If I am repaired, can we meet again for the first time, in all of the places I have feared to go, and then, again, in all of the places I will have forgotten, if I am repaired?




SC




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Here is the desk drawer in which all of my odds and ends are kept, tidbits that would otherwise never see the light of day.











Tuesday, July 31, 2012

8:51 PM


I am so watching Air Supply videos on You Tube.
I should be in bed.
I can't help it. They rock... softly.


Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Math Riddle: 'This Ain't no KFC Mother F****rs'


Farmer Steve started out in mid-March with thirty-five chickens: eleven mature and twenty-four hand incubated pullets. By late July he had lost all but seven to various varmints. When he still had nine chickens, Farmer Steve had already caught three raccoons, one possum and two cats in a live-catch trap. The cats were set free... as they belonged to Farmer Steve's neighbor... the possum was dutifully shot, and the coons were sent up the road to take part in training exercises, from which, Farmer Steve was assured, they would not return.

What is Farmer Steve going to run out of first?   

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Mag 124: 'Matches'




In the ‘About You:’ space meant for describing in at least one hundred words, no more than five, his perfect match, Steven wrote, among other things: 'In your closet, an overcoat has been hidden more than once, pockets filled with stones, hem wet from your baulking.'  

       

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Beneath this headline...


...which you can click on if you actually want to read this story...


I see this map:


Image: Map of Bowling Green, Ky. (© 2012 Microsoft Corporation/Navteq)

The red dot indicates where said negligence went down.

Between the red dot and the letter 'a' in Nashville, is where I live.

Nice.

On the Varied Titillations of Thunder


In this long thirst, I imagine the trees must arch their great spines and shudder when finally the drum of thunder is heard rolling across these drought-browned hills; the sound, bearing to their leaves the same promise a lover’s breath would to the cup of my own ear.