seldomifever: (Default)
Ah! [ profile] breathe_poetry has just posted Grief by Matthew Dickman. One of his better known poems, m'dears. Check it out.
seldomifever: (smoking)
Ooh, just read a great article on Matthew Dickman and his twin brother, Michael, in this week's New Yorker. Fills me with fannish glee. Unfortunately, the only link I can give you is to an abridged version of the article. Must register for the full length. Bahstids. I'm thinking of buying everyone I know a copy of All-American Poem. Here's another one of my favorites from it.
seldomifever: (manchild)
As promised, I am foisting my good taste upon you. Savor it. It is divine.


The skinny girl walking arm-in-arm
with her little sister
is wearing a shirt that says
and I want to,
I want to put my bag of groceries down
beside the fire hydrant
and whisper something in her ear
about long division.
I want to stand behind her and run
a single finger down her spine
while she tells me all about her correlatives.
Maybe she’ll moan a little
when I tell her that x equals negative-b
plus or minus the square root
of b-squared minus 4(a)(c) all over
2a. I have my hopes.
I could show her my comic books
and Play Station. And we could pull out
my old D&D cards
and sit in the basement with a candle lit.
I know enough about Dr.Who
and the Star Fleet Enterprise
to get her shirt off, to unbutton her jeans.
We could work our String Theory
all over her bedroom.
We could bend space together.
But maybe that’s not what she’s asking.
The world’s been talking dirty
ever since she’s had the ears to listen.
It’s been talking sleazy to all of us
and there’s nothing about the hydrogen bomb
that makes me want to wear a cock ring
or do it in the kitchen while a pot of water boils.
Maybe, with her shoulders slouched
the way they are and her long hair
covering so much of her face,
she’s asking, simply, to be considered
something more than a wild night, a tight
curl of pubic hair, the pink,
complicated, structures of nipples.
Maybe she wants to be measured beyond
the teaspoon shadow of the anus
and the sweet mollusk of the tongue,
beyond the equation of limbs and seen
as a complete abolute.
And maybe this is not a giant leap
into the science of compassion, but it’s something.
So when I pass her
I do exactly what she has asked of me,
I raise my right hand and make a V
the way Vulcans do when they wish someone well,
hoping she gets what she wants, even
if it has to be in a galaxy far away.

- Matthew Dickman
seldomifever: (manchild)
Read an interesting article about a woman who's still nursing her six yr old. I'm always amazed at people's visceral reactions to breastfeeding, as evidenced by the comments following the article. Obviously anyone who links breastfeeding with pedophilia has never nursed, because there is absolutely nothing on earth that could be less sexual. Heh. I used to see this gastroenterologist who said that he once had a patient nurse her five yr old in front of him and he'd never seen anything more disgusting in his life. I thought, Wow, that's saying a lot, considering you spend your life looking up people's asses, buddy. The arrogant dickhead. Not that I'm super comfortable when someone starts nursing in front of me, but I think that has less to do with the kid's age and more to do with feeling like I'm witnessing something that seems very private. I wouldn't want to be hanging out chatting and have someone suddenly drop trou and start urinating in front of me either, no matter how natural peeing may be.

My boy had his birthday yesterday. I kept hoping someone from my sister's family would surprise him by stopping by, but they didn't. I'm always told that people only treat you the way you let yourself be treated, and I suppose it's true, on some level. They were invited, they blew it off, so what's left to do? I suppose I could cut them off and never speak to them again. I could refuse to attend their b-day parties or say no when one of them appears at my doorstep, begging me to pick nits out of their hair for hours and days on end. But that would be really hard for me. I'm not sure I'd be comfortable intentionally hurting another person, the way they did my son. My therapist says I should consider adopting the Buddhist philosophy of Bodhisattva, wherein I accept altruism as bringing me a step closer to enlightenment. Or something like that. I can't really sort out the details, but it sounds good when he says it.

I've got a small pile of stories I'm getting closer to releasing into the world, even though I'm not super pleased with them. Hanging onto them forever doesn't seem to improve them any, so I guess I should just take the plunge. As fascinating as my personal life may be, a fic now and then might be kinder to inflict upon the world.

(Today's entry title comes from a Matthew Dickman poem I stumbled across this morning. Love, love!)
seldomifever: (landscape)
On evenings like these, I always think of the last bit of James Agee's Knoxville: Summer 1915: )

Love love that poem and summer nights and gathering with my family in celebration. At least I think tonight was a celebration. Went to [ profile] sczsister's house for a going away party for three of her four children. They're headed off to colleges in Canada, California, and Massachusetts. We'll really miss them, but even though they're leaving, I don't feel like we'll never see them. One thing I've learned is that life rarely moves forward in a straight path. Children who leave do come back. I went to UMass the fall after high school, withdrew at the very end of my second semester, went to SUNY Stony Brook for a year, left school altogether for a few months to wait tables, and then returned to UMass to finish my degree. Not that my story is typical, and I certainly hope they have more direction than I did in my youth, but you never know how things will work out. I'm happy for them. Excited they're entering this awesome new phase. And college is wonderful. Wish I could have dragged that part of my life out for even longer than I did.
seldomifever: (Default)
Good Grief! Fucking Texas.

Drive home from Cape took forever, but everyone kept their cool and their spirits up, so it was far less painful than it might have been. Literally took about three hours to go 50 miles, but that's what you get when you leave at 10am on a Saturday in August. We know better. Came home to this relevant New Yorker cartoon. It's funny, 'cause it's true.

Thought I had more to say, but I guess I really don't, so I'll just leave you with Matthew Dickman's fine poem this evening.


May. 17th, 2008 01:30 pm
seldomifever: (shut up)
because these lines from Bob Hicok's poem are awesome:
“Osiris, we beseech thee, rise and give us baseball”
is how we might sound were we Egyptian in April

because this makes me giggle

because I'm fairly certain that this picture is blurry and can't for the life of me figure out why Anthony Head would use it

because this song rocks my socks off


May. 3rd, 2008 10:08 pm
seldomifever: (scruffy)
More links for you to enjoy, because these cartoons amused me, this poem is fantastic, and David Sedaris rocks.
seldomifever: (Default)
I am digging my renewed subscription to The New Yorker. This cartoon, this poem, and this article bring me great joy. Although, to be fair, I haven't read through the whole zine yet, so there is the chance I'll come across things that make me even happier. I like to read magazines from back to front. Fascinating, yes?

Youngest had a high fever and vomited throughout the night, so, once again, I am running on empty. Somehow I managed to get a lot accomplished today anyway. Tomorrow I'm sure I'll be brain dead. Three effs, baby.


seldomifever: (Default)

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