September 10, 2009


The short bio on Cyril Connolly in the Writers Almanac (starting the day with a poem is nice!) felt familiar:

"As a young man, he described himself as, "dirty, inky, miserable, untidy a coward at games, lazy at work, unpopular with my masters and superiors, anxious to curry favour and yet to bully whom I dared." He said that he drifted into being a literary critic through unemployability."

I keep having dreams more/other people are dying. Friends. Shapeshifting deer-men whom I killed with my bare handlets. I have a little bag with the amethyst the twins gave me hung on the bed to help stave off bad dreams. Maybe I need to dig a hole in my pillow and put the rocks in there.

Good shows tonight and tomo--Lukey Dragons and DJ/rupture and also Katie Stelmanis (returning champion) and Ty Segall. Chicago explodes with options in the fall. I am ready for the long fall. I want to bake pies and read Huck Finn, ride around wearing a shawl. I want to be someone enjoying fall in a movie, a girl with hair that curls up or under at the bottom. Curls exactly. Like Peter O'Toole's daughter in the final scene in My Favorite Year. Pedaling off to my tawny school in a cardigan, unawares, shrouded in a mist, while my absentee father watches, cowering in his limo. But in my version Peter O'Toole is played by Jesus perhaps.

Posted by jessica hopper at September 10, 2009 08:27 AM | TrackBack