MIDDAY 12:16 P.M.
Jeans weather. Long sleeves for the AC. Bike to newsstand, the yogurt place, the good dry cleaner. Try to find appropriate birthday card for J. Unsuccessful. Return to see neighbor has draped his fire escape in Tibetan prayer flags—for the World Cup? Fourth of July? Both?
I thought I understood it, that I could grasp it, but I didn’t, not really. Only the smudgeness of it; the pink-slippered, all-containered, semi-precious eagerness of it. I didn’t realize it would sometimes be more than whole, that the wholeness was a rather luxurious idea. Because it’s the halves that halve you in half. I didn’t know, don’t know, about the in-between bits; the gory bits of you, and the gory bits of me.
the amount of pictures I would take if I had a hot body is unimaginable