from the front
2007-09-17 2:32 a.m.

uh. i wrote this 2 a.m. sat night. after the cocktail party.

---
important updates from the frontline.

eric is working on a poem. it's very serious, and so he cannot talk. do not disturb.

daniel has red juice--or wine--down his front. his eyes are half-closed but fully deep, fully blue-green enough.

chris wore a sharp autumn ensemble, red suspenders with a crisp pair of brown pants. GQ.

the shot of rum on the table in front of me: who left this? is this that kind of house?

my left thigh is covered in a thin layer of bronze powder.

i'll say, i know, i can, only one at a time. i can only love one at a time. it's not love. what's the word.

curtis introduced me to pita+hummus+blue cheese+olive. then we ran out of pita, and he tried to convince me to try sour cream and onion chips, and i told him he was stretching it.

my dark blue dress made out of an exhilarating crepe fabric, i will.

everyone has a blog! yes! i'm not alone--michael jackson was right, that whole time.

the pain in my leg could be from yazmin.

wylie has a fever still.

think about how weird this is: birth control. what? birth. control. controlling birth. my birthing is out of control.

---

tonight.

i read many papers from beginning fiction writers, 18 x 3, what authority do i have anyway, and curtis's cigar smells fairly strong.

i had something to say about logic and the rolls on my hips. but it's not necessary. i am loved in an abstract way, by concrete people. and i am loved in a concrete way by abstract people. it's enough for the moment.