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what is the word

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Tuesday, June 22, 2004

I have a lot of utter nothing to blog about today. I can't really be fucked to write about the sketchy one-room apartment on Long Beach where my friend Leyla & I stayed yesterday, with the violently flapping blinds & a suspicious lack of belongings. Nor do I want to write about how burnt I am or how tired I am or how guilty I feel for never learning my goddamn lesson about anything. Anything.
Yesterday & today I could cry at the drop of a hat. On the L.I.R.R. coming back to the city I got a bit weepy but it went away as fast as it started. Over tacos in Dumbo last nite I suddenly thought of this poem from The Pursuit of Love. The Radcliffe children thought it up to torture their sensitive sister Linda. It reduced her to tears instantly.
A little houseless match
It has no roof, no thatch
It lies alone, it makes no moan
That little houseless match.

That's the sort of thing that could set me off today -- i.e., practically nothing.

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