Sex having is like bicycle riding.

For the first time in months I'm home. For the first time in that same amount of time plus two months New Jersey is shaping up to be an alright place. Even if I've already briefly left it.

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Something about listening to opera makes me think I should be a) killing someone, b) on my way to kill someone, c) on my way to dispose of the body of a person I have just killed, d) at the least sitting in an immaculate and marble office plotting to kill someone, e) making love to someone Italian.

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Winter Break Reading (Hopeful)

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
(Finish) Underworld
(Re-read) Brave New World
(Re-read) Nine Stores
Poetry, poetry, poetry

suggestions?

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Thinking about a chat with Paola I've come to realize that Bruce Smith was in some way my gateway poet.

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Recently I spent a good half hour watching a kid trip on acid or LSD or one in the same. Standing in a kitchen not unlike that of most grandmothers with white linoleum-tiled floors. He insisted they were lighting up and he was playing a life-sized version of Simon Says.

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We should be lovers.

We shouldn't do that.

We should be lovers, and that's a fact.

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I haven't been writing now that I'm home. Which seems to be the norm with me being home.

It's not that I don't want to do. I just don't. I also don't read much poetry.

Somehow that makes me feel guilty. The not reading. But oh well, I read other things. I can't read poems all the damn time, right?

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Assignment

Pair a vegetable with an emotion and explain yourself from someone else's view.