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thought i was a donut, ya tried to glaze me

6.29.2009

poet anne sexton to her 15 y/o daughter linda gray

april, 1969

Wed--2:45pm

Dear Linda,
I am in the middle of a flight to St. Louis to give a reading. I was reading a NEW YORKER story that made me think of my mother and all alone in the seat I whispered to her "I know, Mother, I know." And I thought of you--someday flying somewhere all alone and me dead perhaps and you wishing to speak to me.

And I want to speak back (Linda, maybe it won't be flying, maybe it will be in your own kitchen table drinking tea some afteroon when you are 40. Anytime)

1st I love you
2. You never let me down
3. I know. I was there once. I too, was 40 and with a dead mother who I needed still.

This is my message to the 40-year-old Linda. No matter what happens you were always my bobolink, my special Linda Gray. Life is not easy. It is awfully lonely. I know that. Now you too know it--wherever you are, Linda, talking to me. But I've had a good life--I wrote unhappy--but I lived to the hilt. You too, Linda--live to the HILT! To the top. I love you, 40-year-old Linda, and I love what you do, what you find, what you are!--Be your own woman. Belong to those you love. Talk to my poems, and talk to you heart--I'm in both; if you need me. I lied, Linda. I did love my mother and she loved me. She never held me but I miss her, so that I have to deny I ever loved her--or she me! Silly Anne! So there!

xoxo
mom

6.12.2009

Sarah Palin: Bitch, didn't you lose?

Obviously I'm going to side with Big Dave Letterman on most issues, but come on--

If it looks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck....it's a duck.

If it gets knocked up (out of it's own stupidity), it's a slut.

as they say in the streets--"baller status"

6.07.2009

living

"Honan, I can't take Albany anymore. There's so much poverty; everybody's poor. I've never lived in a bad neighborhood in my entire life. The worst place I ever lived in was the Spanish part of Bay Ridge, and even that wasn't so bad."

-candace wilson

6.02.2009

I was standing outside the Barnes and Noble on 5th Ave. and 18th street this morning at around 8:45, waiting for 9am so I could go inside and buy a book of maps. It was a popular place to be, too, as seen by the 10 or so other people who also waited outside with me.

Lurking around was this black guy holding two backpacks and rocking a backwards SF Giants hat. He walked to the door and looked inside, muttering--to himself, maybe, or to the people through the glass inside. You didn't have to look at this guy very long to realize he was crazy, as so many people are, but this dude seemed to have some anger behind him. Alright, I thought, it happens. Until he walked up to the girl standing next to me, who had just landed in NY from London (I eavesdropped on her cell conversations) and sounded so innocent with her accent.

"Yo, fuck you bitch, fucking Obama man, fuck the FBI they don't know me, get off my DICK BITCH, BITCH get off my DICK..."

She walked away, clearly disturbed, and he walked to some other chick and did much of the same. Everyone ignored him until he started bothering another woman who happened to be walking up 5th; he matched her fast pace and caught up behind her and stepped down on the back of her shoes, flat-tiring her. The guy next to me-- a big guy--stood up and said, "Hey now."

And that woman--short, blonde, wearing a sweater tied around her shoulders, carrying a big Hobo bag on her shoulder and a coffee in her hand--stopped, dropped the bag to the ground, and went up to him.


Is she going to punch him? I thought. No, no--throw the coffee in his face.


No.


After she stopped she bent down, shifted her right pant leg up and grabbed the gun she had strapped to her ankle.

I couldn't hear what she was saying but I could read her face, tough and challenging, daring this everyday crazy guy to do something to her. He carried on--"FUCKING SHOOT ME MAN, YOU DON'T KNOW, GET OFF MY DICK"--but it was obvious that he had lost, especially after she continued to follow him up 5th as started walking away. The gun was put away at this point, but the coffee was still in hand.

I wonder if my writing has even improved?