in my poetry, it’s a scientific fact
that our thoughts cause our feelings and behaviors
—Tao Lin
I am said to have the anguish of a plaster breast.
Night before last I said “dick” four times. I usually use “penis”.
Writing as if I were a woman can be an enriching pretense.
Then there are books you read the first page of and know
immediately that this is going to be one of the profound events
of this active cycle.
Nobody gets to know me because I am too busy getting to know books.
Two “I love you” emails was all I needed.
Everything went well, though I think Taylor Brady broke his arm.
Saturday I got my hairs cut by Zeon at Glama-Rama. Then we saw
Final Destination 2, a seriously disturbing fucked up film.
Off to Treasure Island for a party. The host disappears half-way through,
and I was quite a wallflower. My adorable date was charming,
seemingly out of his element (in a good way), gobbling up quail eggs.
I have become known (to myself) for arguing well into the night for
arrogant, broad proclamations or radical truisms like
“Poetry can be anything you want it to be”. I am here. Please wave.
