Bibi, Tennessee, and a splendid silhouette. . .

Maybe I should start worrying about where exactly I can hold the candle that I am burning at both ends, the middle, and some part that--OUCH, Shit! That's actually my right index finger. . .most of this playing with fire (insert Stones pun here) comes at the heals of not getting nowhere enough sleep. Working on two hours today TWO HOURS--120 minutes. If my sleep time was a movie, there would still be at least a whole f$#king hour left in Return of the King!

While talking to Mischelle (who sent me some poems-more on that in a minute), I think I have found the cause: I've been reading the poetry of Wallace Stevens before going to bed. Last night, at about four in the morning, I was laying spread eagle on my kitchen floor asking myself "What the f*^k is up with that jar?!" Call it Jungian, call it insomnia but I think Wallace has been a explicative earwig in my collective unconsciousness. Mischelle let me in on a dirty little secret--she got all twisted by figuring it out, too. My friend (and fellow GA) Donora conucrred. Bottom line: if sharp folk like them have problems with the poem, then I feel much better about it--thank god Bibi came down from Brooklyn with stacks of Chandler and Bukowski--I know where these cats are coming from!

Speaking of Mischelle, she sent me a poem with one of the hottest lines I have ever read:
"I want you raw and desperate and doe-eyed drunk."
Sweet Jesus! When do you want me is all I'm asking the poem! Out of context, the line takes on a wholly different meaning than within--in context, the line is self-reflexive: the narrator herself is raw and desperate and doe-eyed drunk but it's the challenge--so immediate and bellies a fire that doesn't burn candles as much as it incinerates city blocks. And then without the breath of a linebreak, the narrator reduces her would-be lover to cold reality--a come down indeed! But for what it's worth, if a girl ever dropped the gauntlet like that, I hope I could be cool enough not to blurt out "marry me." But I wouldn't be that cool, I would probably just turn to ash and cinder.

Bed! No Wallace Stevens, either damnit.

today's soundtrack: ryan adams gold; jesse malin the fine art of self destruction; ben fold 5 whatever and ever amen; george harrison all things must pass; rolling stones s/t; nina simone greatest hits; jeff buckley sketches for my sweetheart the drunk; weezer pinkerton; sonny rollins saxaphone collossus; replacements let it be; otis redding dictionary of soul; donny hathaway collection