I am applying for a fantsy-pants two year writing fellowship, the likes of which I have never applied for, and which over a thousand people apply to each year, and this is what it feels like- it feels like buying sixty dollars worth of scratch tickets, and scratching them while standing naked in front of … Continue reading challenging the ocean to a fistfight
Month: November 2009
t-bird’s shack
If there's one thing I like to take pictures of, it's the gently-lit shacks that some of my friends get to live in. Here is t-bird's. We met today in the afternoon. T-bird bought me a tamale and a tiny persimmon in the bustle of the farmer's market and then we went to her shack … Continue reading t-bird’s shack
Your eyes are like the ocean
Do they make their own light? I think they are like the sunset, backlit. I look at them and I can see tomorrow, somehow, I can see everything that could ever be. I look at them and somewhere, a man guides a skiff up a river, the wind blows, leaves scatter. It’s quiet, and restless, … Continue reading Your eyes are like the ocean
Polished! Done! So shining I can see my own face in it!
Friends and strangers! I have been working very hard here in my little wooden shack, with the rain pouring down outside, or not, and just this very moment I finally have something to show for it- a finished story! Finished as in polished, no holes anywhere, done and complete, not a single word I would … Continue reading Polished! Done! So shining I can see my own face in it!
to my anonymous donor, who I just googled
I wonder if you know, anonymous donor, what it means to me, to write these words, here in Portland, where rain lashes ceaselessly from the heavens (but I don’t mind) and then infinity splits and for a moment the yellow milk of the sun pours down, before the clouds close again and everything is the … Continue reading to my anonymous donor, who I just googled
I couldn’t have written it any better
. . reasons to survive november . .
the woods and what I thought about
I got a craigslist ride down I-5 and from there I hitched on a road that ran wide, narrow, wet, and then dry past a couple little towns and through some bottle-brush doug-firs to get to Paula, who’s living in the woods. The people who picked me up hitch-hiking were number one, a retired plumber … Continue reading the woods and what I thought about
CARROT QUINN 
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