Friday, November 11, 2011


The last time I walked on the old Arts Campus was the day after Tom Aprile died.  I was on a date with Other Dan, and we were taking the long way to the theater building to see No Shame Theater.  As we passed the old sculpture classroom--the workroom, not the trailer--he said huh, wonder what was in there.

In the little office at the back of room 350 was a clear push pin holding a ripped piece of paper with the phone number for home.  Today, I took the paper down, rolled it up, and put it in my pocket.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

light switch and sink

I needed to tell you this

I needed to say how terrified I am.  And I can't tell the people around me because I'm busy projecting confidence.  Or at least, projecting more confidence than I feel.  I mention that I'm worried.  And then I laugh and shrug it off.   Because what I'm terrified of is showing how lost I am, how little and scared I feel, how ignorant. 

Saturday, November 5, 2011


I have read your comment(s).  I have tried to reply.  So far, all I have managed to write in my head is thank you.  And it is not enough.  There is gratitude, and pleasure, and embarrassment, because I have been well-trained to feel embarrassed by praise, and also there is wonder and awe, at your kindness, and your words (which I do read, quietly and without comment) because I also like your writing, but I feel funny saying it because it sounds like I'm just saying back what I hear.  Well, technically, I am, but it's not like that, it's not.

Thank you.

(And also my address is
nine fourteen dearborn street
iowa city IA five two two four zero.)

Thursday, November 3, 2011

more things

Objects from my grandparent's house.