"The desert bears only a scathing sun, and nothing more."
"What about mirages?"

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Long Time No See!

Wow, it's been a long time since I put anything here. Sorry fellow bloggers-- life has just been a real drag lately, and I know you've all heard me say that before. I keep amazing myself with how much work graduation from highschool actually is, and I'm not even doing much! I've got friends whose workloads far exceed my own.

In any case. I just wanted to post something so that I don't fall into a habit of non-writing. That would be utter doom for me-- it's my best talent. The thought of it just fading away, like water eveaporating from a cup, is simply terrifying. I will do my best to keep posting through the next two months, but do expect a few wordless late nights from me. Once I'm done with school things will pick up again. Promise!

One last thing. Recently I've been reading a volume of poetry called The Fly in Autumn, by David Zieroth and it is really good! I'm blown away by a lot of the thoughts and the phrases and the rawness of the line breaks. A canadian poet and a really good read.


  1. hey Juice
    glad you surfaced for a bit.
    here is a poem of Zieroth's.

    The Fly in Autumn won the Govenor Genaral's Award for Poetry this year, by the way. a pretty high mark!

    keep your head down buddy and get through your year.
    we will all be here.



    One morning he woke up and started sinking
    down through flannel sheets, through foam
    through each airspace in foam, his fingers
    clutching what he kept missing, missing it
    when he opened his hand, nothing there and
    the same nothing kept with him as he sank

    down through cloth, coils and then
    through his parquet floor, and he panicked
    when he entered the ceiling of those
    who lived below—but they were workers
    and they had already left, their bed sheets
    untidy, and he couldn’t help noting

    pants on the floor, a tube of lipstick tipped
    on the dresser, its lid off, the living colour
    alarmingly red, and he descended
    through shag rug musty with crumbs
    and unswept hairs, sock fuzz, toenails
    and once a glitzy button passed by

    He began to relax now he knew he could
    manage ceilings and floors, believing
    he would stop when he met hard earth
    so down through six discrete floors
    he fell, slowly, almost as one drifting, not
    plummeting, not a disaster, just a descent

    He waved goodbye to operational apparatus
    in the basement and then easily entered
    concrete and felt the first brisk cold muscle
    of buried earth so long removed from light
    and incalescence, and knew he would continue
    until he met the central fire of the globe

    and he wondered if heat at the heart
    would be his final immolating destination
    if that forge would provide the brake
    he needed—but already he was thinking
    it hardly mattered where he finally ceased
    because the journey toward heat would be

    long, long, much longer than six floors
    and he would need to settle into accepting
    this fate if he wanted any clear mind left
    when he came face to face with molten flame
    calling him, undoubtedly calling, though last night
    he could not have imagined any such sound

  2. Glad you're back! I loved the cup evaporating line, it was simply perfect. I know exactly how you feel with the high school work load, it seems like I'm swamped though my classes aren't so bad.

  3. just saying hello and cheering for you!
    you can do it!

  4. I'm blown away by the fact that you study and write and are so young and talented in the first place.

    Don't give up, but don't beat yourself up either. x


"Write with our backs to the wind and our faces to the hard, bleaching sun."