Victoria Williams: 0199

[SCRAPBOOK: It was a question from MacLeish’s daughter, Mimi, which led him to realize that, “Nothing is more difficult for the beginning librarian than to discover what profession he was engaged.” Mimi, his daughter, had inquired about what her daddy was to do all day, “…hand out books?”]

G

Internet Sentences: 0021

It would be nice of us to know each other as I wish to have you as my friend,please could you get back to me for more details of my self and all maybe necessary in this relationship, including my picture,if this interest you get back to me,

Source: Junk Mail

It's Not The Way We Teach by Gary Cummiskey

Eva Jackson: 0042

Self-recrimination -
It's a mug's
game.

cherry bomb: 0009

Victoria Williams: 0198

When he assumed party leadership he took over the micro-management of the setting of the clocks. Even though an automatic adjustment system was in place, he preferred manual calibration for the challenge it posed of overcoming human error. This meant that workers were required to move the clock-hands at the appropriate times of year, under his direct supervision. It was impossible not to picture him, as we checked the hands any of our 47 municipal clocks, standing aloft with his arms spread wide. The face of the clock-setter came to be well-known, as it travelled across and wound its way around all lived things.

C

Here She Goes by Gary Cummiskey

A Short Film About Thandiswa Mazwai By Aryan Kaganof.

cherry bomb: 0008

Victoria Williams: 0197

[SCRAPBOOK: A private individual who owns a book is free, of course, to do with it as he pleases; he may destroy his property, or cherish it, even paint clothes on any naked figures that appear in it. But it is an altogether different matter when a librarian disfigures a book purchased with public funds—thereby editing the work of the author—and then presents this distortion to the library's patrons.]

S

Eye and I by Gary Cummiskey

Eva Jackson: 0041

stolen kiss in the hall of nocturnal animals

You held the door open and we saw only
Leaves, low redlit behind glass til we adjusted
And still saw only sand, sand and hummocks of grass
As though we were wearing night vision goggles,
Then saw the bushbaby staring at us, and wondered
If we were parted not only by night, but by one-way glass
So that it would not be disturbed.

Would it be a greater invasion of their privacy
To store the animals
Behind such glass, so that they did not know they were observed,
Did not stop their scratching and loving and eating,
Their washing of goods and chicken livers in their dirty, precious streams?

The peahen lay down between two bushes, back in the sunlight
And put her head on one side, as if to say
‘See all my shades
My many many shades
That you would miss, were you to become
Too mesmerised by his blue velvet.’

She too had a crest, she too
Gave over into gold, had an exquisite beak.

In the night when the park shuts down,
The hall of nocturnal animals is reversed
Like a carnival coming to life, the lights turn on
And the slight texture of the mouse, sleeping,
Is still indistinguishable from its surroundings.

cherry bomb: 0007

Victoria Williams: 0196

MAPS: Walking around Southern Cemetery, as usual thinking of myself and what I will say to the city when I have to leave.

Internet Sentences: 0020

I Hope it’s Right time to recall.

Source: Junk Mail

Stepping Out by Gary Cummiskey

Erik Vatne: In Service To The Poem

Gary Cummiskey interviews Erik Vatne at The Dye Hard Interviews.

cherry bomb: 0006

Victoria Williams: 0195

I said kiss me.
She said, where?