lookiesoundiefeelietastiesmellie

it's benjamin braddock at the bottom of the fucking swimming pool. it's everybody telling you to go into plastics.

today is the best day not because i have pink eye again but because i have pink eye again and i wear it well, and we are eachothers favorites, and i have on the looney tunes sweatshirt, and alise came to visit me and brought all this cash money for things like tortelloni, grand marnier and maybe even a day at the races. alise if you are reading this can we please have a day at the races. when you tell this story give the hillside a highvoice opens thursday, and we got tiny little hearts to play, and even though im not done with the goat under water and mandys in edinburgh and all my paint has a layer of skin and i spilled apple juice on that other thing, i think it will be ace. i like when this city smells like butter and brew, and i wake up in the sun on west princes street where the door doesnt lock and theres mice. i bought an irish schilling dated 1940 at the antique fair to give to my dad. the guy with the coins called me hen and told me about the time he found a bag of thousand year old roman coins on the street. alise says i should also tell that blow job joke in this livejournal update but i cant be bothered. a few things are better than most things, namely: fantastic mister fox by roald dahl. and saluting the magpies when they hop around in the park. i just want to be kind. i just want to be up when they light the lamps. see you tomorrow.

habits involving floss and tea, buckminster fuller, a new personal sexual history, hyacinth bulbs, someone called sebastien nikolaus orlando kite, a white streak, the vic the other night, are important. brian says

do you think you would still want to be friends with me if i wasn't very interesting
one day, like say one day all i done was watch tv and go to the gym and eat a whole
chocolate bar. do you think you would tell on me? or would that be cool?

jenny savilles self portrait is eyeing me from the near wall of the computer lab and im sorry but aint nothin better than that.

this is the recipe for poached egg surprise, which amanda and i invented.
eggs poached
olive oil
honey
colemans english mustard
onion
balsamic vinegar
toast
serve hot, with spinach

miss you miss rosa

be mindful that bees smell fear but not toxic chemical defoliants. Humans, like most life forms (lobsters, lichen), can smell neither. God can smell both fear and defoliants because God is all smelling.

my poem would eat nothing.
I tried giving it water
but it said no,

worrying me.
Day after day,
I held it up to the light,

turning it over,
but it only pressed its lips
more tightly together.

It grew sullen, like a toad
through with being teased.
I offered it money,

my clothes, my car with a full tank.
But the poem stared at the floor.
Finally I cupped it in

my hands, and carried it gently
out into the soft air, into the
evening traffic, wondering how

to end things between us.
For now it had begun breathing,
putting on more and

more hard rings of flesh.
And the poem demanded the food,
it drank up all the water,

beat me and took my money,
tore the faded clothes
off my back,

said Shit,
and walked slowly away,
slicking its hair down.

Said it was going
over to your place.

this is an enantiomer. an enantiomer looks like this: it is the image and the mirror image. they are opposites but they are different. and this has a lot to do with time. and you know what else? it has a lot to do with how they act differently even though they are structurally parrallel. because they are still just analogs. and one cures your blood cancer and the other makes you miscarry. because even though it seems like the same deal one is here and one is there. one is speculative and one is experiential. one is you and one is me.
today i threw a rose at sarah lawrence. and today there was a creation story about central park and the sixth borough that separated from manhattan and floated to antarctica. and they saved central park because they had to; and thats why the names in the trees; and thats why the otherworldly. and danielle thinks that all the people on that borough--even the children-- died but i infer that they are just frozen and will be reanimated when the borough floats back to the warmth. i was so happy for that story today: how the tunnels stretched too thin to let anything through, and the bridges crumbled, and the people just folded their papers into airplanes and sent them sailing into the air. and how they tried to save it, but it didnt matter about the concrete and it didnt matter about the prayer. that story helped a lot. because 'it wants to go.' 'well, what can you say about that?' the mayor of new york asked. to which they replied, 'there's nothing to say about that.'

Counterblazon of the Nostril

Nostril, with your luckless twin brother
you redundant pocket of air,
and funny hair,
both of you empty, like mouths
only you haven't got tongue or teeth;
don't you ever get bored?
of vacuuming?

on roosevelt island, formerly welfare island, the abandoned smallpox hospital. i cut my hand scaling the fence. melanie ripped her pants. we were not prosecuted! we walked through the ruins. a crumbling castle. piles of stone and debris and dead sick, dead dead. finding the strecker memorial laboratory. high voltage cables. a broken sign, half buried in dirt, about what the mta does on roosevelt island. a huge rubber tire. the emergency IND tube to 53rd street. a tube from all that contagion through all that water! ruins. for lack of anything better to bleed on, i bled on my shirt, my socks. psychogeography. like finding love on the street. and walking back, fish hanging from trees. gills out, red like rust.

i had a good time at the party!

stacy is trying to kill liz. will it work? will she die? i most certainly do not know. do you ever think about that liz? do you think stacy has a 2:20 chance of not dying but actually killing you, huh?

dinner outside and then we surprised one another. pyramid somehow, all men, all madonna. and after one month i can say safely: i am unsafe, i am ailing, but i am lucky to be. and yesterday, in a library, i could be in that library. or another. or another. an availability with a Big fucking basement. it is what i knew i would need to adapt. but you know what? beat the paper tiger in that stupid empty room. can't. thought it was good to brush the hair out of my face. thought it was good to place it in time. sharp as knives. a few thin drinks. i have to sleep. . danielle rosa don't believe in god but she sure knows how to kick it. you know? fucking kick that shit.

i evolve or i do not evolve. no right or wrong.

4. drank competitively with 3/17 of the yale squash team. mangled before 9. sick on newport. sick on the post office, a church, a stoop, the beach. asleep on the beach. walking back. a warm sleep at st. george's.

...if you leave your things unattended people will steal them. it is as simple as that. even if they are your coworkers. liberated from my cell phone in honor of independence day i am sure.
and another thing that really goes up my ass sideways.

symbolism. the internet history of the porn you looked at while i was at work. and that note you left. i can easily clean up. i volunteer myself over and over again to go through these motions. what valence. when i hate you i am not being cute i really do hate you.

Asimov's Laws of Robotics:
first. A Robot may not injure a human being, or through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
second. A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the 1st law.
third. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the 1st or 2nd law.
zeroth. (added 1985, Robots and Empire)
A robot may not injure humanity or, through inaction, allow humanity to come to harm.




i had a ghostworld moment. he never orders two lattes.

H-Beth: u r rad
Love: L-Beth

.:. .:.

today was a long day and my feet are tired. fought through the late night and early morning hours, with some sleep in between. i re-declare a no fight life. wayland square upon declaring peace. there i went to the antique shop on south angell and found four stereoscopic photographs. one is of a colossal statue of Ramses from Memphis. another is of a man named Lieutenant Iorio who, though wounded, refused assistance, bidding his men: go ahead and fight! there are two others. i also got a book for tom whose birthday is tomorrow. ran food at paragon, did not tip out yet but it was a good practice night. made the strawberry flambe for the cheesecake without setting anything on fire. spilled salad dressing. laughed it off. my thoughts still exhaust me, but I have managed to work through the paralytic effect. saw spike and mikes last night and it was inspiring; billies balloon, peep show and mr. tran were my favorites. burroughs eating well, getting chubby. needs scratching post, mouse toys, litter etc. caretaking therapeutic. collecting things. admiring max ernst. it is enough.