Let Me Begin Again by Philip Levine Let me begin again as a speck of dust caught in the night winds sweeping out to sea. Let me begin this time knowing the world is salt water and dark clouds, the world is grinding and sighing all night, and dawn comes slowly and changes nothing. Let me go back to land after a lifetime of going nowhere. This time lodged in the feathers of some scavenging gull...
It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the...– Bart Giamatti, “The Green Fields of the Mind” See you in February, when pitchers and catchers report.
The Vig →
What? I feel amazing. Best shape of my career. →
Leaning in the doorway
Living in the Body by Joyce Sutphen Body is something you need in order to stay on this planet and you only get one. And no matter which one you get, it will not be satisfactory. It will not be beautiful enough, it will not be fast enough, it will not keep on for days at a time, but will pull you down into a sleepy swamp and demand apples and coffee and chocolate cake. Body is a thing you...
I am an American artist, and I have no guilt.– Patti Smith Bruce gave “Because the Night” to Patti Smith because he couldn’t see himself singing such an intense love song at that point in his career.
An altar dignifying the god of chance
The Altar by Charles Simic The plastic statue of the Virgin On top of a bedroom dresser With a blackened mirror From a bad-dream grooming salon. Two pebbles from the grave of a rock star, A small, grinning windup monkey, A bronze Egyptian coin And a red movie-ticket stub. A splotch of sunlight on the framed Communion photograph of a boy With the eyes of someone Who will drown in a lake...
The Art of Winning an Unfair Game
The little baseball minutiae tucked here and there throughout Moneyball - the tobacco spit cups, the fraternity of scouting, the pride and superstitions of ballplayers - made it wonderful. Favorite book to movie adaptation since The Namesake.
Prayers pared down to tweets
Of An Age by Carol Moldaw Less sleep but fewer tears. Prayers pared down to tweets. Desire scrubbed of sullenness. A propensity for sweets- but not truffles, truffles I find too dense; chocolate-glazed bacon, the idea of it, too strange. Fads tempt less. A glass raised in sentiment, more. The fleet beauty of words no longer cased unsaid. The glass in shards.