rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

This Time

Thickly strewn, the stars were not obscured by the thin and puffy clouds which raked the sky tonight, but rather were made more astonishing, as though their light was becoming liquid, spreading out like cream in a giant cup of coffee. It is a rare sight I've seldom seen, and I was compelled to watch long as the balmy breeze stirred the pines and the loud (now aged) crickets chirped. Such nights are the best part of summer, and the redemption of its fiery days.

Back in the house, I found that I now have two moths. I don't know if they are the same species. One is quite a bit larger than the other. For a while, both fluttered about my head, and then they vanished. I suspect them of trysting. Even now, moth copulation may be taking place in some fold of my drapes!

A brief storm of links: is a group weblog about women and information technology. As well as some interesting posts, it has a very long list of links to the weblogs and sites of many other women involved in technology, especially IT, (including our step mom.) Among the women posting at misbehaving is Caterina Fake (who also has her own weblog which is well worth perusing.) Fake is the co-founder of Yahoo's recent acquisition, the popular Flickr photo hosting site. She also maintains a second weblog called Bizwerk. I'll bet she's even busier than our step mom, who never even updates her LiveJournal! But then, our step mom doesn't really love us, does she? I'll bet that Caterina would love us!

Sunday Verse

Giving Myself Up

by Mark Strand

I give up my eyes which are glass eggs.
I give up my tongue.
I give up my mouth which is the constant dream of my tongue.
I give up my throat which is the sleeve of my voice.
I give up my heart which is a burning apple.
I give up my lungs which are trees that have never seen the moon.
I give up my smell which is that of a stone traveling through rain.
I give up my hands which are ten wishes.
I give up my arms which have wanted to leave me anyway.
I give up my legs which are lovers only at night.
I give up my buttocks which are the moons of childhood.
I give up my penis which whispers encouragement to my thighs.
I give up my clothes which are walls that blow in the wind and I give up the ghost that lives in them.
I give up. I give up.
And you will have none of it because already I am beginning again without anything.


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