(I'm in the F wing)
I was at this evening of poetry tonight at another's little home, the stock of university kid's dwellings kind of place (though of the artsy's nicely decorated variety), and I had to use the upstairs bathroom because the downstairs with the women's sign on it also had a sign that said "out of order, go upstairs" scribbled on purple construction paper. So I headed up the steep flight of steps and there crammed into a corner was a crooked shaped bathroom with the toilet stuck in the eaves and a door for a crawl space to my left hand and a pile of rolls of toilet paper to my right. All I can think is, why would I want this to ever end? Why would I ever want a million dollars and your newly constructed condominium? Why would I want your plastic picket fence? I'm living in charm. I'm living in quirks. I'm living in revolution. I'm living in poetry.
And it was great to have a discussion of poems and ideas this noche because my body has been going through some sort of spring reworking. I go to sleep at 12:30 and wake up at 6am and have nothing to do but read e e cummings and Gwendolyn Brooks.