two years and three days,
seventy okay haiku.
happy birthday, blog.

refreshing my inbox,
long dark tea-time of the soul,
sunday afternoon

people, groups of people, and words i have repeatedly confused with each other, some similarly named and some not (and all embarrassing), part two (part one)

- bob marley, jimi hendrix
- sylvia plath, virginia woolf
- pink floyd, led zeppelin
- rick levin, peter salovey
- paupière (“eyelids”) and lèvre (“lips”) in french
- sourd (“deaf”) and aveugle (“blind”) in french
- gemma ward, sasha pivovarova

guest post from jealous:

At the coffee shop
My tea bag is Pyramid
shaped, modern wonder.

Peter, Bjorn, and John:
“Baby Went to Amsterdam.”
I went to Utrecht.

too much iced coffee–
bathroom trips are killing my
productivity

(too long for my Twitter: )

I tense up as I walk by the car driven by the 20-something gangster, knowing that he’ll whistle or say something as I pass, but he’s too busy inspecting his precision-cut beard in the rear-view mirror to notice.

you’re looking at one
of themorningnews.org’s
three summer interns!

LIT PAPER IS DONE.
NEXT PAPER DUE ON MONDAY.
THINK I CAN DO THIS?

Thought up this morning as I showered:

Oh my aching head
there’s no way I can think of
twelve more syllables