Today I do not have a migraine. And I started a new poem, which is already an improvement. (I wish I had written Peter Spagnuolo's "Interpol 22019-1.7: The Head of the Hatra Apollo," but that can't be helped and I'm glad someone did.) And tonight is the first installment of TCM's Hammer Horror Fridays, of which I am planning to watch as many as contain Peter Cushing my brain can stand. Happy October. Wish me luck.
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Active Entries
- 1: Every song we sing and every kind of place
- 2: In my time on earth, I said too much, but not nearly, not nearly enough
- 3: A wreck of possibilities, a volatility of stars
- 4: And there's this all-night garage and the 7-Eleven
- 5: So Krishna stole the butter, did he?
- 6: ?פֿאַר װאָס זאָל איך אײַך געבן דירה-געלט אַז די קיך איז צעבראָכן
- 7: You brought me back a lemon and you squeezed me tight
- 8: I was never there, I only read the book, I only saw the film
- 9: Here we are half-awake
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