dear diary,

here is something from my diary, june 10, 1985 (i was eight):

i feal very sorry for the poor people in africa. they are getting food and drinks i hope. there are people dieing. i'm trying to help them but i keep forgetting to. so will other people help them. like you plese. we are the world we are the children.

i guess i didn't understand that a diary was a sort of private space. hm.

and then there is this very descriptive entry, 10-17-86:

it is friday morning. we halft to take our test and go back to reading. i have 51 posters of kirk. tgif. thank god it's friday. kirk is so cute i love him. i still like miles. he is ok. last night i had a realy weird dream it was so neat though.

in ws, we did speed-dating with wcw:

write the red wheelbarrow in another season, break the prose, change prose to poetry, animate a thing/destroy it, misread williams, etc.

i think this is the best that came from it:

the improvisations coming at
a time when i
was trying
to remain firm
at great cost i
had recourse
to the expedient of letting
life go
completely in
order to live in the world
of my choice

i will leave you with this quote from jan:

"you sly old boots, you never mentioned it."