monday april 9 2001    |    1:27 a.m.

late. i'm drinking julie's green tea and indulging in the smiths. thinking about dante, about new york, about comps results tomorrow. interviewing again and seeing rocket from the crypt in the bowery ballroom with molly. about the pegasus show, and walking on the grass at night in hot weather. happy about what's over, and what's coming. about conversations with ben. and how what i told you in the bookstore tonight stands, sort of. and how i miss my dad's old green olivetti. and how i have to stop making excuses for myself and start writing again.

i returned letters to a young poet to the library, after months. this is what i will remember about today.

from calderón de la barca, because too many poets are unknown, and this is nothing less than criminal:

     Supuesto que sueño fue,
     no diré lo que soñé:
     lo que vi, Clotaldo, sí.

and from josé hierro:

        Y te comprendería,
     te comprendo ya, créelo.
     Nos va enseñando tanto
     la vida... Nos enseña
     por qué un hombre ve rota
     su voluntad, y sueña,
     y vive solitario;
     por qué va a la deriva
     en el témpano errante
     arrancado a la costa,
     y se deja morir
     mientras mira impasible
     como se húnden los suyos,
     la carne de su carne,
     su hermoso mundo...

there is a light and it never goes out