Friday, September 23, 2011


I am writing. As in, this morning, I wrote. A poem. I am still working on it. Also, there is a new poem percolating in my brain.


At night for the last month, we've been hearing the crickets singing away.


I bought a little earring--a brass wasp, a tiny stud. I had it in my earlobe last night while we were walking Bruiser. In checking it obsessively, I brushed it away and it is gone. Tiny little brass wasp, gone.


Moneyball is here. I can't think of a recent movie I have been more excited to see. There are also worthy movies showing currently at the Broadway. By "worthy movie," I mean the kind of movie that will make you feel like a better person, a more virtuous person, if you see it. Tonight, we are going to see a worthy movie. It will probably be pretty good. I will, I'm betting, in fact feel like a better person for seeing it. But tomorrow night, we're going to see Moneyball. I'm thinking of it this way: if we wait one more night, that's one more night I can look forward to seeing it.


Last week, rather than see Drive, we went to see The Guard again. I really, really love that movie. Anyone who has seen Drive--was I wrong?


  1. Happy you're writing. Sharesies?

  2. K went to see Drive with a friend, came back, and said, "That movie was fucking incredible."

    Another friend who actually worked on the movie said, "The whole shoot I couldn't figure out if the director was a complete genius or if this movie was going direct to video."

    What I find most incredible is that Refn, the director, didn't write this script. It sounds like the most banal plotline ever (Hollywood stunt driver by day, getaway driver by night); the fact that he could take such a by-the-numbers action script and turn it into a film that earned him the Best Director award at Cannes says a lot.

    I will see it, soon, and so will you!

    (same director as Bronson).

  3. I keep reading the first lines of this post and smiling for you.

  4. Hooray for the writing. Movies also good. But writing wonderful.

    (Me, too, I can see now that I am actually going to be a finisher on the novel that has haunted me for so long. It will be done -- will that I mean I can stop walking around so anguished/ exaltomanic?)

    And the little bronze wasp earring feels like a small poem also. I like it.



Related Posts with Thumbnails