I paced from the hallway to the living room to the kitchen.
Back to the living room. Sat down on the couch. Reading aloud
all along the way. Dropping the mug of coffee (with an abstract
Christmas tree on it) various places during. Losing the coffee mug.
Finding the coffee mug. Refilling it. Switching books. I’m in Brookline.
Peet’s Coffee. It’s a nightmare of humidity. It was cold war last night.
And then death to coyotes. Seriously, I was fighting all sorts of battles.
Can we even imagine the freedom...the erotic fluidity of a collectivity
which would speak only in pronouns and shifters...without referring to
anything legal whatsoever? (Barthes). It is 1946. I’m 170 pounds.
I got a letter from Mom. She just bought a computer.
