i like how many people find me by looking for fruit.
naranja.
guayava. other words i like are
aguacate,
alcachofa,
fresa,
melocot�n!
last night i dreamt that chris & i went to used kids records, which was for no reason at all in the attic of a very tall house. people lived in the house, & to get to used kids you had to walk up their staircases, past bedrooms & bathrooms & this one weird, empty room where a girl was sitting in the middle of the floor looking up at nothing at all. used-kids-in-the-attic was a very clean & perfect record store. & at some point in the dream i was with the first girl i was in love with. when i woke up my throat was very dry & vast chunks of my life seemed very far away.
i am sitting here with reckoning curled up in my lap, getting cat hair all over my clothes, & i am very glad she is here because the whole world gets comfortable like this. i am in need of comfort because i was just reading neruda's �Oda al secreto amor� & it tore me up. Amor, amor, amor, oh flor secreta, llama invisble, clara quemadura! gasp + swoon. i always forget what neruda looks like, & i picture him looking a bit like bean's dad. i think i do this only because they are both chilean, although they couldn't be much more opposite, & not just because bean's dad leaves mumbly, unintelligible messages on the answering machine, in contrast to this recording i have of neruda reading bits of �las alturas de macchu picchu� in this wheeling, fantastic, rollercoaster-y voice.
