Before landing on this page, you and I were only separated by a mere three degrees. Now we can be one on the web. That's not the definition of technological singularity but it should be.
With this tumblog, I promise kittens and balls of yarn for the kittens to play with. There will be some making out and a lot of hand-holding. I hope that when you are lonely and lost on the outmost corners of the interweb, you can come here and find yrself and feel the good vibrations. You are special and no one can touch that!
Your Pal Mal
Jordan opening the door to the writing cottage
This week, some friends and I have been in Vermont, staying in the Gulley. Before we turned it into our winter wonderland, the Gulley was owned by the painter Kenneth Noland (who passed away last week) and then Robert Frost before him. If these walls could talk, they would be intimidating.
A smaller house sits by itself on the property which has only two rooms and served as Frost’s “writing cottage”:
In the summer of 1922, Frost stayed up late one night writing for a new volume of poetry. At dawn he said he felt “intoxicated” from the marathon and walked out to get a breath of fresh air. An entirely different poem came to him and he came back into the house and wrote “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”, pretty much in one stroke. His new volume entitled New Hampshire won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry. It was the first of four Pulitzers awarded to him.
Tomorrow night I’m lighting some candles, putting on the mood music, busting open a ouijia board, and publishing all of his phrases as my own, in my easiest get-rich-quick scheme yet.
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