For today's multimedia piece, I chose a song. I wanted to revisit this one (I wrote it last summer) and record it differently (with a lighter hand, fittingly).
The song is called "Lightness," and is all about how light we feel when we stop trying to control all of those things outside of our control. Meeting uncertainty with an open mind and capable attitude can be so freeing (I know a lot about uncertainty as an adjunct instructor and freelance editor!).
Have a listen here.
I hope you enjoy this one. What light/lightness is bringing you pleasure these days?
Friday, May 27, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
The. End.
The. End.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
Here he was, spreadeagled in the snow,
and he heard her voice calling out,
please stay with me!
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
Her tears had collected in his footprints,
frozen in the cold. One day, he slipped
on his own steps.
Here he was, spreadeagled in the snow,
and he heard her voice calling out,
please stay with me!
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
She cried through autumn and winter,
sat outside and cried until the cold
drove her inside.
Her tears had collected in his footprints,
frozen in the cold. One day, he slipped
on his own steps.
Here he was, spreadeagled in the snow,
and he heard her voice calling out,
please stay with me!
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
She cried in the spring amidst the tulips
and clover. She cried in the
sticky summer heat.
She cried through autumn and winter,
sat outside and cried until the cold
drove her inside.
Her tears had collected in his footprints,
frozen in the cold. One day, he slipped
on his own steps.
Here he was, spreadeagled in the snow,
and he heard her voice calling out,
please stay with me!
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
He couldn’t remember her, so every day
he asked why she was so sad,
why she was crying.
She cried in the spring amidst the tulips
and clover. She cried in the
sticky summer heat.
She cried through autumn and winter,
sat outside and cried until the cold
drove her inside.
Her tears had collected in his footprints,
frozen in the cold. One day, he slipped
on his own steps.
Here he was, spreadeagled in the snow,
and he heard her voice calling out,
please stay with me!
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
He lived next to a girl who cried every day
since she was born, her eyes pink
as begonias.
He couldn’t remember her, so every day
he asked why she was so sad,
why she was crying.
She cried in the spring amidst the tulips
and clover. She cried in the
sticky summer heat.
She cried through autumn and winter,
sat outside and cried until the cold
drove her inside.
Her tears had collected in his footprints,
frozen in the cold. One day, he slipped
on his own steps.
Here he was, spreadeagled in the snow,
and he heard her voice calling out,
please stay with me!
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
There once was a boy with no memory.
He fiercely loved his routine, for
it always felt new.
He lived next to a girl who cried every day
since she was born, her eyes pink
as begonias.
He couldn’t remember her, so every day
he asked why she was so sad,
why she was crying.
She cried in the spring amidst the tulips
and clover. She cried in the
sticky summer heat.
She cried through autumn and winter,
sat outside and cried until the cold
drove her inside.
Her tears had collected in his footprints,
frozen in the cold. One day, he slipped
on his own steps.
Here he was, spreadeagled in the snow,
and he heard her voice calling out,
please stay with me!
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
Here he was, spreadeagled in the snow,
and he heard her voice calling out,
please stay with me!
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
Her tears had collected in his footprints,
frozen in the cold. One day, he slipped
on his own steps.
Here he was, spreadeagled in the snow,
and he heard her voice calling out,
please stay with me!
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
She cried through autumn and winter,
sat outside and cried until the cold
drove her inside.
Her tears had collected in his footprints,
frozen in the cold. One day, he slipped
on his own steps.
Here he was, spreadeagled in the snow,
and he heard her voice calling out,
please stay with me!
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
She cried in the spring amidst the tulips
and clover. She cried in the
sticky summer heat.
She cried through autumn and winter,
sat outside and cried until the cold
drove her inside.
Her tears had collected in his footprints,
frozen in the cold. One day, he slipped
on his own steps.
Here he was, spreadeagled in the snow,
and he heard her voice calling out,
please stay with me!
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
He couldn’t remember her, so every day
he asked why she was so sad,
why she was crying.
She cried in the spring amidst the tulips
and clover. She cried in the
sticky summer heat.
She cried through autumn and winter,
sat outside and cried until the cold
drove her inside.
Her tears had collected in his footprints,
frozen in the cold. One day, he slipped
on his own steps.
Here he was, spreadeagled in the snow,
and he heard her voice calling out,
please stay with me!
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
He lived next to a girl who cried every day
since she was born, her eyes pink
as begonias.
He couldn’t remember her, so every day
he asked why she was so sad,
why she was crying.
She cried in the spring amidst the tulips
and clover. She cried in the
sticky summer heat.
She cried through autumn and winter,
sat outside and cried until the cold
drove her inside.
Her tears had collected in his footprints,
frozen in the cold. One day, he slipped
on his own steps.
Here he was, spreadeagled in the snow,
and he heard her voice calling out,
please stay with me!
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
There once was a boy with no memory.
He fiercely loved his routine, for
it always felt new.
He lived next to a girl who cried every day
since she was born, her eyes pink
as begonias.
He couldn’t remember her, so every day
he asked why she was so sad,
why she was crying.
She cried in the spring amidst the tulips
and clover. She cried in the
sticky summer heat.
She cried through autumn and winter,
sat outside and cried until the cold
drove her inside.
Her tears had collected in his footprints,
frozen in the cold. One day, he slipped
on his own steps.
Here he was, spreadeagled in the snow,
and he heard her voice calling out,
please stay with me!
What a beautiful voice, he thought,
and how beautiful she sounds
crying over me.
This strange woman moves me
as no one ever has, he said
to himself.
They had found one another again,
and swore not to live apart
another moment.
And from that day forward, they lived
happily ever after.
The. End.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Inside Voices
Inside Voices
We don’t know silence here,
we can’t, but we can imagine
it by gathering the available
quiet and pulling it towards us
like stacks of poker chips.
We draw it into our bodies,
the quiet. To listen better,
we make ourselves quiet,
ease air down the trachea
without letting it scrape
against our throat or mouth,
soft-pedal our brain so it
doesn’t crackle as we think.
What parts of yourself
did you trim away when told
to use your inside voice.
Where do our voices hide
within us, our noisy bodies.
What could we feed them
in order to coax them out.
We don’t know silence here,
we can’t, but we can imagine
it by gathering the available
quiet and pulling it towards us
like stacks of poker chips.
We draw it into our bodies,
the quiet. To listen better,
we make ourselves quiet,
ease air down the trachea
without letting it scrape
against our throat or mouth,
soft-pedal our brain so it
doesn’t crackle as we think.
What parts of yourself
did you trim away when told
to use your inside voice.
Where do our voices hide
within us, our noisy bodies.
What could we feed them
in order to coax them out.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Cymbalism
Cymbalism
The darkness is radiant with streetlights.
The houses have their windows open,
the neighborhood is listening to itself.
A band is practicing in a basement,
their noise amplified and contained.
Bagpipes blast through a screen door,
a recording. A dog’s screechy exclamations.
A landline ringing four times, ceasing.
The band has finished. The clatter
of a cymbal against the floor, it must have
fallen, they must be packing up,
snapping shut the latches on guitar cases.
The white dog down the street bounds
out through a door held open for him,
and he charges the lawn, the bushes,
the pavement, driven by glee and gratitude
that is irrepressible. Who can he thank
next. Where should he direct all this joy.
The darkness is radiant with streetlights.
The houses have their windows open,
the neighborhood is listening to itself.
A band is practicing in a basement,
their noise amplified and contained.
Bagpipes blast through a screen door,
a recording. A dog’s screechy exclamations.
A landline ringing four times, ceasing.
The band has finished. The clatter
of a cymbal against the floor, it must have
fallen, they must be packing up,
snapping shut the latches on guitar cases.
The white dog down the street bounds
out through a door held open for him,
and he charges the lawn, the bushes,
the pavement, driven by glee and gratitude
that is irrepressible. Who can he thank
next. Where should he direct all this joy.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Video: Blogging Panel Footage
On May 5, I was so happy to host an Arts and Culture Blogging Panel as part of Paging Columbus (a literary arts event series I've been organizing). It was a fantastic evening--panelists included Melissa Starker, Bethia Woolf, Jim Ellison, Meghan Willis, Aaron Driggers, and Matt Kish (who was a Storialist-linked artist way back in 2009!).
Here, I've included Part 1 of the panel--the panelists introduce themselves and their work, and talk a bit about how they make the time to blog. How about you? How do you create space in your life for blogging? Hope you enjoy it!
Here, I've included Part 1 of the panel--the panelists introduce themselves and their work, and talk a bit about how they make the time to blog. How about you? How do you create space in your life for blogging? Hope you enjoy it!
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