I’ve been trying on new themes like dresses before a date and if you visit my blog often I bet it’s gotten pretty annoying. But I’ve finally found a theme I’m happy with and promise not to change it again for at least a few months, though I may shrink down the size of the header image. Setting the header image so large as to take up most of the screen on an average laptop seems to be a common feature of ‘modern’ wordpress themes. I am not a fan of the trend. As lovely as the Phacelia in the header image is, I imagine (hope?) you visit my blog to actually read the posts, not stare at the header.
Last call
Body Bags
by Brian Turner
A murder of crows looks on in silence
from the eucalyptus trees above
as we stand over the bodies —
who look as if they might roll over,
wake from a dream and question us
about the blood drying on their scalps,
the bullets lodged in the back of their skulls,
to ask where their wives and children are
this morning, and why this hovering
of flies, the taste of flatbread and chai
gone from their mouths as they stretch
and rise, wondering who these strangers are
who would kick their hard feet, saying
Last call, motherfucker. Last call.
From Here, Bullet
Moving
As Lizbet pointed out, today is not actually Sunday. But why would anyone complain about getting the Sunday Song a day early?
If anyone else was as offended as Lizbet about the error, my only excuse is that I’m up to my eyeballs in boxes and bubble wrap and flight itineraries. Keeping track of the day is a bit beyond me at this point…
Sunday Song
Marina and the Diamonds – Oh No!
Commiseration
From Chocolate & Vicodin: My Quest for Relief from the Headache that Wouldn’t Go Away
The only people who seemed to understand how to talk to someone with a chronic illness were other people who were sick. I didn’t need advice, I didn’t need them to say they were sorry, I just needed a hug. Pain was lonely. I wanted someone to stand next to me and share my view of the world. I wanted someone to look over the smelly, rotting landfill my life had become and reassure me by saying, “Yeah, this really sucks.” Ironically though, pain could be isolating. Pain made you want to curl up in a ball in a dark room. This wasn’t the best position from which to seek out sympathetic suffers who might understand what you were going through.
Hideous things
Today, while fantasizing about the shoes I’d buy if I’d become an actuary instead of an ecologist, I came across this monstrosity:
Canada by Fitzwell
These may be the ugliest shoes I have ever seen.