words, words, words
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If I begin to detail myself here, will you understand?
P. I am me
Q. I don't always know exactly who that is
R. I am Quaker
S. I like words and playing with them
T. I like genmaicha tea
U. I like the word napkin more than most others
V. I spend time walking my neighborhood
W. I cook rice often
X. I sleep well most every night
Y. I eat large amounts of fruit and vegetables
Z. I munch, sleep, write, create, cook, bike, watch, walk, listen, hope, learn, drink, live, breathe, touch, know, question, taste, copy, read, stare, carry, talk, dance, finger, try.
raisin@gmail.com
albums:
Magnetic Fields: 69 Love Songs
Erasure: I Say, I Say, I Say
Depeche Mode: Black Celebration
The Beach Boys: Pet Sounds
Marvin Gaye: What's Going On?
David Bowie: Hunky Dory
George Michael: Listen without Prejudice
George Gershwin: Porgy and Bess
Yo La Tengo: And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out
songs:
Wild is the Wind: Nina Simone
Come Undone: Duran Duran
Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini: Rachmaninov
My Funny Valentine: Chet Baker
Feeling Yourself Disintegrate: The Flaming Lips
This Must Be the Place: The Talking Heads
Hyperballad: Bjork
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Thursday, January 30, 2003
almost every day here, I see small black birds flying, over the interstate, around different parts of the base, but mostly near the Illinois cornfields. They're nothing much, just small triangles really, but when in groups, they become another animal, moving and swerving together. i suppose they're looking for food as they seem to be the only birds who didn't fly south. have you ever watched a group of birds wheel and swing through the sky? They move with no discernible head but manage to stay together, even though they seem to do more turning than they do flying towards something. their movements remind me of a sheet blown by the wind, how one edge is pulled first, then the rest curves with it, always fluid and able to turn over on top of itself. maybe they are arguing, pulling each other this way and that like i do with my inner selves when the world seems full of too many possibilities; maybe they are dancing, like i do in my living room, with no purpose but expressing joy; maybe they are actually being blown by some invisible current, like i wonder if destiny and fate push me around on their breath. such flights of birds used to be portents of future impact, but these happen too often, as if they are crying wolf. they make me want to stop, to breathe the air they are flying in, to focus on their lives and not always mine.
8:12 AM
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