WordPress stats allow me to view the search terms that people use to find my blog. Here are the best ones of the last four months, in no particular order- rat poison young annie dillard kill all rapists pink meth ramen the virgin mary butch privilege kill all the rapists it’s fun lesbian truck drivers … Continue reading The strange poetry of search engines
everything
what is left behind
.. I go long stretches without writing. I remember how small I am, how much there already is. I go to Powell’s and see all the lonely books, seemingly without value, crowding the high wooden shelves. The bookstore almost begs you. Please, read our books. And even then, the creative industrial complex is astoundingly inefficient- … Continue reading what is left behind
torrential rainfall and the disputed kingdom Protista
It’s been raining torrentially all day- this morning we took the dogs to kelly point park, the superfund site where the metallic Columbia meets the sewage-filled Willamette, and big cold drops began to pelt us as soon as we stepped from the car. We walked along the path through the woods, throwing Emy’s ball before … Continue reading torrential rainfall and the disputed kingdom Protista
The brief wondrous life of Sonny Riccobono
It was march, and Seamus and I had just started dating. The rain clouds, while still black-grey and flinging down torrents of water, were broken, now, in moments, by patches of glorious, syrupy yellow light- the steamy northwest sun, emerging naked from its long, introspective sauna. Seamus and I decided to go to Olympia for … Continue reading The brief wondrous life of Sonny Riccobono
backpacking
Summer was cancelled west of the cascade mountains, so we drove east into the desert, to where ponderosa pines stood tall in the yellow sunlight and clear rivers, flat and deep, wound their way through the soft ground. But thunderstorms followed us over the hills, and we camped in a torrential downpour the first night, … Continue reading backpacking
s u n d a y
Overcast, warm unless the air is moving, reading Anne Carson, I went running in the forest, in my old running shoes, that need replacing, on the narrow dirt path, squishy with mud. Finn and I, and the small dogs, like squirrels, out of place, which would wink out of existence, immediately, if western civilization were … Continue reading s u n d a y
p m s
In Seattle there are lakes, and the sun shines golden-green and you and the pit bull are swimming, side by side, in the water. Swimming with small waves and a cone of frozen yogurt, while the sun shines down, apologetic and warm, like an abusive lover. Really, we decided, while walking in the rain, the … Continue reading p m s
s p r i n g t i m e
Cherry blossoms are beautiful, my heart is ripped wide open. Everything goes back to beginnings, like a feedback loop of nostalgia, as if the middle never happened, the day-to-day, the text messages and the humming of electrical appliances. No, it was all explosions of flowers and sleepless, ecstatic mornings, time stopping and then slipping away, … Continue reading s p r i n g t i m e
r o o t s
My father lives on Crataegus lane in Alaska. Crataegus is the latin name for Hawthorne, according to a dusty book I found in the library. There are three types of Hawthorne in the book, which catalogs a section of Pennsylvania representative of “all of the trees from Virginia northward into Canada and westward to the … Continue reading r o o t s
I WANT
I want to bust you out of the city. I want to steal a car and drive up I-5 as fast as I can go. A nice car, a solid box, a bubble-pod, a car that smells like vinyl, nothing of the forest, a euphoric comfort machine. Stolen. What better thing to steal, than a … Continue reading I WANT
CARROT QUINN 
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