st mark’s bookstore
i guess this is what i do: go to bookstores. when left to my own devices. but then there’s the question of where i’m left to my own devices: on the one hand, at home, where i search for companionship and also a certain strangeness of place, which i find in scribed papers. on the other hand: elsewhere, where i find both strangeness and companionship in the place itself. this is what i mean by writing: to sit down where i am and put on paper thoughts i didn’t know i had. now i’m reading nox by Anne Carson. i would like a public bath and a bottle of apple cider vinegar with which to rid myself of my itching scalp. went to yoga to the people, and now i’m so tired. worn, spent, slow. a goal: to not hurry, these two weeks. to not move quickly, as i have no need. i need solitude to write; this is what i’ve learned. it is hard to make lists when i change journals so quickly.
it takes me an hour to recover from a yoga like that. i come out starving and so thirsty and then i have to pee a lot. it’s like my whole body is inhaling and exhaling and there’s nothing i can do about it. yesterday i blogged about homelessness. i wonder what my parents will think of that.
i want more water, but they charge you 25cents here to use the bathroom.
(drawings of lungs, heart, ovaries)
barnes and nobles now, where i don’t much want to be, but the strand didn’t have nox, which i’m halfway through now, and i’m noo tired to keep moving, although i’d rather be elsewhere with nox, and comfortable chairs. barnes and nobles has everything which is a strange concept. but the people are comforting, so many in all the chairs tucked aside as in an airport. at JFK on Saturday i saw people sleeping on the floor at the gates. briefly, it smells of lipstick.
after yoga it’s like my hair grows long and fast and then all falls out at once. there is nothing i can do but feed it. it’s like a crying infant. chair post. john west wants some response to the bay. i wish i didn’t have to call it this: the bay. i wish i could instead say Oakland, Berkeley, san Francisco. but it is none of these things. where is BART in that? where is the water, Albany, the strange fact of them all as separate cities? the strange invention of place.
i consider how to be a pedestrian in new york. treat all others as fierce animals, and make no sudden movements. don’t show nervousness. in fact, don’t be nervous at all. pay attention. but don’t make eye contact. if you do make eye contact, don’t look away. the other person will do that. remember, you deserve to go first. but maybe let the other person go first instead. you will appreciate being that person. look around. see. know that people will think you’re not from here. remember we’re all human. don’t expect anyone else to remember that.