Accidental poetry: second installment

By Snyder, via text:

David was just picked up for public nudity outside his parents house. Trying to make snow angels in the ice :'(

Accidental poetry

By my brother, via text:

"I farted in the middle of the night last night while I was half asleep and it lasted no lie 15 seconds."

New year, new books

As 2011 slowly crawls into being, I'm beginning an ambitious reading list. In addition to my ongoing goal to read all of the "important" books I should have read as an English major, I've recently decided to take on all the unread books that I own. Having realized that I may have been overzealous and bought books faster than I could read them, I am aware that I presently own more unread than read books. Or started, but not finished. I'm basically a horrible person.


So, goodbye 2010 books eaten list:

• Sarah - Of Lines and Fragments by Julie Carr (poetry)
  
• Late Wife by Claudia Emerson (poetry)
  
• i was the jukebox by Sandra Beasley (poetry)
  
• The Keep by Jennifer Egan
• The Beauty of the Husband by Anne Carson (poetry)
  
• A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess
• Flow: The Cultural Story of Menstruation by Stein & Kim (non-fiction)
  
• Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer
• Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer (non-fiction)
  
• Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
• No One Belongs Here More Than You by Miranda July (short stories)
  

(I made bold the ones I highly recommend.)

Starting off the new list is To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. I started reading this book in junior year of high school. I liked it, but never finished it. I made it to page 125, apparently, as that was the page with the corner folded down. I'm happy to report that in 3 days I've passed page 125 and I expect to finish it within the week.

Giddy up.

Goals, not resolutions

Resolutions are suckers. Goals are for winners (and losers who want to win). I don't see much of anything wrong with myself, so it was difficult coming up with this list.

1. First and foremost, I should submit some poems somewhere. I mean, what the hell am I doing?

2. I will not get shitfaced this year. And if I do, it will not be in my boyfriend's backyard. And if it is, I will not pass out by the sheep. And if I do, Brian will not be there to take pictures with his cellphone.

3. As soon as I get my tuition refund, I'm going to open a savings account and get on the fast-track to adulthood. I will slowly save for a house.

4. Since I'm a poet, and not exactly prolific, I will never be able to afford a house. So, I plan to find a cute Ivy League doctor who will marry me and buy me a house. In Cambridge. Of all my goals, this is the most likely to happen.

5. I will proactively cook for myself. By 'cook', I don't mean 'pour a bowl of cereal'. But that's probably what I will end up doing. Lets be real.

6. I will try to find something in this world that I love more than my cat. Of all my goals, this is the least likely to happen. Actually, this doesn't need to happen at all. She's perfection.

Me-OW.

Note to self: stop writing 2010

Is it 2011 now? I had no idea since my head was in a toilet for the last 4 days. I saw fireworks, though. I mean, real fireworks. Not like...I puked so hard I saw stars.

Anyway, I'm feeling better, but still painfully unproductive. I bought new curtains, a tablecloth, and a wine rack, so clearly I'm ready to enter my mid-to-late-twenties. But as far as writing and garnering inspiration goes, I may not be ready for much. I think my voice is changing again and I need to let it fester.

I'm wary of the new year. I don't usually have good luck during odd years/even ages. So in 2011 I'll be 26, and I expect it to be a terrible shit show. The sequel to 2009/24. Boston has settled me, though. Maybe it'll be good.

My eyes are getting worse.

I have what some may call an irrational fear of microwaves. Of microwaves frying my ovaries, to be specific. Our microwave is at abdomen-level. I rarely use it, but when I do I linger in our pantry because I (irrationally) think that the waves can't travel sideways.

This is how I discovered a draft coming through the backdoor. I bought a thing to block the draft, but I won't know if it worked until I use the microwave again.

My mom asked if I'll be home on Monday because she's sending a package to me. I sent her a card last week intending to boost her confidence/self-esteem/whatever she's lacking/just to say, "Hey, I suppose I'm here for you and would reckon that I still love you." She cried and was so touched that she bought me something.

So I started sending cards to everyone. Just because.

I just bought two books: Modern Poetry of Pakistan and Best New Poets 2010 (edited by Claudia Emerson). I've been wanting poetry from under-appreciated cultures. I wish I was bilingual. I was starting to learn, but I lost my teacher. Well. I killed him.

Here:

Ghazal: The Luster of a Pearl Is Something Else (by Tanveer Abbasi)

The luster of a pearl is something else
The sparkle of eyes, something else

The depth of the sea is a reality
The heart of a poet, something else

The cooing of a dove is music
The roar of cannons, something else

Clouds change color at twilight
The nuclear cloud is something else

What is in the heart is on the lips as well
The poet's demeanor is something else

The body is a cage for the soul
A cage for the cage, something else

Look at the bloodstains and weep
Whose blood this is, something else

Pure gold shines bright
A smiling face is something else

Gold is good, and so is silver
The heart is something else

Hope is support enough, Tanveer
The fear of pain, something else