Exerpt from a recent email:
"ha ok i must tell you something humorous. heidi rea has invented a new form of art. it's call T9 poetry. she simply selects words at random using the t9 function on her phone. here are some examples:
once close leapards began to creap, made still all the morning light.
the moon oils accelerandos in the sloshy depths
here's one of mine...
pollen's pungent colder wiles cast shadows on each lovely landscape"
"Friday, April 21 2006 at 6:30 & 8:00 PM in War Memorial Chapel. Free tickets are available at the Music Library."
In epic order I rest my thoughts upon the care of Thaleia with her mask of good humor. Without her inspiration I could not recount the plethoric and individual moments that crammed the breadth of only one evening etc, etc, etc.
To recount the incident from which this very epic entry stems would take our minds and stomachs back to the hour when mortals dine. Four travellers set out from frothy familiar coasts which skirted the great City of Gold. A haven it was amongst the many fiends that would challenge the courage of man and hero alike. Indeed, many they be that throw their poison arrows against the gilded and ivy walls. The four, now en route to the Memphis-born Back Yard Burger, a house of mirth and comfort, found sustenance and refreshment. After having dined they turned their thoughts to the events of the day. Joel would speak to tell a tale of a fantastic voyage to the heart of Detroit. But his three comanions, stout they were in the ways of the great tale-tellers of our world, bid him take thought before recounting his story. Familiar were they with the musings of Homer, the wiles of cunning Ovid. They three constrained the fourth to gird his story in the gilt garments of the epic conventions.
Well did Joel adorn his tale. With cunning words he framed its shape and direction. As he spoke the great robe of twilight drew constantly and creepingly across the spring sky. Clio herself, it seemed, pulled the cloak faster to prematurely induce the conclusion of the tale. She tugged by the fuel of jealousy for not even she could have inspired a more accurate and beautifully crafted retelling of the events that wove together intricately like the many-knotted tapestry of Arachne, sad victim of her own pride.
Clio's efforts availed (who can beat the gods?). So did the four travellers set out again to find a haven of a different sort. Not a haven with hallowed halls. Nor now did they desire a place of feasting. The four, now three (Joel had retruned to the Great City) went east to the Barbarian Hall.
(to be continued)