reading bedroom crash j g ballard bathroom comet in moominland tove jansson car/walk the long sandy hair of neftoon zamora michael nesmith
listening office gran turismo [more accurately, track 8] the cardigans car pigs in heaven [book on tape] barbara kingsolver living room stephen king's storm of the century first time cnn has been off the set in ages
surfing new york city ballet   even though i was absolutely terrible as a ballet dancer, i still love to watch people who aren't

1999 february 17

melting

i cannot get this bloody fever down.

i feel as though i am slowly melting from the inside, coughing up internal organs that have been mysteriously liquified, blowing my nose and losing more brain each time. aspirin doesn't seem to do anything except keep it right at 101f, which i guess is better than 102f.

it has left me rather dull intellectually, never mind creatively, so i will leave you with this example of why i think the new yorker should just give up printing poetry.

langston hughes, a poem by kevin young *



i may be sick but i still have taste, claire



* copyright the new yorker and kevin young; you know, all that acknowledgement stuff.




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