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Showing posts from September, 2012

A limerick

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I, Daniel, am planning a spread Of humus, falafel and bread; And since my own pate Is smooth as a plate, I’ll serve it on top of my head.


*** Who rocks the limericks? Mad Kane rocks the limericks!

Left and found

Left and found

“To think that once I was the same man did not embarrass me.” —Cheslaw Milosz

The worst interview of my life: I want the memory to stop slapping me in the forehead. I would have been a teacher, but the three-day introduction at the art school in the mountains fell like bear shit in snow. I got shut and shy, retriggered faults, sat with the maintenance staff instead of my future fellows because it was the first seat I saw in the strange dining hall. My friend who’d opened the door for me stopped meeting my eyes. The last morning, I slipped away like a whisper through the snow, hazarding the icy roads to leave. The teachers—they had put me with the one boy who was not fitting in thinking, perhaps, we could help each other.
I believe in redemption,
so I’ll go back into that time with skis and with honey, with sage and age, a candle and a poem. I’ll let my body untangle the monkey puzzle, and not merely surrender to the wisdom of timing (I have no trouble doing tha…