It’s my second full shift at the library, but my 4th overall for this, my 3rd summer as a seasonal employee, and I’m just getting to what has become an opening ritual of sorts: crafting my welcome back post. With this rite comes the obligatory, preparatory task of checking in on last summer’s blogs, ostensibly because it’s a fair assumption that I’ve let it grow stale over the ensuing school year. I was greeted, on my “professional blog”, with a wish-list of summer activities – from books to read to passions to pursue.

Most of which, as is custom, went undone. Sure, I read several different titles in place of others, and found time to dig deep into pursuits other than those I sought, but a weight remains – here, a year or so removed from that seemingly naive post – that I can’t seem to shake.

Is it regret for time lost or the dread of inevitability, that this string of unrequited desires is cyclical? Or is it something more pessimistic – an invisible fetter against the very action I’m hoping to accomplish, to spend time well?

With those questions looming, here as I type this, present in this moment of clicking keys, worst-case-scenarios, and wavering confidence, I can’t help but hold onto hope. Perhaps the promise of summer is still fresh, perhaps it is my inner Jedi, or perhaps it is something more primal. The latter, I think. An indescribable knowledge that, even if in fits and starts, I will make of my time what I need. Need need, not just the often bandied about version, but its more visceral core. Even thinking about that hours-long session – hacking away at the keys of my Mac, cranking out 15 pages in one sitting – brings me to a point of fulfillment I can return to, like an idyllic safe-harbor manifested in one’s mind at the beginning of meditation, the final conscious manifestation before abandon, and the place to which one returns before grounding.

And it is there where I find solace for my thoughts now.

So what of this summer?

Read. Write. Draw. Make music. Will the details be fleshed out?

Maybe I’ll get to that, maybe I won’t.


Happy Birthday to the Goddess of Goth, Siouxsie Sioux. Here’s the video for the stunning, perfectly genre-emblematic first song from the masterful album Juju.


Juju is one of my favorite albums of all time, and one that defines goth music.

What’s the name for the distinct urge to listen to Binary Star and draw without a plan in mind? 

I can’t be the only one who’s immediately compelled to start freestyling as soon as “Without a Doubt” by The Roots comes on, right? Bars blasphemously floating over Black Thought’s.

Without a Doubt

While we’re talking freestyling, I’m not the only one who weaves an apology into his freestyle whenever he messes up or repeats himself, even when alone, right? 

This list has popped up on my feed a few times, as well as an article asking whether Em has another classic in him. But have we asked ourselves whether he’s ever made a classic? Marshall Mathers was dope, but classic? Suspect. Not classic. 

Also, the first D12 and the Bad vs. Evil album should be 3 & 4. 

Curled and writhing
grasping at dust that plumes away and mud dripping through
stretching pointed fingers

Little Doyle in the safest place imaginable

Little Doyle, asleep in Ashley’s hands. We didn’t know you long enough, friend.

Eyes sealed against the din of light
lungs kicking against the drowning rush
nostrils straining, stained, and staining

Yours was a cruel, brief morning
mourning you now an hour removed
from when I removed you
cradling my lost hope – your cold, delicate stillness.

Yours was a chaotic afternoon
squeaking against the pleading fangs and
digging claws of an innocent, destructive curiosity
spared a final maw as your impossible escape
from your wooden cage and bassinet
exposed you to a damp freedom,
a dug dirt ditch turned mud, and
my decision to leave your barking tormentor inside
so I could tend the yard –
a silent beckon that bent my routine,
to better tend your resilience.

yours was a night of stillness.
Eased along by caring hands and whispered songs
cradled in towels and
warmed, rice-filled socks
in an empty shoe box.

You met your fate with clawing hands and forced breaths,
kicking and pawing
with whimpering roars you greeted your end.

Sleep now, sweet prince,
in your resting place of earth and roots and leaves.

Rain fell as I made your bed, as I laid you down, as I spoke my ritual to the earth.
My tears, my final embrace.
A mournful song to carry you off.
A stone to mark you beneath the ancient oak that welcomes you home.


Yes, I only knew Doyle briefly. But this little squirrel touched me profoundly.  Maybe it’s because of the furry creatures we keep, and how deeply they’ve made me feel, or maybe it’s because of the one who makes me feel more deeply than I imagined possible.

This little guy, this little flicker, lives within me forever.

Hi friends!

As a Librarian, you know that I have the ability to search for lists, and titles, and other resources; but sometimes crowd-sourcing is more fun and productive, and potentially more robust. With that in mind, this is the first in a series of me asking for your input!

It has been podcast-o’clock for me, but I’m bad at keeping time (I think that metaphor went astray). One of my absolute favorite topics is, as you may well know judging by my tattoos and love for Halloween, “All things that go bump in the night”. I’ve been a huge fan of scary things since the first time I heard Vincent Price’s voice creeping out of the speakers before “Thriller”. My good friends – Mario, Nick, and Diego – and I had a little group called “The Nightmares”, very similar to The Midnight Society in Are You Afraid of the Dark?. We’d get together and tell scary stories, watch scary movies, and play scary video games.

As much as I love horror, I haven’t delved deeply into horror fiction as an adult, and I’m also looking for engaging horror podcasts. I found this list online, but I was wondering if anyone had additional suggestions? Please comment with a suggestion of your own, or let me know what you’ve listened to from the list.

yours in ghost,