The Battlefield Where the Girls Say I Love You



That's just the thing: we will never tell you we love you. In fact, we're here only to hold hands across state lines and yell at the world. We're here to try to touch you across this chasm of flown things. Not even that. At most, I will teach you how to make a gin smoothie when there's nothing left in the house. Hannah can teach you several languages and what to do when your car breaks up with you. Thanks for coming out.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007




this is why i'm not the maniacal tyrant of this blog.

so i'm standing outside ultra tan this morning, and hannah calls. i sit down on the curb to tell her a funny story about last night, a guy from work, and yet another cheese plate.

hannah: you've got to blog this.
me: no. i mean, i care about this guy. he might even read it.
hannah: (annoyed sigh) mamie, sometimes you have to exploit the people you love in order to gain the world.

oh, and this photograph? it was taken during one of our stops along the tuscan hillside. we made it a habit--each day--just to throw down the tandem bike, run through the field of broom, and have a picnic consisting only of olives.

oh, and i asked my students to write down the function of poetry in society:

"few people have had encounters with BOTH red wheel barrows and white chickens, but a poem can make you remember them as if you have."

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

"so i was standing outside ultra tan"

Anonymous said...

also, and i know you're in your faculty mtg at the panera bread company, but: other people have these label things. why don't we? should we? fix it morgan.

Anonymous said...

hot dog, player. hot dog. sour-krawt..seki seki seki seki sour-krawt, y'all. Uh, what, uh, awww yeah. i'm my own witness.

hannah said...

you have to stop posing as jesus. it makes all those comments re. the length of shorts, etc beyond the pale.

altho, nice to hear you flow.