Sand Paper Day

Today is a sand paper day.
That wood could be
as sensitive as this
makes me feel more
sympathy for the tree
that became a table
or chair.

Becoming is rough.
(Being is tough enough.)

Today is a rug burn day.
The kind your brothers gave you –
You remember –
Skin, heart, mind, spirit pulled in
opposite directions until
it stings.

Loving is rough.
(Living is tough enough.)

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Dreams of Bears

I had my first dream about you last night:
I got the news that you had been mauled by a bear.
And I heard myself asking the question:
“Is he alright?”
And I knew that couldn’t be right.
And then my mind said:
No, it wasn’t the bear.
The bear was just the last thing
in a whole series of unfortunate things.
But that’s how it went.
That’s exactly how it happened.
Now, when someone asks me
the inevitable question of why you’re not here,
I’m going to tell them it was just the last bear.

Tudor Ghost-du-Jour: Anne Boleyn

“People live and learn but you’re still learning. You use my mind and I’ll be your teacher. When the lesson’s over, you’ll be with me. Then I’ll hear the other people saying…”

I don’t know why Anne Boleyn’s ghost makes me think of The Hollies “Hey, Carrie-Anne.” Sort of fits, though.

the TUDOR TUTOR

Portrait of a Woman, inscribed "Anna Boll...

In life she was sassy, smart, and bold — not much has changed! Anne Boleyn has proven to be as tenacious and sensational without a head as she was with one attached.  

Her spirit has been seen wafting across the river’s bridge on the grounds of  Hever Castle, her childhood home. On a more energetic note, she sometimes leads ghostly processions in and around the Tower of London, where she was executed. Who doesn’t love a parade? Perhaps not the Tower guard in 1864 who ran through her spirit with his bayonet and prompted received a shock so strong it temporarily knocked him out.

 Bringing the drama, as usual, ghostly Anne appears on her death anniversary at Blickling Hall, in a coach pulled by headless horses steered by a headless horseman. The coach reportedly leaves her off at the front door of the building (chivalry is not dead, even when…

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The Red Pen of Doom murders THE FOUNTAINHEAD by Ayn Rand

Every time Ayn Rand’s name is mentioned, I have to reblog this amazing post. I’m sort of like Guy’s Zuzu. “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.”

Only in this case, “wings” = editorial decimation.

Zuzu: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OfUV-F9jFro

The Red Pen of Doom

THE FOUNTAINHEAD

Cover of The Fountainhead Cover of The Fountainhead

by Ayn Rand

Howard Roark laughed. (I approve of this. It asks a narrative question – who is this guy, and why did he laugh? – and I like short sentences anyway.)

He stood naked at the edge of a cliff. The lake lay far below him.A frozen explosion of granite burst in flight to the sky over motionless water.(Whoah, whoah, hold up. So far, it was all tight and Hemingway-esque. “The pants fit him. They felt good.” Now you suddenly switch to purple prose, with granite bursting in flight? I didn’t know that granite rocks flew, or exploded when they did decide to take wing. No.)The water seemed immovable, the stone flowing. The stone had the stillness of one brief moment in battle when thrust meets thrust and the currents are held in a pause more dynamic than…

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