6/8/08

I'm interested in writing as it works to convey an experience or impression.

What you need to know: it feels like witches. I say that a lot, I talk about witches a great deal, but I mean it! It feels occult and superstitious here. My air conditioner is on (it's summer) and it's cold but it feels fake. Like a joke. Every inanimate object feels weighted, somehow. I find tremendous significance in, say, the way the light plays across my ceiling when I wake up in the morning.

What else you need to know: despite all superstition and witchcraft, I don't see myself as an agent. I see things as they happen to me. People through me, like paper. I'm trying to convey the experience of falling, injuring yourself in some gruesome way, in public. Losing blood an realizing that it doesn't hurt. The horrible impression that maybe you're so careful for no big reason. Maybe there's nothing to worry about.





Exactly a year ago I got dumped, a few times actually, and in quick succession. I had no job and nothing to do. I stayed indoors all summer listening to Lisa Germano and taking drugs to avoid a sunburn. And all I managed to avoid was my own life.


I'm going to meet sister Pico in the park today.

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