On the Powerless
Sometimes,When They talk about the irreplaceable exchange of fluidsAnd belief, They are right.And I hate it.But. Sometimes.They omit the second chances.Some might call them Repetition, Repetition, Repetition…Some might call them Redemption.(It's alright cuz I love you, baby,Though...)I saw some old friends Sunday night.We talked about the strangeness ofMeasuring our memories in decades,The links between music and road trips,Synonyms and seminars,Remembering parties that we should not have attended,People we should not have kissed.I’ll admit—We also discussed the peop

T-Bone, the Disco Spider

Translating Suffering
My dear E! is working on a project about which I am totally excited. Excited, honestly, to the point, that I just called her to tell her that I want to write something with her about it. Basically, it's a study of concentration camp museums, specifically Buchenwald, and how the shapes/forms/presentation of the products associated with that museum tell a story about the past.To that end, she just received a booklet from the museum, in which the participants and artists describe their projects in light of History and Nation and Ethnicity. She, being brilliant, is translating the German into English. Pretty awesome,

Best. Day. Evar.
SO... I am writing this entry for my mother:1) because she wants me to write more2) because, she says, although she likes the last entry, it is sad, and she wants me to write something happy. 3) because she is awesome and deserves to get things she wants. Here you are, dear mother, my first, fiercest, and favorite audience.Friday, my dear friend, Josh, was in town. Why was he in town?, you may ask. Well, I’ll tell ya—he is working on a public speaking book that will defy the boring odds of public speaking texts, and he was signing the contract. So Hooray for that! And Hooray for the students and teachers who will get to use a