Well, crap.
The greatest American playwright died today.
Arthur Miller, dead of heart failure, at the age of 89.
This really depresses me.
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"And I am a writer, writer of fictions / I am the heart that you call home / And I've written pages upon pages / trying to rid you from my bones..." -- "The Engine Driver" by The Decemberists
About Me
- Dave
- A recovering "slacker lit-geek," now trying to make good on all that untapped potential he kept hearing about.
friends who care for me
in beds in little rooms
bones beneath my skin
beneath the dust and love
ain't this position familiar
it's 4:30 a.m. on a tuesday
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2005
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February
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- Your witness, Counsellor...
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- one tiny step forward (non-fiction)
- Inept
- Tuesday (Unrelated) Mini-Fiction: The Warrior
- How Not to Do Things: Holiday Edition
- PBB Cool Ten: Valentine's Edition
- "I'm a dime-a-dozen, pop, and so are you!"
- I'm getting old and I need something to rely on...
- Find out what they're paying her and offer her DOU...
- A Day Later...
- Blogging for Sanity Preservation (Vol. 357)
- Ash Wednesday Redux
- Bonus List: Top Five Super Bowl Commercials of 2005
- PBB Cool Ten List for 2/6-2/12
- Random Notes (Linky linky)
- Faith
- Reeling in the Years (College Edition)
- Blatant Shameless Robbery
- "I wanna bite the hand that feeds me..."
- The devil is in loving the details...
- I can't resist crap like this
- Lunchtime Discussion Topic
- Required Reading
- Holy crap, they're kidnapping our action figures!
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February
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