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10:14 p.m. - October 12, 2003
Undone, there is nothing left to say but much that cannot
M�lange, pastiche, they're all foreign and do they adequately capture that flavor, that here-and-now verisimilitude that avoids cynicism and 1950s-era realism recast in the neon glow of today's impressions and readers? A whirlwind day, wholly enjoyable but for one encounter and its long afterglow, and it is between these matrices, like interstitial tissue, that I had a great day about or because of, nothing at all.

It was church this morning, lunch with A[deleted]a and something going on between the waiter and the me who whispered I�d take him home with me right now, surprised by my boldness and his hand on my body twice and that shy nervousness welling up pleasantly, neither fight-nor-flee adrenaline but merely curiosity, fun. And a Hansel & Gretel-like foray in that nightmarish mall with too many stores and people and bright lights, looking for Williams Sonoma because I have a gift certificate to use and laughing the while because it is good to be young and with a friend in someplace different.

Step up to the plate only if you�re willing to give in like measure to what you take and if not, move on. I am busy with the tendrils of my own life, my writing and my poetry, my hands and books, and if I tell this to myself often enough and with enough feigned sincerity I may believe it sufficient and wholesome, almost like mannequins performing the role of the deus ex machina on cue.

Make of it what I will, settle for what I can, live with what I can grasp, be childlike in wonder and amazement, and happy with what is to be. Yes, yes, that�s the ticket and in this life there are no refunds, merely passes to the next show.

 

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