on the sparkle that you think it lacks

22 Aug 2010 In: doe a deer

From Home for Life:

A last survey finding worth reflecting on: Fully 85 percent of the respondents agreed “somewhat” or “strongly” with the suggestion that “community is just as important as the home.” What exactly they meant by community is hard to say. Friends in the neighborhood perhaps? An interesting mix of neighbors? A vibrant shopping street? A nearby Starbucks? Community is notoriously hard to define and perhaps even harder for builders to provide. But it should be given as much attention as building equity.

This idea, that we are building communities and not houses.  This idea is one that I’d like to hang on to.

the spectators are losing their minds

11 Aug 2010 In: 1,000 words

a minute later we’re older now

8 Aug 2010 In: doe a deer

(via even*cleveland)

whom can i run to

8 Aug 2010 In: 1,000 words

one of these days

30 Jul 2010 In: the way it feels today

john_lobb_st_crepin_2010_wholecuts

73_Scamp_Headlight.jpg

Hovawart Pines Piccolo avec Spicemill


http://images.urbanoutfitters.com/is/image/UrbanOutfitters/18519959_010_e?$detailmain$

life:  Amelia Earhart became the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean in 1928, but it was her mysterious disappearance in the Pacific during an attempt to fly around the world in 1937 that cemented her place in the history books. On July 24, 2010, the famed flyer would have turned 113 years old. Pictured: Earhart mans an experimental glider in Lake Orion, Michigan, in 1929. Life and Mystery of Amelia Earhart

how out of context our troubles

23 Jul 2010 In: 1,000 words

Self portrait, future self included

by Masin Persina

[ poetry - july 10 ]

Always, I’m at the center of an immense eye.
Sometimes I’m its pupil, while at other times
I am one of those floaters the eye sees
while staring at a blank, blue sky.
This morning, it rained.
Also, I rode a train to substitute at a school
for which I was paid enough to write this poem.
I do not recall the grade of light
or a single thought I held.
This evening, under some loose change of stars,
all the city’s windows are speckled with water stains
and I’ve lived with Ally six months.
Some days we’re happy with our very little.
Other days, we are sad.
Tonight, it is sadness, so I tell her, “Someday,
all of this will look so funny to us.
We will eat calamari, not sweat the bill
and look back through our Ray Bans
and laugh at how small we now seem,
how out of context our troubles, like two squirrels,
on tiny water skis, being pulled across a pool.”

in between a memory and a dream

17 Jul 2010 In: 1,000 words

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Why?

"He stopped commenting on this oddness of hers. She said the news clippings she sent to friends were a perfectly reasonable way to correspond. There were a thousand things to clip and they all said something about the way she felt. He watched her read and cut. She wore half-glasses and worked the scissors grimly. She believed these were personal forms of expression. She believed no message she could send a friend was more intimate and telling than a story in the paper about a violent act, a crazed man, a bombed Negro home, a Buddhist monk who sets himself on fire. Because these are the things that tell us how we live." -Don Dellilo, Libra

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