journal come fridays... i'm always kind of zombified come friday...can never remember... but this journal blug might help... or it might just become another thing i can't find time to do... like that old brtom at school blog... which is no more... and which you never missed

a good test would be...

finish your phrase:

"my score stood up... i was harping on the integers... collaborating

with the frozen nodes of lethargy... earnestly bereft of illusions...

and caffeine... my number took us by storm... a catalogue of luck

they called Journal of the Golden Verb... i was in all the papers"

i just wrote this and posted it... just back from the xerox room... just done blowing my sore nose... thinking about wednesday and thursday already... o you don't want to know about wednesday and thursday.. what am i gonna do about those slackers in aplit... had the vegetable grill pasta dish at fridays... monday we always go out... cook's night off... can i say that... can i admit we've got a cook... that none of us would care to cook for the rest of us... three guys... and a cook... listening to boston camerata's american spirituals 1770-1870... then son house '65... wondering about class tomorrow... bovary blues

this cold... this journal sniffles... i discovered today that only 15 of 79 apes finished reading madame bovary... in one class absolutely no one finished... some are close to reading... others have barely begun... or haven't...

what if i blog this journal... smaller bits instead of one grand entry every week... what if i was made of green cheese... no blue cheese... or roquefort... will it begin... here