The Confessional

The Gospel of Potholes

2009-12-18T14:45:00.001-08:00

This is something new -

flocking sirens, the gathering myth
of morning

the way wheat breaks before the wind

can a woman think fast enough
to subvert herself?

Can a woman (the street preacher
is praising a tin can)

can a woman, can
a woman
learn to bow?

Always, there is the pressing weight
(the preacher is praising)

God
like a cold hand
in yours.

Who dreams of growing
to speak
to God in an alley - the dust motes,

a child smaller than you.

Rhetoric

2009-12-16T19:48:00.000-08:00

You have lived
the end already, the stunning

child dancing above the crowd

I couldn’t touch anything
with these wretched hands

This is the relatively
minor dream -

to enter the boarded door

to enter the boarded door
to climb the stairs

if fire is a contributing factor
you will wear water

and move like a river
downhill

Chicago (60637)

2009-09-02T17:39:00.000-07:00

Then you see an innocuous door and a few steps down
and you think, this looks small and rather
less than you expected.

But again and again the rooms unfold
and you walk deeper and deeper into

book heaven.

Like Roaches

2009-04-13T20:28:00.000-07:00

The moment you flick the light switch,

the way they scurry from sight

is not art, nor the sound

of them skittering. You have begun

to understand.

Not even the painting

of the lit room, empty. Art is this:

to look at it, the room painted

the moment after

the lifting of the black

and still be able to feel

the roaches there.

University of Chicago

2009-02-19T13:37:00.001-08:00

I visited the University of Chicago over the weekend. What can I say? The neighborhood is awesome, the school is beautiful, and the program is extremely impressive. Hyde Park is much less intimidating than downtown, and there is so much diversity. There are awesome bookstores, and the whole feel of the place is very intellectual.

The bottom line is financing. If I can figure out the money situation, I'll probably be living in Chicago next year; if I can't, I won't. Despite that, I cannot say enough about my experiences with the University to this point. It's definitely on a whole other level. I would be extremely honored to study there.

There Was a Little Magpie

2009-02-18T20:02:00.000-08:00

after Joan Miro

nothing is important

your tiny heart

stitching itself to the sky,

planets like a girl's fingerprints

children singing about

the sorrow of winglessness,

a heavy secret never to be told

nothing was more important

you became the first

small thing with blood

to love your own face in the mirror

flight

the way you named yourself

Will the Real False Prophet Please Stand Up?

2009-02-14T10:20:00.000-08:00

Image from a Borders bookstore's CHILDREN'S SECTION.

On the "Stimulus"

2009-02-13T13:03:00.000-08:00

“There is plenty to complain about for everyone, and perhaps that’s the sign of a good compromise. Regardless of party, we all cast our votes with one hand and crossed our fingers with the other.”
~ U.S. Rep. Emanuel Cleaver (D)

"No one believes more firmly than Comrade Napoleon that all animals are equal. He would be only too happy to let you make your decisions for yourselves. But sometimes you might make the wrong decisions, comrades, and then where should we be?"
- George Orwell, Animal Farm, Ch. 5

"No question now, what had happened to the faces of the pigs. The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which."
- George Orwell, Animal Farm, Ch. 10

"I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just, that His justice cannot sleep forever."
~Thomas Jefferson

Wordplay

2009-02-10T18:49:00.001-08:00

The reading by Michael Dumanis tonight reminded me of this (he talked about the importance of wordplay...cue Bahamadia).

Dear God It Is Me Calling

2009-02-08T20:13:00.000-08:00

after Carla D’Aguanno

Drawn to false sheen, you were

captured by wrongness, couldn’t

look up from the lie.

No little girl wears a dress

into a hayloft, not unless she wants

it torn. What could she want there,

anyway?

Unless it is forbidden,

a pitchfork is boring, those walls

too shiny to be real.

Why pray here, except to beg

for grace?

The Fugue

2009-02-07T21:16:00.001-08:00

after Wassily Kandinsky

As excited as you are

by burgundy, it cannot make up

for the lack of noise

nothing makes you so angry

the world brushing against

your sensitive parts

as if your bedroom needed

another genocide

to order things

water ruined by rust,

a sip of delirium,

and you wake up coming

It’s midnight Friday

The Seroquel is gone

Nude Woman on her Back with Legs Apart

2009-02-06T14:26:00.001-08:00

after Auguste Rodin

I am a woman's mouth, painted shut.

There is movement in the corner,

your muttered words full

of the weight of night.

This has nothing to do with me.

A person, oddly, remembers

hay motes in sunlight , her little sister’s

eyes like a chemical burn,

drab non sequiturs of purity.

I won’t say I, but a woman,

any woman, can feel you looking,

instinctively knows the stroke

of the brush that halves her.

2009-02-01T18:25:00.000-08:00

Charmi Keranen, beloved den mother, is in the Winter issue of Blossombones!

Life Story

2009-01-29T17:33:00.001-08:00

after Nadia Beltei

It is written

all over you, the memory

of pride, the perfect

sapling straightness

of your youth.

The later desperate bend

into the wind.

And didn't you weep yourself

free of leaves?

Too late, you realize

it could have been avoided,

this slow, painful shaping

toward the light,

if you had only

taught yourself

to bow.

Christina's World

2009-01-21T17:10:00.001-08:00

after Andrew Wyeth

A picture of a house

hangs in the house in the picture

of a house on a hill

and so on, each girl afraid to turn her back

the yearling hung in the corn crib, gutted,

dead eyes wide, front hooves scraping

the slatted floor

the man with his blood-smudged cheek

she thinks of following that rutted lane

as if she could walk out of the world

and not step right back into

that house

Maelstrom

2009-01-20T21:15:00.000-08:00

after Salvador Dali

Ticked
_____and skittered, ticked
and skittered, trick-
_____________ery of minutes in the midnight hour

The room moves
_______a mind unstitching itself

Something tries to walk up
______where skull meets vertebrae,

________maddening as rats scrabbling in walls
____________and you

______and you follow the voices, try
to nail them down and

the night like violin wire, strung tight
__________________________across the eye

It is times like these, when the music
_____won’t stop, you dream
________________________in sepia

2009-01-20T17:02:00.000-08:00

Tangled Garden

2009-01-19T13:21:00.000-08:00

after J.E.H. MacDonald

This garden is a frenzy

of whispers, half-wild, creatures

like voices moving between the weeds

A murmur of nasturtiums

If sunflowers crumbling

calms you, their brittle veins

needling your skin –

what of that? Dust is, finally, silent.

You begin to grow this way, the living

fed by dead things, husk and fragrance

borne on the same wind.

And that window? If there was

a girl, she’s gone now.

Recession? What Recession?

2009-01-19T08:55:00.000-08:00

Cost of actual swearing in of new president..............$1.24 million

Cost of huge party............................................$170 million (partially funded by bailout money)

The audacity of hope.........................................Priceless

IUSB CRIME ALERT - VERY IMPORTANT

2009-01-15T16:37:00.000-08:00

The IU South Bend Police Department has received reports of possible sightings on campus of the above individual who is a predatory sex offender. Rickey Allen Robbins was released from custody in Oregon on December 10, 2008 after serving time for sex-related crimes. He immediately fled parole supervision. Robbins, who has family in the Union City, Indiana, area has been responsible for burglary and sexual offenses on college campuses across the country. Most of his crimes have been committed on college campuses. He also has a history of posing as a college professor to gain access to campus areas. If you see this individual, you should immediately contact IU South Bend Police Department at 520-4239 or call 9-1-1. His description and picture are below:

Age: 57
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 190
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Brown/Gray
Scars: Abdomen, Back, Chest

My addition: Spread this news, ladies; tell everybody you know. And be careful when on campus. Walk together with a friend if you have to go anywhere isolated, and when on campus after dark. Guys, please be just as careful, and be willing to walk a lady to her car or across campus if necessary.

Accepted

2009-01-13T15:28:00.000-08:00

I have been accepted to the University of Chicago School of Social Service Administration's M.S.W. program! Financial information is still forthcoming.

The Meaning Of Christmas

2008-12-24T17:02:00.000-08:00

God bless you all.

Meet the new boss...

2008-12-23T17:45:00.000-08:00

...same as the old boss.

The Cemetery of Forgotten Books

2008-12-19T10:16:00.000-08:00

"Without further ado I left the place, finding my route by the marks I had made on the way in. As I walked in the dark through the tunnels and tunnels of books, I could not help being overcome by a sense of sadness. I couldn't help thinking that if I, by pure chance, had found a whole universe in a single unknown book, buried in that endless necropolis, tens of thousands more would remain unexplored, forgotten forever. I felt myself surrounded by millions of abandoned pages, by worlds and souls without an owner sinking in an ocean of darkness, while the world that throbbed outside the library seemed to be losing its memory, day after day, unknowingly, feeling all the wiser the more it forgot."

from "The Shadow of the Wind" by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Portrait of the Blocked Poet as a Bad Child

2008-12-17T18:44:00.000-08:00

By God, if it’s the last thing you do, you will sit

at that table until you finish

writing a poem.

Sex Vs. The Web

2008-12-16T14:42:00.000-08:00

Nearly 50 percent of women would rather go without sex than the internet for two weeks, according to a recent survey.

My question is: who were the half that chose to go without the web?

Conventional Girl

2008-11-26T11:08:00.000-08:00

A question for my readers: should a guy be the first to ask a girl out? Does it matter?

I guess I'm old-fashioned, but I always kind of like it when the guy takes the lead for that first phone call or get-together.

Of course, I have no problem with the girl dropping hints...

Sleep to Dream

2008-11-23T10:48:00.001-08:00

The same dream again...my teeth are loose, I push them back and forth with my tongue, they are hanging on by a tiny shred of pink flesh. My teeth are loose, and I know they will come out, and I am dreading the holes they will leave in my mouth. But still I cannot stop pushing them, pulling them, feeling them shift deliciously against their neighboring teeth. I so want them to stay, to fill the holes in my mouth. I so want to pull them out, to feel them come free from that shred of skin. This dream always ends with me losing them, plucking them finally from my gums, so easily. This is the pinnacle of horror, this the pinnacle of pleasure. Can they be the same thing?

Only when I sleep can I find the poetry. So I sleep when I am not awake.

Lest We Forget When the Darkness Calls

2008-11-22T13:46:00.001-08:00

What a Wonderful World
~ Louis Armstrong

News of Note to Nobody Else

2008-11-18T19:06:00.001-08:00

1. The picture has very little to do with any news, but I love it. That said, I am considering worshiping at a Catholic church. Well, at least once. The service is gorgeous, poetic, ancient, shrouded in mystery...I am drawn to the Catholic mass, though I was not raised Catholic. I'm a little nervous, though; the only time I've ever been was when I was young, with my god-parents. They stand when we sit, kneel when we stand, and do weird things with their hands. I'm trying to find a Catholic friend who can initiate me so I don't make a total ass of myself (completely likely).

2. I have begun work on a manuscript. Ha. More like I have begun work on the central conceit of a manuscript. Unfortunately, the bulk of the poems that will actually make up the manuscript still seem to need to be written. Maybe since I have a central conceit, it will help me focus my poetry. Maybe it will just end up living in the same place in my brain as learning to break dance, learning to sketch, and learning to cook (or even wanting to learn to cook).

3. The University of Chicago's SSA admissions committee is currently considering my application for admission to its A.M. in Social Work program. If you (reader) are of the praying sort, pray for my acceptance and roughly a hundred grand in financial aid.

4. Two days in, I am ready for winter to be over.

5. Words of wisdom for Doris Day: conventional is boring.

Ideal Reader? Just Curious.

2008-11-14T17:29:00.000-08:00

Writers and friends, I ask you:

Do you have an ideal reader? You know, one person for whom you write, or who you think of reading your work while you write, or who inspires you most to write? One person whose praise means a great deal to you because you often write directly to him/her? Do you have an ideal reader, either real or fictional?

I do. Sometimes I have more than one, or a different one for different poems. But for the most part, I have one ideal reader whose praise rings in my head even while I write, reaffirming my choice to try to speak things which can't always be spoken. Sometimes, when I write, and I get stuck, I think of my ideal reader, and write with that person in mind.

Is the person real? Fictional? Or idealized? How about yours?

Does it matter?

Weeping Nude

2008-11-12T18:31:00.001-08:00

Edvard Munch, 1913

2008-11-12T17:07:00.001-08:00

"When you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you." ~ Friedrich Nietsche

"When you look into the economic abyss, the United States government gets its hooks into you." ~ Rachel Custer

I'm thinking about quitting my job. I figure I'm poor enough that I will qualify for some of that redistributed wealth Obama's going to spread around. Of course, that will only work if I don't.

Christmas in November!

2008-11-12T14:25:00.000-08:00

In the mail...

Ruin by Cynthia Cruz
The First Four Books of Poems by Louise Gluck
Rape & Society: Readings on the Problem of Sexual Assault edited by Patricia Searles and Ronald J. Berger

2008-11-11T21:04:00.000-08:00

Bash Back!, a "homosexual activism group," apparently felt the need to disrupt a church service in Michigan, begin screaming epithets and heretical statements at worshippers, vandalize church property, physically confront congregation members, make out on stage, and throw condoms into a crowd including children.

Not only that, they brought a reporter with them. That's right. A reporter was made aware of the "protest" BEFOREHAND and, rather than report it to police, chose to cover the story.

Just a few things:

1. Are you serious? Does anybody REALLY believe that "gay rights" are going to be promoted by this sort of intolerance and hatred? Who in their right mind, gay or straight, believes something like this is ok? Maybe the qualifier "in their right mind" makes the difference here. This sort of thing displays the hypocrisy in the "tolerance and acceptance" sermons of the "gay rights" movement.

2. You know those signs "we don't swim in your toilet, so don't pee in our pool"? Applicable.

3. At the very least, if you must protest, do it in a way classy enough so as not to expose children to sex acts and religious hatred. These are CHILDREN. In CHURCH. They are too young to understand why there are two men making out on the podium while other angry people yell things like "Jesus was gay."

In my opinion, these people should be prosecuted to the full extent for the several laws they broke.

Something Like a Poem

2008-11-07T21:23:00.001-08:00

still, there are those spaces between buildings,

filled with night

the skittering of small things

dancing outside the light, the

muttering ones with hands

that flit like moths

my father named

the possum on our porch George Jones, said

George is more afraid of you than you…

and I was of him

those glowing eyes

but mostly because he hissed and never bit

still, there were those spaces, large and dark

as the distance between a word

and what is meant

and I began to want to live in alleys

and I began to trust the muttering ones

Today, Musings

2008-11-04T18:42:00.001-08:00

...you may notice every political post has been deleted from my blog. Less than 24 hours and it's over, and I couldn't be happier. I need about a three and a half year breather.

...tonight I did something that I was very scared to do. I did a great job, I think. I feel happy about it. It will help me help other people.

...I got a haircut today (as well as excess fur removal from my face...I tend toward a uni-brow after awhile). It always feels good to have my hair look good for a day. I wish I could do it the same way the salon people can.

...I received Louise Gluck's "The First Four Books of Poems" in the mail. I am very excited.

...A good friend has let me know that she and her husband are expecting their first child. I am so happy for her.

...I was probably wrong. It has happened before, and will happen again. We fall down, we get up.

...I am tired. It's been a long day. But it's a happy tired. It's been a fruitful day. God is good.

Women/Children and Islam

2008-11-02T19:05:00.000-08:00

13-year old rape victim convicted of adultery, stoned to death in front of 1000 spectators

What A Great Day for Football!

2008-10-25T20:08:00.001-07:00

Not only did Notre Dame wallop Washington 33-7, both Ohio State and Michigan got spanked, IU upset ranked Northwestern, and Purdon't lost.

Good stuff! If USC loses, I'll consider it perfect.

Grad. School Possibilites

2008-10-24T18:49:00.000-07:00

I've decided to pursue a Master's degree in Social Work. I believe this is what God has called me to do, and the way He will create good out of some past bad experiences.

So, I'm winnowing down the graduate schools to which I'll be applying. The short list seems to looks something like this:

University of Chicago SSA (easily the most prestigious of my possible choices)
IUSB/IUPUI (I can take the first year at IUSB and transfer to IUPUI for a concentration)
Andrew's University (which also has a dual-degree MSW and M.Div. in conjunction with AMBS in Elkhart, that would be a great way to incorporate my religious beliefs into my education)
University of Michigan (though it hurts my stomach to consider attending a school whose football team I despise so much - petty, yes...true, yes)

And those seem to be the choices. The best program is the one at U of Chicago, with several classes which would specifically complement my choice of specialization. It's also, of course, very competitive and quite expensive. We'll see how things shake out.

2008-10-18T22:38:00.001-07:00

..."Let God be true, but every man a liar."

~from Romans 3:4

Something Else Meaningless

2008-10-15T20:25:00.000-07:00

for Eric

Cottonmouth moccasin

in the creek rotting that long-

body summer against the rocks

Grasses in the water waved like hair

My brother got the shotgun

His eyes were empty hallways

My brother cocked the shotgun

His eyes were quiet moans

I became a fever my brother caught

I became my brother’s heated brow

I became a hot shotgun shell

The dead drag the living down

And nothing was so bad as all that

The trees still moved above us

Their leaves were gentle whispers

The trees still lived above us

Their leaves were soothing hands

My brother fired the shotgun at a can

Up the Staircase

2008-10-08T19:50:00.000-07:00

My poems are up at Up the Staircase! Hope you guys like them (though I think most of you have seen them before, in one form or another).

Also, I would like to thank Ann Weedon for taking my photograph. She was very patient; it's not easy to get me to stand still long enough to capture me with a camera.

College Senior Project

2008-10-03T16:38:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm a college senior. Yes, I'm taking a 100-level course. And yes, part of my assignment included blowing up part of an image (I chose Picasso's Woman in front of a mirror) and coloring, cutting, and pasting it into four separate images. So, here they are (I never said I was an artist):Line thickness variation

Contrast variation

Color variation

Texture variation

Mommy and Daddy

2008-10-01T14:33:00.000-07:00

Study finds that children who spend significant amounts of quality time with their fathers have a higher IQ; differences in upward mobility measurable into their forties.

Check Out Charmi!

2008-09-30T09:45:00.000-07:00

Salt River Review

jmww

Six Unremarkable Things About Me

2008-09-27T11:54:00.000-07:00

I keep getting tagged, so here we go:

1. Sometimes when I get out of my car, I pretend I'm in an action movie and I only have a few seconds to get far enough away before it explodes behind me.

2. I have had the theme song from Three's Company stuck in my head for nearly six months. I don't remember ever watching an entire episode of the show.

3. I used to dream of playing football for my high school when I was a kid.

4. I sometimes dream in French. I'm much more fluent when I'm asleep.

5. I have a birthmark on my left shoulder blade.

6. I have recurring nightmares about tornadoes.

Flirt

2008-09-24T19:18:00.000-07:00

So what if the whites of his eyes were more
The color of day-old custard, which I later learned
Is a symptom of hepatitis, and so what if I’m fairly sure
He was drunk at noon, that man was clearly

Digging me.

He said I’m a counselor and I said Well, that’s good,
Because I’m crazy, and oh! Both of our names
Begin with “r”.

He even told the truth about his wife.

So I gave him a fake number, told him to call
Me later, and strutted back to my friend
Waiting in the car.

Warning

2008-09-21T22:01:00.000-07:00

This storm contains rotation.

Cumulonimbus - she understands
the need to name destruction,
to take into one’s own mouth

the killing thing.

The radio announcer says a fifteen foot
storm surge, the ocean is coming
halfway up the beach, and she

practices naming on that shore.

A wave licks the sand between her toes

and I will call you the tongue
on the unformed cunt.

The clouds move closer, lumber
like great, misshapen gods.

Seek shelter now.
Leave the broken things.

I Have Come

2008-09-12T23:56:00.000-07:00

Back to the padlocked door, the dark storefront,

the main street night, have kicked it down. I

have climbed the stairs, the wooden planks.

Nothing with blood remains now in this place.

I have entered again the room where you first entered

me, ripped the thin pink bride-veil of my sex,

I have returned to carpet the color of veins.

Listen. I have come to reclaim the body.

My eyes flash like coins. I am all hard knuckles

and knotted, graying hair, my nipples raised

like simple monuments. You will not now refuse

me penitence. I have come, my bones inside me

clicking like rosary beads, the body praying,

the mantra I have come. I have come with my hands

full of no, not today, full of never again while I’m here,

like the newly freed falsely accused, I come.

Writer's Block

2008-09-09T19:14:00.001-07:00

Of course, now that I have begun class in which I need to write, I have developed a raging case of writer's block. Sigh. Quick, somebody, inspire me!

Go ND!

2008-09-06T12:44:00.003-07:00

Support the Local Arts Community!

2008-09-03T15:35:00.001-07:00

Yep, I stole the photo from Charmi, who stole it from Naoko, who stole it from Professor Parker. Somebody else, by all means, steal it from me. Pass it on!

Surprise!

2008-09-02T11:18:00.001-07:00

Apparently I have five poems in the 21st issue of Concelebratory Shoehorn Review. While I never submitted to this publication, did not write my bio, and certainly never said that "Mishawaka is a long way from Oz," I am flattered that they found my work worthy of showcasing and would like to thank the editor for choosing it. Sweet!

While Making Love, I Consider Schrodinger

2008-08-27T19:32:00.000-07:00

I am alive like a cat, tamed

predation and tensile strength.

The air hums with waiting between our lips.

You move like a bass line

thrumming beneath the night, you

are both inside and all

around me.

I am dead like a cat,

all yawn and drowsing eyes.

Nothing is a paradox now.

Great News!

2008-08-19T14:24:00.000-07:00

Today I was offered the "Featured Writer" position at litmag Up the Staircase. They will publish four of my poems, an interview, and audio files of me reading my work. I'm so excited!

*P.S. Does anybody know how I can make an MP3 file of me reading? I'm lost here. Help, FGWC!

Holy Sonnet XIV

2008-08-05T17:04:00.000-07:00

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

John Donne, from The Holy Sonnets

Bogeyman at 27

2008-07-31T19:45:00.000-07:00

Night is an unreliable narrator

lying in your ear its way

through stories only you

have ever known.

Something moves in the sliding way of yolk.

You may take a lover

using the logic of a child

who leaps from a sprint

into bed.

You may learn to fear the sidelong glance.

A nightmare is only

something so new

there is no name

for it,

forced into a cliché so poets can't tell.

2008-07-31T18:17:00.000-07:00

"Corporal Mortification" is in the new issue of Flutter.

Still Untitled

2008-07-26T19:33:00.000-07:00

______________I.

There is a softer place behind the barn,

soil bare of rock and thistle-growth, the kiss

of moss. An apple-rot

or baby-skull of ground. There is

a death that will not fertilize.

Myself, I have seen a nesting bird refuse

a spot of down because it still caressed

a splinter of bone. I have seen

superstition, instinctual.

II.

My sister was seven the year

we climbed the fence, chased the cows,

their dumb, rheumy eyes

rolling in fear. Manure squelched

like grapes between our toes. That was the summer

our mother found the sink full of hair,

the year I hid the scissors under my bed.

That was the day I learned to weave

a braid like a funeral wreath.

We buried her clothes in the spot

behind the barn.

Surprising Loss

2008-07-19T06:08:00.000-07:00

for the four

_______________I

Perhaps the beams are the way the moon

mourns its craters’ smoothing, light reflected back

from the loss of scars. What is a star

without the formative violence of space, its light

a testament to early wounds? One bird

in a flock without a broken wing?

We cannot name unique what does not bleed.

_______________II

I am an oak tree, made of the knots and gashes

of my youth, formed by the hack and prune,

the christening carve. You have been

the blade, the instrument of my bleeding.

You have been the name I call myself.

_______________III

I am a whole eggshell, unbroken.

I am skin without a tear.

_______________IIII

When identity heals over,

what are we?

Important New Link Added

2008-07-18T23:58:00.000-07:00

I have added the link to "Operation Outcry" to my blogroll.

It is finally being widely acknowledged that abortion not only has the effect of killing a baby, it has extremely deleterious, lasting effects on many millions of women each year.

Operation Outcry gives women a chance to tell the truth about their traumatic experiences with abortion, to cry out, to tell the world that abortion is not a healthy choice, mentally or physically, for mothers.

Please visit their site, donate if you are so moved, and see how women are truly affected in life-altering ways by abortion.

A Good Day

2008-07-13T02:31:00.000-07:00

Today was a good day.

Flutter Poetry Journal accepted "Corporal Mortification" this morning.

Then, I had the chance to take part in "A Body of Work," a wonderful reading by female artists at the Chicory Cafe. Other participants included Charmi, Ann, Talia, and Naoko, and Terry Vega, as well as April Lidinski and organizer Rebecca Waring-Crane. Judy Berg punctuated the writing with her beautiful music.

I was truly honored to be a part of this reading; all of these women are wonderfully talented, and I had a blast. Thanks also to my Mom for being there.

Work is going well, though I'm still getting used to the schedule. I miss you, FGWC!

The Morality of Touch

2008-07-07T14:02:00.000-07:00

Is it sin, this stretch of synapse toward

touch, that small flesh-pleasure? The brush of my

arm against your arm, auburn hairs

stippling my skin. Is it sin?

Get A Job

2008-07-02T18:27:00.000-07:00

Some good news: the "summer job" God blessed me with has turned into a full-time offer to begin Monday. I enjoyed The Office before, but now I have an even greater appreciation for its genius. Though I wish I could say I'm the Pam, I think I'm probably more likely the Phyllis. As in completely socially awkward and a little weird. Okay, a lot weird. Whatever.

So my life for the next year will consist of taking over the third shift at my workplace (oh, responsibility, I suppose I must embrace you), going to school part-time, and trying to write. Come visit me some night. (Not really, I'm kind of supposed to work).

Someday, I may even be able to get an apartment with a bedroom, or even a house, which will lead directly to obtaining a big-girl bed. Coolness!

Pop Culture

2008-06-29T17:19:00.000-07:00

They call it going viral,

faceless tens of millions

tuning in to watch teenagers fight,

or a man turn a perfect

pirouette in the air

the moment after the bridge

and before the ground.

High-tech rubbernecking, we

can watch a soul burst

from the comfort of our own

living rooms.

If a woman videotapes herself

nursing a child, will the world

gather to watch?

If the man decides not to jump,

steps back at the last moment,

is our sigh relief

or disappointed ennui?

SWF ISO Publication

2008-06-28T19:24:00.000-07:00

Likes:

Caterpillars, the undulating inch-along, is it black

that means another week of winter? The midnight spring

plow-crawl beneath the harvest moon. Please be willing

to look, to see the gifts the river gives, clam shells

lined the color of tarnished dimes. Fish fries and bake

sales and worship songs. Narrative poetry.

Dislikes:

Rejection, cold as a mother’s eyes just before

the first slap. Apology, useless as her tears afterward.

Children and Islam

2008-06-27T08:20:00.000-07:00

"The Prophet Muhammad is the model we follow. He took 'Aisha to be his wife when she was 6, but he had sex with her only when she was 9."

Saudi Cleric Says 9 Is Appropriate Age for Sex

Year One

2008-06-24T20:25:00.000-07:00

I was still standing
on a northern corner.

Moonlit winter clouds the color of the desperation of wolves.

Proof
of Your existence? There is nothing
but.

~Franz Wright, Walking to Martha's Vineyard

Update on Canadian Right Feet

2008-06-19T07:38:00.001-07:00

More feet wash ashore on Canadian islands!

Drill Here, Drill Now, Pay Less

2008-05-31T22:15:00.000-07:00

Sign the petition! A vocal minority should not be able to negatively affect the standard of living of millions of hardworking Americans. Turn those red zones into green zones!

Bits and Pieces

2008-05-29T18:59:00.000-07:00

AKA The Desperation of Severe Writer's Block

I Close My Eyes

And see, coiled close
against the young smooth and pink of me, silver
filaments of your chest
hair.

Ether

Cut me to confetti, ticker-tape of skin
and gristle, tendon, gray-white chips of bone.

A sensual science, aerodynamics, the lilting
lift of wind brushing against the drag
of gravity.

And then, there's nothing. Things shut down. I begin to see all of those rejection slips, to hear editors of small-press magazines laughing as they read the final product, to feel that rise of hope and sinking of the stomach that comes every time I open an email marked "Submission - Rachel Custer."

This is ridiculous.

Carbon Belch Day

2008-05-28T09:45:00.000-07:00

Global warming skeptics are planning Carbon Belch Day on June 12, for people who need to rid themselves of the false guilt instilled by Gore and Co., over their "carbon footprint."

I personally pledge to drive at least twice as much as I usually do, leave lights on all over my house, throw away as much recyclable material as I can, and generally do anything else I can to protest the lack of critical thinking skills that plagues environmental nutjobs.

Join me, won't you?

A sampling of the nutjobs we're protesting, from an enlightening article called "The Anti-Human Agenda":

“Human happiness, and certainly human fecundity, are not as important as a wild and healthy planet. I know social scientists who remind me that people are part of nature, but it isn’t true. Somewhere along the line – at about a billion years ago – we quit the contract and became a cancer. We have become a plague upon ourselves and upon the Earth. It is cosmically unlikely that the developed world will choose to end its orgy of fossil energy consumption, and the Third World its suicidal consumption of landscape. Until such time as Homo Sapiens should decide to rejoin nature, some of us can only hope for the right virus to come along.” - Nutjob David Graber

“Mankind is a cancer; we’re the biggest blight on the face of the earth.” “If you haven’t given voluntary human extinction much thought before, the idea of a world with no people in it may seem strange. But, if you give it a chance, I think you might agree that the extinction of Homo Sapiens would mean survival for millions if not billions, of Earth-dwelling species, Phasing out the human race will solve every problem on earth, social and environmental.” - Nutjob Ingrid Newkird of PETA (surprise)

On My Heart in These Difficult Times

2008-05-26T10:54:00.001-07:00

"For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life."

KJV, John 3:16

Now, for those of you who are immediately ready to scoff or disbelieve, I want to ask you to truly try to keep an open mind as you contemplate three questions for only thirty seconds before you respond:

1. What if YOU'RE wrong?

If you're wrong, you are missing out on a relationship with the eternal God, and chancing the death of your eternal soul.

2. What if I'M wrong?

If I'm wrong, someday I will die, and there will be nothing afterwards. The only thing I will have lost is the ability to live immorally without guilt.

3. Which of us stands to lose more by not AT THE VERY LEAST contemplating the possibility that we are wrong?

At his heresy trial, Socrates said that "the unexamined life is not worth living." Be a TRUE intellectual - examine your spiritual life.

2008-05-14T18:06:00.000-07:00

Photographs Courtesy of the Fall River Historical Society

Sharon Olds, from Satan Says

The lady in ruched sateen is lying
on the Turkey carpet, belly down,
a dropped seal, a dark pool like
oil under the face, darkness like
hair all over the face.

Something has been stopped.

The gentleman is resting on the horsehair
settee, his legs in Sunday black

bent like stovepipe.
The face has been divided into parts, a map,
and broken up like a puzzle, each piece
outlined darkly.

____________It is clear there was someone
in there, someone who has been driven out.

The furniture in the parlor is well
polished. The little figurines
stand on the surfaces. All the heavy
clothing is in place. Only the heads
are unmade, a hard job of work
on a hot morning, after a breakfast
of mutton soup.

____________The daughter was let off,
but as you look at the pictures, the long
cracks between the sections of the face,
the back of her skull uneven as some
internal organ, the conviction is flat.
Only a daughter could have done that.

On Violence and Islam (see previous post)

2008-05-13T20:38:00.000-07:00

A good, relevant post here.

A sampling of the Koran's 164 jihad verses:

Excerpt K 2:190-191
Set 2, Count 3+4 [2.190] ...fight in the way of Allah with those who fight with you...[2.191] And kill them wherever you find them, and drive them out from whence they drove you out, and persecution is severer than slaughter, and do not fight with them at the Sacred Mosque until they fight with you in it, but if they do fight you, then slay them; such is the recompense of the unbelievers.

Excerpt K 2:193-194
Set 3, Count 5+6 [193]...fight with them...[194]...whoever then acts aggressively against you, inflict injury on him according to the injury he has inflicted on you... (Christ says to turn the other cheek)

Excerpt K 4:074-077
Set 15, Count 38-41 [4.74] Therefore let those fight in the way of Allah, who sell this world's life for the hereafter; and whoever fights in the way of Allah, then be he slain or be he victorious, We shall grant him a mighty reward. [4.75] ...fight in the way of Allah... [4.76] Those who believe fight in the way of Allah, and those who disbelieve fight in the way of the Satan. Fight therefore against the friends of the Satan... [4.77] ...when fighting is prescribed for them...Our Lord! why hast Thou ordained fighting for us?...

Excerpt K 8:012
Set 28, Count 62 ...make firm those who believe. I will cast terror into the hearts of those who disbelieve. Therefore strike off their heads and strike off every fingertip of them.

8:65 O Apostle! Rouse the Believers to the fight. If there are twenty amongst you, patient and persevering, they will vanquish two hundred: If a hundred, they will vanquish a thousand of the Unbelievers: For these are a people without understanding.

Charming, no? I'll give you one guess - who are the "unbelievers"? And yes, one of these days I will read the entire Koran. Right now, though, I'm still learning the Bible.

Here is the deal: I do not hate Muslims. I hate Islam, because I believe it is a violent religion that deludes millions of people worldwide, many who are not violent people. I do not condemn Muslims to Hell, for that is not my place.

I simply want those of you who will no doubt post harsh statements regarding this post to stop for a second, try to clear your mind of your own prejudices, and ask yourself one question:

Do you believe that Muslims who wish to kill you will abstain because you defended their religion? Because here's the thing: to an extremist Muslim, you are as much an infidel as I am, and deserve the same punishment.

And that, my friends, is death.

Women and Islam

2008-05-11T17:12:00.000-07:00

"Death was the least she deserved. I don't regret it. I had the support of all my friends who are fathers, like me, and know what she did was unacceptable to any Muslim that honours his religion.

I don't have a daughter now, and I prefer to say that I never had one. That girl humiliated me in front of my family and friends. Speaking with a foreign solider, she lost what is the most precious thing for any woman. 'People from western countries might be shocked, but our girls are not like their daughters that can sleep with any man they want and sometimes even get pregnant without marrying. Our girls should respect their religion, their family and their bodies.

If I had realized then what she would become, I would have killed her the instant her mother delivered her"

- Iraqi Abdel-Qader Ali, on killing his teenage daughter because she became infatuated with a British soldier and had discussions with him in public. Police congratulated and released him.

God Help Us

2008-05-05T17:26:00.000-07:00

Most people even vaguely acquainted with the news have heard the horrible story of the Austrian man who held his daughter captive and abused her for decades. I will not say any more on this subject, because quite frankly it breaks my heart to think about it.

But there is an important issue I would like to discuss: on discussion boards all over the internet, this man is roundly denounced as evil, a monster, inhuman, and widely condemned to pain, death, and eternal Hell. He is the world's new favorite person to hate.

Quite apart from the fact that further hatred and abuse of him will not cure what is wrong with this world, even in this case, something else is happening that puts the lie to the rest of humanity's "comparative goodness," as implied by these people so ready to comment:

Tourists are gathering in Austria to see the "House of Horrors." I'm not linking; if you really want to read it, you'll have to look it up. But to me, this example of rubbernecking at the scene of a most horrific crime does more to show how pervasive the disease of sin is in the human race than even this one man's horrible crimes.

One evil person, or one person who commits atrocious acts of evil, is nothing new in this world, for we have seen Hitler, Stalin, Jeffrey Dahmer, and thousands of other men and women like them. The thing we must avoid is becoming so self-righteous we fail to recognize the evil that stands aside and revels in the crimes.

This includes not only those tourists, but the newspapers that gleefully report every disgusting detail of this crime, and the people who take such joy in condemning even this man to Hell. This is not only a case that reveals the truth about one sinful, evil man, it is a case that reveals the truth about the sin that is in all of us, the sin that allows us to look, disgusted but fascinated, at this horrible, horrible crime.

Which brings me to my prayer, the one thought I have more and more lately as I read my morning news: May God help us, for we surely need it. Father, forgive us, for without your mercy, we are surely lost, without hope. I hope this blog touches the heart of at least one person, for I suppose that's the reason it was written - to reach out to somebody who sees this horror and feels the weight of it, perhaps to somehow share the burden. May God help us all, and especially the people who have been directly affected by this case.

On Needing A Break

2008-04-29T18:47:00.000-07:00

I hate poetry. I hate my poetry. I hate the fact that I write now because I feel I have to and not because I must or die. That writing has become just another chore I need to do, another way in which I must keep up.

I hate poetry assignments and poetry submissions and poetry exercises and poetry rejections. I hate poetry workshopping. I hate writer's block and having a sadistic muse and having dreams that are more vivid than my recent poems.

Most of all, I hate that I hate this thing I love more than anything else I do.

I feel I have lost what it was that made me need to write in the first place. Something David said resonates: I must get away from the "career" of poetry and back to the love, the need for words.

On Not Feeling the Need to Elaborate

2008-04-28T16:24:00.000-07:00

Rachel-

Thank you for your submission. Unfortunately we're going to have to pass on these.

Best of luck,
(Editor who shall remain nameless)

Goodbye to the Silver Bullet

2008-04-26T20:34:00.001-07:00

My car, aka The Silver Bullet, used to look somewhat like the picture on the top (only thirteen years older). It was paid off, and the first car I've ever personally owned (the eighth car I've gone through, but technically my father owned the first seven).

It was also my most valuable asset (at least where commodities are concerned). This was the thing I owned that was worth (just barely) over a thousand dollars.

Now, alas, my car looks more like the picture on the bottom (in the interest of veracity, though, I feel I must add that that is not my car...it's a stock photo from the internet). I am fine, and nobody was hurt in the accident, thank God, but my car, my car that I owned outright, is totaled. Gone. A woman ran a stop light in downtown South Bend on Friday evening and t-boned me on the passenger's side. I was wearing my seat belt, and both airbags deployed. Except for minor bruising and a little soreness, it's all good.

Well, as long as she has insurance. If not, I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do. But for now, I'm contemplating my own mortality, how quickly things can happen that change our lives, and thanking God for His infinite mercy. Also, if anybody knows of anyone who is looking to get an old, cheap car off their hands, drop me a line. :)

Disgusting Statistic

2008-04-16T16:22:00.000-07:00

Prof. April Lidinsky visited my Victorian England history class today and gave a wonderful presentation on autobiographical narratives, Florence Nightingale, and Mary Seacole.

But she also dropped this horrible statistic on the class in her plug for the upcoming South Bend Community Monologues:

In the past four years, almost 350 rapes have been reported (I truly wish I could remember the exact number; it's between 320-340) in St. Joseph County. The accepted rate of report for sexual crimes is 1 in 4. That's approximately 1300-1400 sexual assaults and rapes in this county in the last four years.

And the prosecution rate in St. Joseph County for these crimes over the last four years?

Zero.

That's right, ladies and gentlemen who love ladies: the St. Joseph County prosecutor's office either chooses not to prosecute or is incapable of successfully prosecuting rapists. For four years, rapists in St. Joseph County have gotten a free ride.

And they wonder why only 1 in 4 are reported. This is a level of incompetency, or perhaps simply unwillingness to care, that should be known, and spoken, and shared, with every citizen of this county. It is simply unconscionable, and quite frankly, makes me fear for the women and children of this area. I can only hope somebody in the prosecutor's office reads this.

For now, I will simply plan on attending the Monologues to register my outrage in the only way that seems to matter anymore: by spending my money.

Something New, Be Easy On Me

2008-04-12T11:26:00.000-07:00

Ava liked to pretend she was named for the patron saint of jazz. Saturday nights, when Mama left after tucking her in, she would wait for the house to grow quiet around her and get out of bed. The wood floor was cold on her bare feet, her tiny bedroom dark except for the light that filtered through the crack under the door. She would open it just enough to squeeze into the hallway - any more, and it creaked. Then, she would sneak past Tess’s room to the front door and slip quietly into the night. Sitting on the back porch smoking clove cigarettes, she would close her eyes and listen to the music from the bar down the street.

Tonight, the smooth sound of John McLaughlin’s guitar floated on the night breeze. A series of images rose behind her closed eyes. She always saw music this way. McLaughlin was cottonwood seeds like summer snow, a woman wearing a red dress dancing in a smoky room, a child picking daisies in a field. Then, unbidden, a man lying in a coffin holding a white rose.

The man had brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were closed, but she knew they were dark brown. She knew because the man was her father, the coffin his coffin. Ava opened her eyes so she wouldn’t see any more, choking down the tears that threatened to rise up in her throat.

She lit another cigarette and inhaled slowly, relishing the burn in her throat, and then exhaled a long, even stream of smoke. She loved the way exhaling like that made her feel, like she was grown and in charge of her own life – like she was somebody to be respected. She did it again.

Mark's Seal

2008-04-06T08:29:00.000-07:00

Thank you, Mark, for creating this. It's so great, I had to post it again here.

Speaking Out Against Sexual Violence

2008-04-03T19:37:00.000-07:00

It is not the victims' or potential victims' responsibility to put a stop to sexual violence. The responsibility for stopping rape and molestation rests squarely on the shoulders of the men (and, more seldom, women) who do it. However, we can all speak out against sexual violence and support its victims as a society.

Men, if you are 18 or older, you should know that sexual violence has affected as many as 1 in every 3 women your age. Somebody is sexually assaulted in the United States every 2 minutes. In 2006, there were 272,350 victims of sexual assault. Only 6 percent of rapists will ever spend a day in jail.

These are only some of the statistics on the RAINN website (to which I have a link on the blogroll). We must stand together as a society and say, once and for all, these numbers are not acceptable. Men, love yourselves and women. Women, love yourselves and men. People, love each other and speak out against sexual violence.

This Can't Be True

2008-03-26T12:26:00.001-07:00

You Are a Very Bad Girl

You are 10% Good and 90% Bad

As they say, good girls go to heaven and bad girls go everywhere!

You make most bad girls look like angels - and have a hell of a time along the way.

Are You a Good Girl or a Bad Girl?

2008-03-26T08:01:00.000-07:00

On the "That's Just Wrong" Scale from 1-10, this one has to be a 15:

Oregon 'Man' is Pregnant

Dew-less Update - 20 Days Down

2008-03-25T19:16:00.000-07:00

Is it possible? Could it be true? Am I really still alive?

Yes, yes, and yes (I think). I have gone for 20 Dew-free days without committing any violent crimes. (Well, without getting caught, anyway). Enviga tea has saved my life many a time, and who knew water can actually taste good? (Sometimes).

So now I am a non-smoking, non-sugary-pop-drinking, even-occasionally-exercising mere shadow of my former addictions. Ok, so maybe not a shadow; I'm not exactly what one might call lithe, but supposedly I'm better off somehow.

Either way regarding my physical health, I am proud of myself. I wasn't sure I could do it, but it's beginning to look like I might make it the whole 30 days (knock-on-wood, God-willing, and all that).

I'm still a little suspicious of those little green cans. They're everywhere, watching and waiting, for the perfect opportunity to jump in my hands. I try to keep them in my pockets whenever I'm within their range.

Christ is Risen

2008-03-23T10:59:00.000-07:00

The congregation: He is risen indeed.

Mourning

2008-03-21T20:50:00.000-07:00

March Madness is HERE!

2008-03-16T15:47:00.000-07:00

Indiana, Our Indiana

Indiana, Our Indiana
Indiana, we're all for you
We will fight for
the Cream & Crimson,
For the glory of Old IU
Never daunted, we cannot falter
In the battle, we're tried and true
Indiana, Our Indiana
Indiana, we're all for you!

Let the games begin!

Shocker! Abortion May Cause Mental Illness

2008-03-15T18:55:00.001-07:00

In an absolutely shocking finding, the Royal College of Psychiatrists has found that having abortions can cause depression, suicidal/homicidal thoughts and other mental illnesses in women.

What? Seriously? Killing one's own children leads to guilt feelings and depression, and may not be the healthiest choice for a pregnant woman? So hard to believe.

Women have, at the very least, a right to be informed of the extent of the possible negative consequences of their decisions, especially when such a decision is often made based on an emotional response.

It is time for people to start realizing that ABORTION HAS CONSEQUENCES. Quite apart from the moral argument, abortion has been shown time and again to be both a physically and mentally unhealthy choice for women. Why isn't the AMA, not to mention any group that claims to be a proponent of women's rights (such as NOW), all over this? I mean, NOW does exist to support women, does it not?

Well, that's a question for a whole other post.

Accepted (AKA Me Bragging)

2008-03-09T19:57:00.000-07:00

My poem "Riverside Drive" has been accepted for publication in Prick of the Spindle! It will be in the upcoming Vol. 2.1 in a few weeks.

Short Short Story

2008-03-06T13:05:00.001-08:00

When I came home from school for lunch my father was wearing a backpack made of stone. That's when I knew Aunt Medusa had come to visit.

Yep. That's it. For the IUSB Creative Writing blog-writing contest; check it out here.

Six-word memoirs

2008-03-05T12:41:00.000-08:00

I tried it at least once.
Be careful with your naked pictures.
How many did I take again?
Just close your eyes, trust me.
Proof genius can look good, too!
Coined the phrase "die yuppie scum."
Proof nerds will rule the world.
Touch me again, lose a finger.
Known to bite, proceed with caution.
This is fun, I can't stop.
Must force self to stop typing.
Okay, I'm seriously done now, folks.

30 Days Without Dew

2008-03-04T14:08:00.000-08:00

I am setting off on a new adventure in self-inflicted violence, henceforth to be known as "30 Days Without Dew."

That's right, my love, my heart, my favorite addiction. A month will go by before I even touch you again, feel the smooth coldness of you, the way you fit perfectly in my hand.

Thirty days, starting at midnight tonight. From March 5 through April 3, I will not be doing the Dew. (I will, however, be drinking coffee; without some caffeine, I'm just dangerous.)

Can I do it? Will I do it? Stay tuned to The Confessional for occasional updates in what will surely be an interesting study in self-torture.

All I have to say is God help the people who come into contact with me in the next month. And Dad, if I end up in jail for homicide, it's your fault.

Important Words

2008-03-03T08:49:00.000-08:00

A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a good moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic – on a level with the man who says he is a poached egg – or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God: or else a madman or something worse. You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great moral teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.

And...

We all want progress, but if you're on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; in that case, the man who turns back soonest is the most progressive.

- C.S. Lewis

Good News

2008-03-01T13:25:00.000-08:00

We have found a possible reason for my extreme exhaustion and overall depressed mood lately: it is highly probable that I have sleep apnea. I exhibit all the classic symptoms, and it would make an immense amount of sense (though it is a bit unnerving to think that I tend to quit breathing while I sleep).

This is actually very good news, because it means I can get it treated and begin getting good sleep! I will set up an appointment for a sleep study on Monday, and will hopefully find out the results soon.

*****

In other good news, my paper "Small Acts of Rebellion: Faultlines in the Micro-powers of The Known World" has been accepted for the 16th Annual Clement S. Stacy Undergraduate Research Conference at Purdue Calumet on April 4-5. All papers presented at the conference will be published in a bound volume. I'm excited because this will be a great addition to my CV for graduate school applications.