i put the inexperience of dying in place of produce i was gathering for soup. if someone wants to buy the exact same ingredients, they can collect all of the inexperience of dying and make a meal from it. after i put it in place of the celery, there was an old woman in a wheelchair sleeping before it while her husband was trying to get a better deal on the oranges. i thought she looked so nice sleeping by that sentence. the next day i put the inexperience of dying in all of the bathrooms.
kate greenstreet read last night. she showed us beautiful movies. a lot of the movies had the sky in them. i loved these ones. one movie was even just the sky with some words on it. i can't remember the words. after the reading, we went for a drink and her husband, max, asked us questions that made us remember things. i remembered getting an eraser stuck in my nose (which made max remember kate getting a marker stuck in her nose. twice.). jen remembered a reflection of touching dust. max rememvered painting when he was very young and being so confused when the teacher said to stop. he wanted to go on painting. it was such a nice night. they are both so lovely.
here is one of kate's poems from the new issue of dq:
"the little house where you'd rather be"
i was born here. the little house, the sea. the sea
was pushing us away. the gravestones
shaking in the dark (they're in love now).
we've seen it all before.
make a strong, permanent suggestion.
she dives in. the man in front of me goes straight
to the edge.
am i saying this in french yet? "until i will arrive."