She didn't hear him the first time he called. She was wrapped in the blankets like a cocoon and the blue light from the television was floating beneath her eyelids, aurora patterns against the black. Somewhere at the base of her neck she could feel the prick of waking. It crawled up into her brain and invaded her consciousness.
He called again. Soft.
It was her favorite way to wake, in the middle of the night, swathed in an electric blanket and cramped on the couch in the den. She drew the blanket back up over her head and laughed.
“I’m so comfortable.” she groaned.
He called again, this time closer, showering her in his warm breath. She let her head sink back into the couch, sighing, willing herself to open her eyelids and leave sleep behind. His fingers traced the length of her jaw. It was every night like this, every night waking up where she shouldn’t be, him bringing her back to bed. She laughed again.
“I must have fallen asleep.”
He answered in a low murmur, drawing her further and further from her repose. He called once more. She pulled down the blanket, let the full wave of light from the TV hit her, and slid open her eyelids.
And to the room she gave one hollow sigh. She shuffled across the room, shut off the television and went back to bed, twisting his wedding band around her finger.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Atonement
When the moon swells, we’ll all die.
It’s just inevitable, in fact she’s been
bloated these past few days.
She sucks in the night sky and chews
up the stars between her teeth.
And her belly laugh sings us all to sleep.
When the moon swells, she pines
for the ocean’s touch and she’s reaching
out for him to take her back where she belongs.
Moon from water, earth from water,
we are all in love with liquid, longing
to be blanketed in soundless glide.
It’s just inevitable, in fact she’s been
bloated these past few days.
She sucks in the night sky and chews
up the stars between her teeth.
And her belly laugh sings us all to sleep.
When the moon swells, she pines
for the ocean’s touch and she’s reaching
out for him to take her back where she belongs.
Moon from water, earth from water,
we are all in love with liquid, longing
to be blanketed in soundless glide.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Paper Rabbits
This past weekend I was standing in my best friend's kitchen when her mother came through, smacking the Herald Leader down and complaining about one or two of the headlines. It took me a few moments to notice that what she had brought in was, in fact, the newspaper I had been selling months ago at my former job as a cashier at Walgreens.
Significantly smaller, the paper didn't make quite a satisfying smack on the kitchen counter, nor did it bulge with adds for local businesses. It was a simple, flat paper, less than half of its former glory. I noted this to my friend's mother who merely sighed, telling me that since they get the paper every day, she's been able to watch the slow deterioration of something Lexington once prided itself on.
It's become apparent that newspapers are in trouble. With Google, Yahoo, MSN and AOL taking over the news circuit, many people believe that print newspapers are in for a heavy hit. With the massive lay-offs on the Herald, I can see they've already been socked a few good times.
Personally, I like the feel of a newspaper. I like to unfold the sections, search for continued articles, read the comics, the editorials, feel the paper between my fingers. Nothing can replace the feeling of a good, thick newspaper under your arm--as much as institutions like Blogger.com are threatening it. There's something concrete about having a newspaper, something I think the majority of the population is faithful to.
Blogs and online newspapers have a place in American society and news today, but I agree with John Carroll when he says in his article "The Future (we hope) of Journalism": Bloggers see themselves as heirs to the pamphleteers who were prominent in the American Revolution. I think they're right. If Thomas Paine were alive, no doubt he'd be blogging away.
There have always been people out their giving their opinions and their own version of the news, but the institution of most newspapers today is just too strong to be wavered by a force like wordpress and blogger. The new technology that has given us these new forms of journalism is really a great thing, but something I don't think will impact the print papers so drastically that I'll have to log onto my computer to read the news every day.
Quite frankly, I don't think the effort is worth it.
A blog, valuable as it is, is simply not an institution with enough heft to stand up to big government and big business. We need institutions of journalism, muscular institutions, not just individual voices. (John Carroll)
Significantly smaller, the paper didn't make quite a satisfying smack on the kitchen counter, nor did it bulge with adds for local businesses. It was a simple, flat paper, less than half of its former glory. I noted this to my friend's mother who merely sighed, telling me that since they get the paper every day, she's been able to watch the slow deterioration of something Lexington once prided itself on.
It's become apparent that newspapers are in trouble. With Google, Yahoo, MSN and AOL taking over the news circuit, many people believe that print newspapers are in for a heavy hit. With the massive lay-offs on the Herald, I can see they've already been socked a few good times.
Personally, I like the feel of a newspaper. I like to unfold the sections, search for continued articles, read the comics, the editorials, feel the paper between my fingers. Nothing can replace the feeling of a good, thick newspaper under your arm--as much as institutions like Blogger.com are threatening it. There's something concrete about having a newspaper, something I think the majority of the population is faithful to.
Blogs and online newspapers have a place in American society and news today, but I agree with John Carroll when he says in his article "The Future (we hope) of Journalism": Bloggers see themselves as heirs to the pamphleteers who were prominent in the American Revolution. I think they're right. If Thomas Paine were alive, no doubt he'd be blogging away.
There have always been people out their giving their opinions and their own version of the news, but the institution of most newspapers today is just too strong to be wavered by a force like wordpress and blogger. The new technology that has given us these new forms of journalism is really a great thing, but something I don't think will impact the print papers so drastically that I'll have to log onto my computer to read the news every day.
Quite frankly, I don't think the effort is worth it.
A blog, valuable as it is, is simply not an institution with enough heft to stand up to big government and big business. We need institutions of journalism, muscular institutions, not just individual voices. (John Carroll)
Friday, November 13, 2009
1 plus 3
Happy Friday 13th, all.
Today, I advise you to walk under a ladder into a pet shop to buy a black cat who has a deep hatred for mirrors.
Good luck.
Today, I advise you to walk under a ladder into a pet shop to buy a black cat who has a deep hatred for mirrors.
Good luck.
Shale
The sheets are stone against the bed,
crumpled in a mountainous rock face
by the footboard, and the blankets
lie spread out on the floor like
a valley at the foothills.
Something in these sheets pricks
the edge of her mind in the night,
a chronic tautness in her muscles
to fuel the insomniatic twitching.
She covers herself in earth each night,
buried alive beneath quilted cliffs.
She hides her face away
in ruffles of eroding lace
while day kisses her one last time,
as he turns out the light,
and locks the door behind him.
crumpled in a mountainous rock face
by the footboard, and the blankets
lie spread out on the floor like
a valley at the foothills.
Something in these sheets pricks
the edge of her mind in the night,
a chronic tautness in her muscles
to fuel the insomniatic twitching.
She covers herself in earth each night,
buried alive beneath quilted cliffs.
She hides her face away
in ruffles of eroding lace
while day kisses her one last time,
as he turns out the light,
and locks the door behind him.
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