Tonight we had our housewarming party.
I was drunk and surrounded by friends, as I had wanted.

Now I've started feeling that maybe I haven't lost those things after all.

I feel best now when I'm walking by myself at night, listening to music ( Read more... )

Last night I dreamt that a coyote was trying to break through the door of my house. When I looked it in the eyes, I recognized that it was Ross ( Read more... )

So I have a house again. Windows and wood floors and curtains and the little gold-leaf tea glasses Rachel brought from l'Institut du Monde Arabe ( Read more... )

I was on my knees in front of him on the bathroom floor ( Read more... )

In the grand list tradition.
See volumes I, II, and III.

[You are, you are, you are innocent]*I am twenty years old ( Read more... )

A year ago I wrote about the lover that inevitably comes in this season.
(In one week, those cold fingers will meet cautiously in some wintery courtyard in Bohemia.)

There is no train to Philadelphia, but listening to the Mountain Goats on the metro and remembering the first autumn is nearly as good, my pride, writing I am the ripe fruit of the ( Read more... )

I'm fed up with French class, so I put on my coat and went down the alley. The fruit-sellers were selling fruit, the bums were bumming, the femmes de Passy were walking with their noses in the air. I stood outside the bakery and smoked a cigarette, watching my reflection in the glass over all those big loaves of bread ( Read more... )

The Coasts of Barcelona and their gothic streets lived up to the promises of sangria and earthenware, Catalan folk dances being performed in front of the cathedral at twilight, Roman ruins beneath the paving-stones. We came back laughing in leather shoes, Spanish deck and new guitar in hand ( Read more... )

Solitude in the opal city, Anais Nin and long hours writing long letters at the cafe. We drove into the Loire Valley and walked in the forest at twilight ( Read more... )