A story from Emily Culella about a birthday, another birthday, our then culture, and our now culture. It’s beautiful, and for the season, to be read and reread.
Advent comes from the words “ad” meaning to, and “venire” which means to come. It’s the wait for something better. It’s the hope that the future will be brighter. It’s the admission that things are not so good in the present.
Christmas eve is my favorite day of the year. It’s also the saddest day for me. And it’s my birthday. This day, a day of dichotomies and contradictions is continue reading…
This month’s theme was “My Favorite Things.” There were a couple reimaginings of the song and the usual great stories and music. Emily read an amazing piece which I’ll share soon, here. I read a five-sentence story in the open mike, five-sentence story portion of the night. This is it:
My Favorite Things
For one, blue, the blue that tints our blood, we say as kids, before it hits air. The blue of the edges of milk, sometimes, of the sun, sometimes, when I squint directly at it and continue reading…
The killed man is remembered by trees
they’ve seen him before
angels, pressed into the ground
their old roots see the new
in the old re-seen
these days, it tumbles back upon itself
only now from a different elevation
the trees have mirrors hanging
from their branches the
killed man on the ground had just thought
of the river and being
looks at the mirrors
and sees himself in the tree
out of water smacking his lips
gasping for air
In The New Yorker, journalist Jenna Krajeski wrote about James Dickey’s poem “Falling” and how it reminds her of October. Or maybe it’s October that reminds her of “Falling,” I’m not quite sure. After a while the spark of recollection tumbles back upon itself and the initial thought isn’t clear and doesn’t matter so much because both the inspiration and inspired are memories you love equally. Krajeski talks about a Halloween costume she created that was motivated by the poem, which tells the true story of a stewardess who was sucked out of an airplane exit door mid-flight in the early 60’s. Witnesses recounted, she was there one moment, gone the next. The woman continue reading…
First guest post by the finest writer living in my apartment. Welcome to my wife, Emily Culella.
Some paranormal experts believe that natural spaces, wood, dirt, fiber, hold the emotions of the past within their textures. A house, filled with sadness and regret, remains full of these emotions, long after the sad and regretful have died. The house retains the feelings, sunk deep into the rings of its wood, living mini lives and dying mini deaths over and over and over again.
When I was a child, my 5-person family spent summers in Alaska. continue reading…