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November 15, 2008



In a fit of anger, my son wrote me a note too this week. On paper it looked like this: no moms no moms no moms. Translated, he read it as such: No moms allowed in my room ever again.


Susan Etlinger

Kristen, hey, did I say there wasn't a downside?

[sending a hug]


Yes, celebrate the joys of communication in its myriad non-verbal forms! Both the up and down sides...


I've always thought of some of our more rhythmic, helplessly prolix poets as having something like autism (?). Dylan or ee cummings or even someone like Allen Ginsberg. Something about the way TH wanders his way through the language with repetition and invented words and a constant flow of rhythm makes me think of that. So, yes yes, I do think often of autism as poetry of the mind.

On a more quotidian note--they always tell TH when there's going to be a fire drill. Do they tell Isaac?

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