Sinister: aww christ, not another one

[Will Porter]

You guessed it: another list neophyte posting just because I can.
I was hoping I'd be a little interesting, but I think that's more than you
or I can hope for.
It has been bothering me for some weeks now that I don't look like David
Bowie.
I was surprised and excited to hear that someone else came to discover B&S
via the Old97s.  I found 'em via a six-degrees-of-amazon.com sort of
thing, beginning at Too Far To Care and ending at Tigermilk.  (mmmm...
tigermilk)
All of this talk about autumn and winter and cold has got me missing the
cold.  I haven't been cold in a year, and it's really bothering me.
Incidentally, the trouble with Texas (aside from just being to damned
warm) is that it's full of Texans.  I am awash in a sea of y'all.
I don't like Austin much at all.  Though, to be fair, I should say that I
miss my native pacific northwest terribly and I probably haven't give
Austin a fighting chance.
Imagine my surprise when I noticed that there is already a Will and
already a Porter on this list.  I feel so insignificant.
I don't remember who, but someone mentioned Adam's Curse, which is a
mighty mighty good poem--one of the only poems I ever memorized just
because I liked it and wanted to be able to think about it anytime I felt
so inclined.  The other one is 'Meditation at Lagunitas' by Robert Hass,
which I'm going to tack onto the end of this hyah message (gotta make my
first intrusion into your inbox count for something).
Do you ever find yourself listening to TBWTAS and thinking about how most
of the songs on that album sound like a whole different band than the one
that made Tigermilk and IYFS?  
I'm going to see GBV this weekend, and I'm excited beacuse I've never seen
them before and lots of people say that they're incredible live.
Ooh, I have a question (I nearly forgot).  Any American expatriates out
there?  Particularly in the UK, I'm wondering how hard it is to get work,
what hoops you have to jump through, etc.  I'm curious because a lot of
the time, I don't like Americans very much, but I'm a little afraid to
live abroad, because if I discover that I don't like anybody, that might
just mean something about me.  Any thoughts?

uhm, bye
Will Porter

PS: The poem I promised you:

Meditation at Lagunitas
by Robert Hass

All the new thinking is about loss.
In this it resembles all the old thinking.
The idea, for example, that each particular erases
the luminous clarity of a general idea.  That the clown-
faced woodpecker probing the dead sculpted trunk 
of that black birch is, by his presence,
some tragic falling off from a first world 
of undivided light.  Or the other notion that,
because there is in this world no one thing
to which the bramble of <i>blackberry</i> corresponds,
a word is elegy to what it signifies.
We talked about it late last night and in the voice
of my friend, there was a thin wire of grief, a tone
almost querulous.  After a while I understood that,
talking this way, everything dissolves: <i>justice,
pine, hair, woman, you</i>, and <i>I</i>.  There was a woman
I made love to and I remembered how, holding
her small shoulders in my hands sometimes,
I felt a violent wonder at her presence
like a thirst for salt, for my childhood river
with its island willows, silly music from the pleasure boat,
muddy places where we caught the little orange-silver fish
called <i>pumpkinseed</i>.  It hardly had to do with her.
Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances.  I must have been the same to her.
But I remember so much, the way her hands dismantled bread,
the thing her father said that hurt her, what
she dreamed.  There are moments when the body is as numinous
as words, days that are the good flesh continuing.
Such tenderness, those afternoons and evenings,
saying <i>blackberry</i>, <i>blackberry</i>, <i>blackberry</i>.

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