Thursday, June 24, 2010

i would trade perfection for flavor


byErica Jong

Italians know
how to call a fig
a fig: fica.
Mandolin-shaped fruit,
feminine as seeds,
amber or green
and bearing large leaves
to clothe our nakedness.

I believe it was
not an apple but a fig
Lucifer gave Eve,
knowing she would find
a fellow feeling
in this female fruit

and knowing also
that Adam would
lose himself
in the fig's fertile heart
whatever the price—

God's wrath, expulsion
angry angels
pointing with swords
to a world of woe.

One bite into
a ripe fig
is worth worlds
and worlds and worlds
beyond the green
of Eden.

from today's Writer's Almanac

Wednesday, June 02, 2010


I stumbled upon this interesting series of interviews with narcoleptics in the New York Times. I don't think about being a narcoleptic much. Since finding medication to alleviate most of the sleepiness my life is so much more manageable.

It's a weird disorder and kind of funny. Not as funny untreated, though. Untreated it's a ball and chain.