Just Do It
I make it about me, and I don’t listen.
I make it about me, and I don’t listen.
I mean the real world, the one that roots and flowers and rots and hunts and shivers and casts its eyes to the moon and howls and sinks into dirt and blushes into color.
A kitten has milestones: vet visits, physical growth, the passage from kitten to cat food.
Rautavaara challenges the assumption that music belongs unequivocally to humanity by making birdsong a challenger and equal partner to “humansong.”
I don’t write about Steve that much on this blog because it’s cheesy and annoying and also I know that love isn’t just the cheesy stuff.
You get one or two good ideas of your own, and that’s it. That’s all you get to work with, and you can either beat your ass like some self-flagellating monk to make something with that idea, or you can leave it alone and keep on copying.
I stitched together my favorite childhood flannel sheets and some old towels to make my own sentimental reusable paper towels.
Get your laughs in, Midwesterners, but for eight-year-old Caitlin, Texas was paradise.
I awoke to our driver speaking in an urgent and concerned tone while tapping the horn.
We’re getting used to this: the shepherding of my distracted attention back into the air. Sitting off to the side and seeing my traffic go by.