Midnight

Midnight by Richard Jackson
for Terri

It’s midnight because the windchimes have replaced
your voice. It’s midnight because the porch chair
rocks as if you’ve just left it. It’s midnight
because the dogs are barking at a raccoon. The moon
begins to limp across the sky. The coyote we saw
chasing those three deer must still be chasing them.
The streetlights shiver behind the branches.
It’s midnight because suddenly there’s this thought
of you that lurks in a distant doorway, a match
someone strikes ominously in the dark, a fear
that has no source and quickly shuts its eyes.
I can hear your name in what the trucks report
from the distant highway. The sky is in rags.
Storms of blackbirds. Sleepwalking stars.
It’s midnight because that thought of you still stands
at the edge of these words like a soldier waiting
for an order, like a hole the unspoken word
drills in his heart. Because it’s midnight,
I turn, terrified at this thought of you, turn
to our room, to you asleep on a sea of nightingales,
to lie beside the midnight of your own troubled
dreams, ashamed for my own foolish fears,
until the dawn shakes the darkness from the wings
of who we are and who we will always be,
until these words, wandering aimlessly, return
like the martin carrying its bright darkness to the feeder.

Saint Patrick’s Day of the Living Dead!

And so, I’ve been bedridden this last week, the foul work of one of the streptococcus strains (damn that strep!) but I’ve been alive. Barely.

I’ll tell you, the throat being on fire thing is pretty crazy. I’m looking forward to never having to deal with stuff like this soon… but honestly, I’ve been really lucky. I finished everything I needed to do for school on Monday, and Monday night is when I came down with my fever, getting all the way up to at least 101.7 at one point this week.

But I digress. Tomorrow, I’m going to go see V for Vendetta, the latest Wachowski Bros. film, and I’m a little perplexed. There have been a lot of differing opinions about this movie, as you can tell from the Metacritic review I just linked to. I guess I’m just glad that the brothers aren’t too scared to make another movie, given the general public’s disdain for the second and third movies of the Matrix trilogy. I liked em! But most others thought they sucked…. so… here’s hoping tomorrow gives me another movie I like. Maybe I’m just too easy to please, but that means I’ll most likely enjoy my time in the theater anyway.

This charming life

Image, Source: original negative

This entire week has gone ape-crap. I kid you not.

For those that don’t know: since the beginning of the year, I’ve been the design layout editor for a 16-page newspaper about women’s issues and stories, called Women’s Press. It is bi-monthly, has a run length of 6,000 copies, is written very well, is distributed everywhere from Santa Maria to Cayucos, and pays me pretty good for each issue, which excites me because I like to eat.

Well, the files for printing my second issue were due on Wednesday. Unfortunately, this week has been dead week, the week before finals when all things not finals-related are due. So, it’s been a little stressful, but working on the paper was far easier this time than it was for the first. This being said, there was still a huge problem with cutting deadlines right to the wire. In fact, I had to miss the final all UGS meeting for my internship this quarter. Visiting the offices later (because they happen to print the Women’s Press) with the files to print, I was informed that that night,

I was given the award for Trainee of the Quarter. And I wasn’t there to accept it.

Bittersweet victories run rampant these weeks, but I’m sure that quite soon, rest will be mine. Oh yes.

The Printer’s Error

The Printer’s Error
Aaron Fogel

Fellow compositors
and pressworkers!

I, Chief Printer
Frank Steinman,
having worked fifty-
seven years at my trade,
and served five years
as president
of the Holliston
Printer’s Council,
being of sound mind
though near death,
leave this testimonial
concerning the nature
of printers’ errors.

First: I hold that all books
and all printed
matter have
errors, obvious or no,
and that these are their
most significant moments,
not to be tampered with
by the vanity and folly
of ignorant, academic
textual editors.
Second: I hold that there are
three types of errors, in ascending
order of importance:
One: chance errors
of the printer’s trembling hand
not to be corrected incautiously
by foolish professors
and other such rabble
because trembling is part
of divine creation itself.

Two: silent, cool sabotage
by the printer,
the manual laborer
whose protests
have at times taken this
historical form,
covert interferences
not to be corrected
censoriously by the hand
of the second and far
more ignorant saboteur,
the textual editor.
Three: errors
from the touch of God,
divine and often
obscure corrections
of whole books by
nearly unnoticed changes
of single letters
sometimes meaningful but
about which the less said
by preemptive commentary
the better.
Third: I hold that all three
sorts of error,
errors by chance,
errors by workers’ protest,
and errors by
God’s touch,
are in practice the
same and indistinguishable.

Therefore I,
Frank Steinman,
typographer
for thirty-seven years,
and cooperative Master
of the Holliston Guild
eight years,
being of sound mind and body
though near death
urge the abolition
of all editorial work
whatsoever
and manumission
from all textual editing
to leave what was
as it was, and
as it became,
except insofar as editing
is itself an error, and

therefore also divine.

Soda and me

I’ve decided I’m going to take a little break from soda.

It’s not because I have a sudden new-found need to live healthier. It’s just that I want to make certain that when soda and I reunite

it’s just going to be that much sweeter.