Thursday, February 9


I wrote this on my typewriter last night; they're just notes or sketches, really; felt like sharing it; but then my scanner broke. The cunt.

It snowed Saturday night, a good five inches or so. It didn’t
fall down properly but in tiny pieces blown around so that it
looked like a fog a cold fog. My father was shoveling the drive
when I came down at noon for my first sleepy-eyed cigarette; he
did a good job—the drive was perfectly clear by the end of
it. Since then the days have warmed a little bit more of it aw-
ay, which the night freezes, laying down sheet upon sheet of
acetate on the unsalted pavements. I hate the goddamn snow.

I’ve been working so hard I am strung out & overwhelmed
If only there was not quite so much work

The city is very cold
& it has really barbaric wind blowing through it—so hard that
I have to hold my coat together against it and leave the
cigarette in my mouth.

I keep thinking of her
& I am very worried ab
out the whole situatio

The new year came and I was glad because the words were just
running out of me and I felt as if I were the King of the Known
Universe. Now the words have gone. It takes me three (3) tries to
get it down—and even then it is utterly unattractive to me. It
will return. It always does. It’s just very difficult to live
without being able to write. Maybe I should start trying to write
in (phonetic) dialects; you know, some of them are very interest-
ing! I could never write phonetically. I can’t bear it. Sometimes
even elision makes me wince! No, I will just wait it out, ride it

i) meet her somewhere sunny
ii) laugh
iii) hold hands like we’re ten-years-old
iv) fuck like it’s valentine’s day
v) learn something about her no one else knows
vi) make love like it’s new year’s eve
vii) never lose interest
viii) dedicate an Otis Redding song to her on local radio
ix) write about it like a good boy

I feel much better knowing it’s all down on paper.

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