She looked over his shoulder
For vines and olive trees,
Marble well-governed cities
And ships upon untamed seas,
But there on the shining metal
His hands had put instead
An artificial wilderness
And a sky like lead.

A plain without a feature, bare and brown,
No blade of grass, no sign of neighborhood,
Nothing to eat and nowhere to sit down,
Yet, congregated on its blankness, stood
An unintelligible multitude,
A million eyes, a million boots in line,
Without expression, waiting for a sign.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Missing socks anyone?

I generally operate on the assumption that my dryer will eat at least one, maybe two socks each time I do my laundry. It is for this reason, and this reason alone, that three or four weeks often pass between loads of laundry at the Joel residence. It seems that I have been unfairly blaming by washer/dryer however. I now know to keep an eye out for the various felines in my apartment building. Infernal creatures. They're so adorable and awesome, but really it's a trick; they just want my undergarments.
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