choices

and so i came home. the cat ate something… played some. now we’re we watching old crocodile dundee films together. he preferred those to some more contemporary films. cats, you know.

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something that is ‘i’ looks out at something that is ‘you’, asking too many rhetorical questions zeugmatically

you smell of rain, and dark belanterned sky, of sheets of water,driven at odd angles to reality, or was it horizontal? i forget. you sound like dripping silences, complete with rattling rooftops, shards of skylines tinkling at sunrises, or maybe sunset hours. i do not remember. your eyes are monuments to galaxies, passing and of […]

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my own weather

in a world complete with abstractions, i come with my own sunshine, my own wind – the thunderstorms all around me are all of my own making. the clouds over mountaintops, the rocks teething from sod, the devious moonbeams are all of my own weather. to be or to do, to drizzle, or come down […]

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possessive modality

my memories. of her last days. my body remembers uncontrollably. these are my possessions, my riches, my hoard: my pain and my love for her. i wish i had found the courage to tell her, to verbalise my love and care, to make them known with words also. the unsaid festers and burns, and can be disposed […]

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linguistics and funerals

This post has a very good point. Both about syntax and how linguistics happens to people. I quote: No, don’t be shocked that syntax could be on my mind on such an occasion [mother’s funeral]. A linguist’s brain does not cease making linguistic observations on entering a crematorium chapel. As I recently explained in a piece over […]

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reflections in a small pond not so far from the railway tracks that often disturb the tranquil surface of the waters

the larch rests, moss-covered in the pleasant mist of the spring almost not started; the wet leaves stick to my soles and steps fill with the green that was and would be after the pale yellows and browns coming through fog, instantly lost as the drops from the twigs slowly condense across the dark wings […]

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a coffee cup of eternity

the froth on the coffee goes up, then slowly diminishes, as we trade cookies, and looks, and tidbits of very usual lives. some sugar, no cream, and have you heard of so-and-so, remember him from the way back. did you know he was dead? then share a meaningful silence, shake heads and coffee spoons, breathe […]

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