V

goddamn it, I am going to write here for a minute even though I have to reside over classes in the morning, even though I am in love and have to negotiate the solitary voice, even though I want to rest my post-whiplash neck on a warm pillow and let the sky take me. I drove back to Hudson tonight after five days in the city, (saw a fireplace video in a fireplace and other visual puns, drank chocolate beer, saw angela dufresne's curated gallery show which featured my old friend tim davis, saw V for Vendetta, saw C. Whitehead do a Q&A, saw S Silverman tell the aristocrats joke). Anyway now I'm back and I went to a fundraiser for the democrats of Hudson, a few, real, heartbreaking small-town democrats hashing out what to do with a chunk of land, yelling about taxes and race across a bar. This town found me.

V for Vendetta rocked. David Denby is a micropussy if he didn't like it.

I need to remember not to lose track of myself. Remember not to set up my writing against relationship; writing always pathetically and mutely prevails.

California: you can keep shaking and shimmering and washing out like a photo negative

I have work to do.