There’s nothing left to do in my day, the space heater is on and the yellow lamps are burning and my dogs need nothing from me. Outside it’s dusk, the bright fall day turned indistinct and then twilight blue, the damp cold air embracing everything. I ate parsnips and beef cooked in bacon grease and … Continue reading brightness, darkness, lightness, happiness
home
the sugar-cone ghost and the freedom of not having possesions
I’m moving. I’m leaving my one-bedroom apartment (which was never really mine, which was, in retrospect, just a beautiful, palatial hole in which to dump wheelbarrow-loads of money that I will never see again) and I’m moving into a sixteen-foot travel trailer that I bought off the internet. I am poor again, and also recently … Continue reading the sugar-cone ghost and the freedom of not having possesions
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
thanksgiving
It’s late and I can’t sleep. I got up this morning, made the stuffing for the turkey (“Eddy”, he was ultimately named), and then went back to bed, because I was grumpy and hadn’t slept well, and was being a general pain in the ass. So I had a nap in the middle of the … Continue reading thanksgiving
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
It doesn’t ever stop raining
Ever. It’s always been raining, and it will always rain. The ocean is broader and deeper than the depths of my imagination, and each day small bits of it rise up, roil through the air, and pound the edges of the continent. We are an extension of the ocean, we are the inner edges of … Continue reading It doesn’t ever stop raining
Experiment
I am going to try and write what I eat every day for a week for an experiment Today was sunny and cold Corinne was here for breakfast and we ate what we always do- love. We also had eggs with the yolks runny (cause corinne made them and she is good at not breaking … Continue reading Experiment
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
i never know what to title things anymore
It is so hard to say goodbye to you, these days, even for a few hours- I do the breakfast dishes and then fall into bed and imagine your arms around me, my legs curled against yours- I want to feel your hot breath, but everything in your room is cold- I have you and … Continue reading i never know what to title things anymore
CARROT QUINN 
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