an old writer and his words

  • HABIT

    When you say, she said,that you are a creatureof habit, I have a hardtime imagining you asany sort of nun, or evena monk for that matter. Perhaps, he responded, Ishould emulate KingHenry and start my ownspinoff church, wherethe priestly vestmentswould be jeans and tees. But I would require thatparishioners not weartie dyes on Sunday andCrocs…

    Lou Faber

  • WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN

    My history is like an ill-sewn quilt, odd piecesof parents stitched looselytogether, always ready to comeapart, fade or be thrown away. Perhaps my history ismore like a belovedold pair of jeans, holesappear and are patched,patches wear out and arereplaced, or the hole isjust left, as if it weresomehow a fashion statement. There is little normalwhen…

    Lou Faber

  • IMAGINE

    I think it might have beena passionate love letterI wrote to you last weekbut never delivered although there is the remotepossibility it was justour grocery list, bothhave line breaks after all, but it does show whyI must remember to checkthe pockets of my jeansbefore I put them in the washer. So let’s agree that it…

    Lou Faber

  • HARLAN

    You came, Harlan, to Rochestersomewhere in an endless winter,“Ellison in Tundraland” you said.We all chuckled approvingly. You said a short prayerclimbing into the rusting Opel,sliding on the edgeof oblivion, andthe approaching snowplow. You stood, hoarse, smellingof Borkum Riff and English Leather,a tweed jacket over a polo shirtand thinning jeansand told us of the insanityof television,…

    Lou Faber