tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90887092024-03-07T12:54:19.944-05:00writingjrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1203944426790502452011-09-13T21:01:00.000-04:002011-09-13T21:01:14.713-04:00

Ed never came back from vacation. He hung a calendar turned to Miss September on his kitchen wall near the phone. Even after October came and went, she hung around.

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-12669298249818587672011-08-17T20:34:00.002-04:002011-08-17T20:43:29.194-04:00

It's been a long time since I last posted here. That's the beauty of a blog. I miss this space. Different I wish there was something different than sneakers flung over power lines, "Derek loves Gina" sprayed in red paint on turnpike overpasses, everyone's kid an honor roll student at some elementary school. I wish there was some thing different no...not ordinary not the same-as... like, but

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-77523645181077234212007-11-29T11:31:00.000-05:002007-11-29T11:42:05.338-05:00

I noticed there was an inflatable snowman and an accompanying Christmas tree on the roof of the service station. It looked ambient, UFO-like from the overpass a quarter mile away. But this fog could transfigure anything, make it otherworldly. Even the street lights turned strangely orbish, gold and cakey, busting across my windshield so I had to blink extra hard.

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-72237585506658746612007-07-13T00:03:00.001-04:002007-07-13T00:04:58.973-04:00

She put magic love in my drink when I wasn't looking. So I saw her different. Now I can't look at her right.

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-6266183930709401382007-07-04T16:38:00.000-04:002007-07-16T13:48:21.058-04:00

you don't seeout my eyesthey burn on the tips of warm grass bladesin the highway medianyou don't feelout my skineven thoughI've invited you infeel ityou don'trecognize ityou won'tnever been in thisstore before, right?i have hidden camerasnight vision gogglesx-ray glassesi have eyes in the back of my headmemory andhindsight.

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-78914260003141295472007-06-30T00:10:00.000-04:002007-06-30T00:17:57.365-04:00

I don't want to wasteyour time,but I havethings of yoursI can't speak of.You are on me likeground in grassstainsscent of salt water andbeach sand in my hair,threaded in with the fabricof my tee-shirtyour moleculeslodge likesharp metal wedges in myteeth, in between my jointsand under my fingernailsyour sharp edgescatch and burnlong after I cannottouch you.

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1130869583902628452005-11-01T17:45:00.000-05:002005-11-10T17:36:48.223-05:00

NaNoWriMo has begun. I'm just going to keep appending the tail end of this post that, with any luck will become very, very long.I let him stay.He just showed up one Sunday morning in September. Sat on the front steps. And every Sunday after that. Early, before I was even downstairs for coffee.The first time I thought he was a vagrant. I would have called the cops if I could have gotten over the

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1130447644163315462005-10-27T17:11:00.000-04:002005-10-27T17:30:41.213-04:00

It's coming up....www.nanowrimo.orgpeek.....outside of our system of property laws and grids and blueprints-- space-- in the metaphysical sense, is a deeply personal, intimate concept far from the realm of boundary lines and more into that of corners and closets and shells. I was just coming back from a run, walking along the sidewalk out in front of the house when he asked, "What do people do on

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1126561091391656322005-09-12T18:34:00.000-04:002005-10-27T17:10:03.566-04:00

I get confused, take my eyes off the ball, I can't keep a job, but people like me-- don't want to lose me. They do lose me. I lose me. Can't keep my eye on the ball. I've picked up someone else along the way, some oddball stepsister with boring, mousy brown hair and forgetful. I can't seem to shake her. She wears cowboy boots and loves to barrel race.

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1125857443733170792005-09-04T14:04:00.000-04:002005-09-04T14:10:43.736-04:00

I polished the silver and the jewelry. That's a painstaking penance that I spent who knows how long doing. I patched the ripped screendoor and banged back down the nailheads along the dry wood deck surface. Just to do something with my hands. I worked like the hired help would work-- steadily, barely pausing for a break; without attachment to the jobs, but with intimate knowledge of the lines

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1124915046042972572005-08-24T16:19:00.000-04:002005-08-24T16:24:06.050-04:00

How can I notimplodenervously grab for a newspaperI'll never read,a hot cup of coffee.Please punch me in the armhard enough that I amdisruptedThen feed me oldgrocery lists to fill backup my head-canI will grind them betweenmy teeth likea shredderbe OK with staplesin my tongue,anything butthis.

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1122163770093382102005-07-23T20:05:00.000-04:002005-07-23T20:09:30.093-04:00

Just that---ruby.Why would you ever add "red" to that? I thought this after reading the description on the back of a wine bottle. Are not all rubies red? I mean deep, luscious, lasciviously, sensuously----RED?! I mean, I'm sure there is some rare blue ruby out there somewhere, but really, even if one has not seen a real ruby --and that is most of us-- don't we all know deep in our mind-eyes

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1122163212488534642005-07-23T19:53:00.000-04:002005-07-23T20:00:12.493-04:00

In my mind there has always been a particular house with a lake nearby. I can smell the summer woods all around. Green leaves fat with late season liquor. I only know there is a lake because I can occasionally hear lake birds, a subtle lapping of water edge, but mostly I can feel the overwhelming damp in the blankets across my legs, nearly drenched with lake moisture. The humid air has me

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1114837532243128532005-04-30T00:59:00.000-04:002005-04-30T01:05:32.243-04:00

I considered not leaving her there. The place was outfitted with a few pieces of secondhand furniture and some junky odd accessories. It was not the fact that they were secondhand, but the fact of their dirtiness. The whole place was generally fetid. Unswept, unwashed, unclean. My brother had a reluctance about him, drying his hands on the dingy dishtowel. I wondered where his wife was at

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1107966750969929932005-02-09T11:32:00.000-05:002005-02-09T11:32:30.970-05:00

afternoon blinds in blue 

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1105938313738367022005-01-17T00:05:00.000-05:002005-01-17T00:05:13.736-05:00

dinner was served. She could see the olives tilted, pimento up...fresh figs on the sideboard for later, heavy cream...espresso. Guests pulled at the heavy-skinned peasant bread....Marco slapped the back of her hand that lay next to his on.... 

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1105936854604569702005-01-16T23:39:00.000-05:002005-01-16T23:44:00.213-05:00

my feed-- she lives!...

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1105936254417290382005-01-16T22:48:00.000-05:002005-01-20T11:44:31.806-05:00

I had something scribbled about the flourescent light tubes leaving yellowish light....blah, blah, but the marker's green ink had bled out into the fibers of the mushy coffee napkin and it now looked like cartographic doodle. She didn't see me, anyway. She was inside and I was outside in my car. "No soliciting." It was a uniform shop with big windows--"Peach's Uniforms." Inside, cardboard signs

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1105307668051606542005-01-09T16:42:00.000-05:002005-01-09T22:02:39.163-05:00

My side of the bed definitely leans downhill. The whole house, in fact, seems tipped into the center of itself. It's old so I can forgive and, for the most part, not really be bothered by it. But I'm not sleeping well, solidly, through the night. When I wake up my back is sore and stiff like I've been clinging to the side of a cliff. And I'm turning white again. I have vitiligo, a skin

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1105023867798653062005-01-06T10:00:00.000-05:002005-01-06T10:04:27.796-05:00

I prop the window open with "Chaucer's Major Poetry."

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1104458783958679272004-12-30T21:06:00.000-05:002004-12-30T21:06:23.956-05:00

cracked tomato 

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1104285674777368842004-12-28T20:58:00.000-05:002005-01-06T18:14:20.723-05:00

You should see the tomatoes I can grow. Every summer. I have come behind some planter and found her secrets, crystals in the ground, mirror shards in the garden, dimes in the driveway gravel like fallout of unknown frequencies, fractal coastline of intersecting matter. I collect them, suspicious they might not be mine. I am addicted, unable to suspend the urge toward "mine"-ness. Cannot tune my

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1103343808427642922004-12-17T23:22:00.000-05:002004-12-17T23:31:02.560-05:00

Truman Capote said that dimes were the best jingle of all of the coins: "Lovely dimes, the liveliest coin, the one that really jingles." from "A Christmas Memory" http://www.geocities.com/cyber_explorer99/capotechristmas.html

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1103164999639572242004-12-15T21:43:00.000-05:002004-12-15T21:43:19.640-05:00

chicken wire, translucent ribbon and Christmas lights 

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9088709.post-1102724056192417222004-12-10T19:06:00.000-05:002005-01-06T18:12:29.816-05:00

I'm in the fetal position and it's not over yet, I realize. Knot. I am a wrapped up ligamentous vine. Prickly, even. Sap, sour. Jaundiced juice. "Once upon a time..." there was a girl, about 10, she seems, making wings out of papiermache. She scared her mother when she flew too close to see, there is no end to the sentence. I can put a proper period (.) there, but that doesn't make it end.

jrotmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12449281688971642347noreply@blogger.com0