October 28, 2012 § 10 Comments
In my memory, my grandfather was a taciturn, disappointed man, but in an earlier time, Grandpa and his brothers had had a dance band called “Carl Fogelin and the Nighthawk Ramblers.”
The days of playing local fire halls were long past when my sister and I used to put the guitar across our laps and pull out the pick that was always woven between the strings.
October 21, 2012 § 16 Comments
I am the self I see mirrored in your eyes.
I am smart, and incredibly stupid.
Petty and magnanimous.
I am both wonderful and a genuine waste of skin.
Like water I assume the shape of the vessel into which I am poured.
And that vessel is your opinion. I can’t be alone in this.
We love falling in love, in part because the mirror held up at those times is the kindest, the most favorable. We will never be more beautiful, witty, smart, or thrilling—nor will they.
October 4, 2012 § 4 Comments
Many readers take this death personally.
“I like the feel of paper.”
“I like curling up with a book and turning the pages.”
But there is something else dying, of which the passing of the printed book is emblematic.
A familiar way of thought, the very lens through which we view the world is vanishing because the printed book is more than the feel and smell of paper, more than crisp black type on a stiff white page.