I hate blogging and talking about myself but in order to say something nice about someone's poetry I had to create this dumbass blog. Blog. In and of itself an icky term.
I spent the day doing things I had to do. Haircut at D&V's barber shop on Washington Street in Hoboken, picked up my meds at my favorite CVS, bought cigars from Gil at the Smoke Shop, and then drank two Margaritas and ate a lousy quesadilla at East LA, easily the worst restaurant in a restaurant deprived town. Finally I picked up a Frederick Church print I had framed and called my friend Teresa who came over and we gabbed about poetry and the Dodge Festival all afternoon.
Johanna's in Washington for Miss International so I'm mega lonely and it was nice to talk about words with someone who gives a fuck about them.
We talked about being famous in a dumb little world and we talked about how poetry works and how we hate hearing how it works and we drank a lousy Bordeaux and in general had a nice poetical afternoon. All afternoons should be like this.
Milo and Cookie barking like idiots and warm fall sun and friends.
Not too bad.
In two weeks it will be the fifth anniversary of my getting really sick. I hope every afternoon will be like this.