I'm sort of ashamed of this.

But if you didn't know before, let me tell you: I have a boundless love for dumb internet surveys. Maybe I'm super self-centered and like to talk about myself. Or maybe I like how a lot of the questions come from left field.

Most likely, I just have too much free time.

1. ONE OF YOUR SCARS, HOW DID YOU GET IT?

I have a big scar across my tummy, from a surgery I had at four months old. Yeah, pretty big. I think it's dashing.

2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?

Floral wallpaper from when I moved in at five years old, and a bunch of silly posters from highschool.

3. DO YOU SNORE, GRIND YOUR TEETH, OR TALK IN YOUR SLEEP?

I talk. Probably giving up state secrets on a regular basis. Also, I roll.

4. WHAT TYPE OF MUSIC DO YOU LISTEN TO?

Eclectic. Things from most genres, though often favoring a sort of hipster scene.

5. DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME YOU WERE BORN?

Around 1:30 in the afternoon. My mom likes to comment on how that is also when I wake up.

6. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?

That's a really hard question. No, wait -- A KITTEN.

7. WHAT DO YOU MISS?

All of my school friends. Unbearably.

8. WHAT IS YOUR MOST PRIZED POSSESSION(S)?

Well, my computer is important in that it holds my writings and photographs, both of which would break my heart to lose. The beautiful mug I got from Dr. Davis. The parasol John brought me from Japan. And, of course, Mr. Bear, though he's more of a good friend than a possession.

9. HOW TALL ARE YOU?

Slightly less than 5'4"

10. DO YOU GET SCARED IN THE DARK?

Sometimes.

11. DO YOU GET CLAUSTROPHOBIC?

Not really.

12. THE LAST PERSON TO MAKE YOU CRY?

My mother. We had a pretty foul row recently.

13. WHAT ARE YOUR INITIALS?

AED. (Like those defibrillators.)

14. LIKE MUSIC?

Can't live without it.

15. MOST LISTENED TO BAND?

I listen to a lot of Muse, a lot of The Decemberists. Listened to Placebo a royal fucking ton in high school, and still want to do terrible things to Brian Molko. Sigur Ros, Animal Collective, Sondre Lerche, Gogol Bordello.

16. COFFEE OR ENERGY DRINK?

Neither. Unless tea is an energy drink.

17. FAVORITE PIZZA TOPPING?

Black olives.

18. IF YOU COULD EAT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE?

Some jalepeno poppers. I heart spicy food.

20. HAVE YOU EVER EATEN A GOLDFISH?

Cracker.

21. WHAT WAS THE FIRST MEANINGFUL GIFT YOU'VE EVER RECEIVED?

I was probably tiny and clueless. I don't know.

22. DO YOU LIKE ANYBODY?

I like everybody. And yes, in some ways that is a question dodge, but in some ways it is just plain true.

23. ARE YOU DOUBLE JOINTED?

Nope.

24. FAVORITE CLOTHING BRAND?

Charlotte Russe has a lot of nice stuff.

25. What is your favorite book?

That's a stupid question to ask an English major. I'll give you a long list of absolute nonsense, ranging from Billy Collins to Jane Austen to Flann O'Brien.

26. DO YOU HAVE A PET RIGHT NOW?

Family fish do not count. T_T

27. WHAT KIND IS IT?

Faux-catfish of a fryin'-up size.

28. WOULD YOU FALL IN LOVE KNOWING THAT THE PERSON IS LEAVING?

Well, it's not an altogether deliberate decision, now is it?

29. WHAT IS THE BEST WAY TO TELL SOMEONE HOW MUCH THEY MEAN TO YOU:

With sincerity. Words, actions, letter, I don't care. Sincerely.

30. SAY A NUMBER FROM ONE TO A HUNDRED:

Is 7 super cliche?

31. BLONDS OR BRUNETTES?

I'm not that picky. Though I'll confess, my track-record says brunettes.

32. WHAT IS THE ONE NUMBER YOU CALL MOST OFTEN?

In Atlanta, it's probably my friend John. In Ohio, it was probably my mom.

33. WHAT ANNOYS YOU MOST?

Hypocrites. And condescending people.

34. HAVE YOU BEEN OUT OF THE USA?

Yes. To Japan, And briefly, Korea.

35. YOUR WEAKNESSES?

I can, on occasion, be moody or selfish. And I can be lazy a lot more often than that.

36. MET ANYONE FAMOUS?

James Marsters (Spike on "Buffy"), Richard Blais (from Top Chef), Eugene Hutz (lead singer of Gogol Bordello), Jimmy Urine (lead singer of Mindless Self Indulgence), the guy who played Atreyu in "Neverending Story"

37. FIRST JOB?

Mind-warping computer work at a company called Spatial Focus, Inc.

38. EVER DONE A PRANK CALL?

No, actually.

41. WHAT WERE YOU DOING BEFORE YOU FILLED THIS OUT?

Buying business clothes for the big move. :P

40. HAVE YOU EVER HAD SURGERY?

The one that gave me my wicked and aforementioned scar.

42. WHAT DO YOU GET COMPLIMENTED ABOUT MOST?

I dunno. Being outgoing, perhaps. Or, there's the ubiquitous "cute."

43. HAVE YOU EVER HAD BRACES?

Yes. But my lower teeth are still hilarious. >_<

44. WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY?

I have no idea. That is in some far away months. How about...LOVINS! :D Or shiny things. I am like a raven in my love for sparkly.

45. HOW MANY KIDS DO YOU WANT?

Two or three. (In the distant, distant future.) And specifically: one boy and one girl, or two boys and one girl. Forget that sisters nonsense. I never needed or wanted one.

46. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?

A dead stranger and a soap opera star. (No, really.)

47. DO YOU WISH ON STARS?

Not really. But I do wish on eyelashes, a la 3rd grade.

49. WHAT KIND OF SHAMPOO DO YOU USE?

Sometimes Garnier Fructis, sometimes Aussie, sometimes plain ol' Neutrogena.

50. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?

When I write with a pen. It looks awful with pencil, because it's a very flowy swirly sort of handwriting.

51. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?

Turkey, I suppose.

52. ANY BAD HABITS?

Plenty. But if you don't notice them, I'm not going to broadcast.

Except maybe oversleeping. I feel that is forgivable; I am not a morning person.

53. WHAT CD ARE YOU MOST EMBARRASSED TO HAVE ON YOUR SHELF?

I think I still own both the original N*Sync album, AND "Spice World." Ah, middle school.

54. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?

I think so. But I'd probably get pissed off at my lazy butt all the time.

56. DO LOOKS MATTER?

Yes. I'm sorry, but it's true. I will say this, though: having ONLY looks will get you nowhere. If you're gorgeous but a dick, I still won't like you. I demand both, in typical picky girl fashion.

57. HOW DO YOU RELEASE ANGER?

At the worst possible moment. I am firmly in the school of "pretend I'm not angry until it builds to unavoidable levels and then bitch at someone about something really petty." I don't like it and I don't mean to, but there it is. I could try and change, but the fact of the matter is that I can't bear to release it in healthy amounts, because I don't want people to know when I'm upset.

58. WHERE IS YOUR SECOND HOME?

Wittenberg. T_T

60. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE TOY AS A CHILD?

Well, Mr. Bear is not a toy, so I'll maybe go with my outrageously extensive collection of Littlest Pet Shops. I have not gotten rid of any, and probably won't any time soon.

61. HOW MANY NUMBERS ARE IN YOUR CELL PHONE?

A reasonable amount. I went through about a week ago and cleared out ones I know I'll never call again, and ones I never called in the first place.

62. WERE YOU A FAN OF BARNEY AS A LITTLE KID?

No. Wasn't that after our time? Or was I just difficult to impress as a child?

63. DO YOU USE SARCASM?

Sure. Most people do in this day and age.

64. MASHED POTATOES OR MACARONI AND CHEESE?

Dude. Mashed potatoes.

65. WHAT DO YOU LOOK FOR IN A GUY/GIRL?

INTELLIGENCE. Stupid guys = not attractive. Also, a sense of humor. Maybe a dash of literary flair. Good taste in music, though that's not vital, since my own taste is so eclectic. A socially acceptable level of geekiness. (That is to say, non-crippling. Sorry, anime club.)

66. WHAT ARE YOUR NICKNAMES?

I have lots. I adore adore nicknames, both giving and receiving. Mine include: Annabe, Annaface, Annapants, Annatrousers, Annabelle E, Anna-chan, Short Round, Sakura, Sister-chan, Anna Banana, Densonovitch, Atlanta, and (thank you, Dad) "the Princess of Avery Street." I may tentatively add Sugar to this list, but that's sort of an everybody nickname.

67. WHATS YOUR FAVORITE BAND/SINGER?

Please, do not ask me the impossible. As for particular voices, I will only submit that Matthew Bellamy's vocal range makes me melt a little. And that I love Brian Molko's whiny sneer.

68. WHATS YOUR FAVORITE TV SHOW?

Law and Order, Dexter, My Boss My Hero. Anything true crime.

70. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR?

Right now, I'd say strawberry.

71. DO YOU HAVE ALL YOUR FINGERS AND TOES?

Yes. (I was about to say, what kind of question is that? Then I thought about Dan.) :P

72. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WORKED OUT?

Does that day I learned to ride a bike count? Even so, that was like a month and a half ago...

73. Plans for tonight?

Maybe Texas Hold 'Em. I just learned how to play, and am pretty awful, but whatever.

74. WHATS THE FASTEST YOU HAVE GONE IN A CAR?

I dunno. Average.

75. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO ANSWER THESE QUESTIONS?

Sure. Everyone, annoy your readership as much as I have mine.

76. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO?

My mother chop vegetables.

77. LAST THING YOU DRANK?

Iced tea, also known as "water of the south."

No, I just made that up.

78. LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?

Danny.

79. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE IN THE OPPOSITE/SAME SEX?

A pretty general sense of "are they cute?"

80. FAVORITE THOUGHT PROVOKING SONG?

Thought provoking? Hmm. I often wonder what Radiohead is talking about at any given time, but much of that is the way Thom Yorke mumbleslurs. "A Wolf at the Door" makes me wonder about "flan on the face."

81. FAVORITE THING TO HATE?

Shallow bitches?

82. Favorite Month?

Possibly May. It is a very nice month.

83. ZODIAC SIGN?

Aquarius. (With double Gemini in moon and rising.)

85. WHAT IS YOUR HAIR COLOR?

Naturally, darkish brown. Dirt brown, maybe. Right now, honeyish.

86. EYE COLOR?

Dark brown.

87. SHOE SIZE

8ish.

88. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE?

Chic-fil-A? Wendy's? I dunno. I don't eat a whole ton of fast food.

89. FAVORITE RESTAURANT?

Taqueria del Sol. No doubt. Closely followed by Brick Store Pub, Mezza, Pura Vida, etc.

90. YOU LIKE SUSHI?

Yum.

91. LAST THING YOU WATCHED?

National Treasure. 2. >_<

92. FAVORITE DAY OF THE YEAR?

Christmas! Presents for everyone!

93. PLAY ANY MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS?

Spoons. No, that's a lie. I took less than a year of piano lessons in fourth grade. Keep me away from your instruments.

94. REPUBLICAN OR DEMOCRAT?

Democrat.

95. KISSES OR HUGS?

Both.

96. RELATIONSHIPS OR ONE NIGHT STANDS?

Ah. Well. In general, I'd say relationships. I'd really like to have a decent relationship someday in my life, since that's never really happened. But I'm not opposed to playing things a little casual, so long as it's someone I know and like. No random strangers, please.

97. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU BOUGHT?

Lots of clothes. But with my own money, that'd be...oh. A girly item.

98. WHAT KIND OF CAR DO YOU HAVE?

I drive my dad's rockin' pick-up truck, and look hilarious doing it. It is so big. I am not.

99. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING?

Several, none of them literature.

100. DESCRIBE YOUR LOVE LIFE:

Wacky. Not always in a good way.

:D

and i swear by the stars, i will learn to cook like a top chef

Other things are afoot...but I felt I should segregate them from the dream post. Real life and dream life being discrete.

Saw "The Incredible Hulk." It was much better than I was expecting (though still no "Iron Man." Tony Stark, yum.) Things that "Hulk" taught me/reminded me of:

1. Tim Roth is hot.
(Especially with tattoos.)
(Especially in tactical gear.)

2. Ed Norton is EXTRA HOT.
(Especially wearing ratty, torn, and REVEALING clothes.)
(...I need a boyfriend.)

3. Liv Tyler is kind of annoying.
(Why does her upper lip protrude an entire INCH farther than her bottom one? No, really, check out her profile.)
(Also: not that great of an actress.)
(Also: gets to touch Ed Norton, when I cannot.)

In less awesome news, I'm having some small drama with a friend of mine. It's the sort of drama that male and female friends sometimes have, but I wish it wouldn't be happening now, when I have so little time left before I evacuate the country. I am 75% sure that only Witt folk are reading this, but to at least make a pretense of circumspection, I'll say only this, and briefly: this friend of mine wants things from me that I cannot (or maybe just will not) give him. Instead of just letting it lay, he has proposed that we "take a break" and not see each other as much. I don't get this. "Take a break" from what? From being friends? He is a large portion of my social life, and I suspect that I am much of his. I am moving away in a month and a half.

THIS IS STUPID.

But maybe this won't come to anything. I'm not even sure what verdict we had settled on by the end of the conversation, so maybe we're fine. I don't know.

Back to awesome news, I met Richard Blais today! He was really cute and funny in person, and he signed my Top Chef cookbook (and one for my mom), and I got my picture taken with him.

Top Chef here I come! (Not really.)

let's be literal for a moment

Here's a dream I had last night, more or less in the order it occurred (though probably with significant holes):

I'm driving my big gold truck, down a busy four- or six-lane road, lined with all sorts of shops and stuff. The road splits around a large white building of curious, experimental architecture, which I think was/is a church.

Somehow or another, I end up inside a building, the interior of which resembles the library where I work. I am in what might equate to our back office, when Robin Williams comes walking in. He exclaims happily upon seeing me, and comes over to chat. We've apparently met two or three times before, and he regards me as something of a friend? The farther into the conversation we go, I realize that Robin Williams is actually hitting on me. When he has to leave, he asks for a kiss (but with a very distinct look in his eyes like he knows I'm going to refuse), so I kiss him just on the left corner of his mouth.

Then I'm sitting somewhere else, that looks like the library's children's area, and the windows are that particular type of darkness of an afternoon thunderstorm. I have the impression, though it looks like a library, that this is actually some kind of restaurant/cafeteria, and we are sitting at those fake-wood tables that are in every school lunchroom, maybe eating off of trays. The we is myself and some friends, though I can't remember particularly who just now. We're discussing something important. I offer a ride to whoever I'm sitting with, and when we're in the parking lot, I discover that these people are CJ and Tre from season three of Top Chef. (I remember apologizing to six foot a million CJ, because he has to sit in the back of my terribly cramped truck.)

We're back in the truck, trying to drive back the way I came. (Presumably, I've finished whatever business I had at the library.) I see the white church again, which arcs up something like a calla lily, but instead of the yellow stamen, there are several gleaming bronze pipes that I understand to be part of some huge pipe organ. For some reason, I and the other occupants of the car find this very interesting (and maybe hilarious?) so I stop, and we all pile out, the other occupants resolving themselves to be my friends Krista, Matt, and Taylor. (I must confess, I wonder if super-tall CJ somehow equated in my mind to super-tall Taylor.) We decide to take pictures of us beside the church structure, which really crazies up the perspective of the dream, because in one of those occurrences that totally makes sense to your subconscious, the church suddenly gets really small, small enough that we can lay on our sides and curl around its various wings to pose for the picture. The grass beneath us is very green, and the sky is very blue, and a few clouds are very white and fluffy. Also, for whatever reason, we decide that we all need to be naked for the photo. So suddenly we are.

Back in the truck, again by myself, and utterly lost. I can remember bits of the route I dreamed on the way in, but instead of finding my way home or wherever, I am back at the restaurant-library. Interestingly, as soon as I'm back there, the sky is overcast again. Out comes my friend Eric, hat and all, as he apparently works at the restaurant as some sort of server? I think I'm trying to get directions from him, but the truck is acting up, and then I discover that one of my tires has been slashed. I call my dad to tell him the news, very annoyed, while Eric opens up the back, pulls out a spare, and starts changing my tire (in a very manly, take-care-of-business fashion, I might add).

The rest is slightly vague. All I clearly remember is that I somehow ended up roommates with Kimberly Ross, who was one of my best friends until she moved in fourth grade, and who I still see every two or three years. (I think she was in the restaurant-library with me at some point, sitting at those same cafeteria tables.) We were standing on the balcony of our apartment at night, which overlooked some body of water (an ocean?), and watching a lightning storm overhead.

Curious.

i like my teeth where they are

I just spent somewhere north of an hour at the dentist's office, trying to decide which part I hate the most. That metal hook which painfully punctures my poor, sensitive gums, the polishing tool that sprays toothpaste all over my face, the inevitable nagging, my dentist's nose hair.

To be fair, my dentist is a perfectly nice and friendly old gentleman, but most people hate going to see the dentist, and I am most people. Much of my appointment was spent with an internal monologue which would have made the sweet-tempered old dental assistant faint dead away. An assortment of motherfucker!s, son of a bitch!s, and one sanctimonious bastard! that somehow managed to worm its vocabularied self through the haze of pain.

Now I am eating peanut M&Ms in revenge. Apparently, revenge is a dish best served with a colorful candy shell.

bad news, i don't blame you, i do the same thing, i get lonely, too

At least once a week, some new area of the library smells strange and interesting. I know that sounds weird, but it's a true and unexplained phenomenon that catches my fancy every time I notice it. (At least three occasions, to date.) Last week, for example, the office smelled like baked goods (though I saw none around). Before that, the holds smelled of something...I already have forgotten what. And before that, the one that really caught my attention, was the popular books.

For perhaps twenty minutes, the popular books smelled like someone I never expected to miss quite so much.

I may see him again, though I'm not foolish enough to expect our strange friendship to survive a course of years. I always felt we were a mismatched pair to begin with, and was never so invested that I'd call myself heartbroken, but I miss him, all the same. It's nice, now and again, to feel wanted, even if it's in the most superficial of ways. And somehow, we got on well, he and I. I have a lot of fond memories of our...well...to say "time together" sounds at once appropriate and too strong, in my ears. But we'll leave it at that.

I'm glad I don't regret this. I hope I never will.

a few stars singing a song their mother sang when they were mere babies in the sky

I cannot stop reading his collections.


Forgetfulness
by Billy Collins

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.


My Heart
also by Billy Collins

It has a bronze covering inlaid with silver,
originally gilt;
the sides are decorated with openwork zoomorphic
panels depicting events in the history
of an unknown religion.
The convoluted top-piece shows a high
level of relief articulation
as do the interworked spirals at the edges.

It was presumably carried in the house-shaped
reliquary alongside it, an object of exceptional
ornament, one of the few such pieces extant.
The handle, worn smooth, indicates its use
in long-forgotten rituals, perhaps
of a sacrificial nature.

It is engirdled with an inventive example
of gold interlacing, no doubt of Celtic influence.
Previously thought to be a pre-Carolingian work,
it is now considered to be of more recent provenance,
probably the early 1940s.

The ball at the center, visible
through the interstices of the lead webbing
and the elaborate copper grillwork,
is composed possibly of jelly
or an early version of water,
certainly a liquid, remarkably suspended
within the intricate craftsmanship of its encasement.


The latter inspired an element in a (terrible) story I'm now and again working on, about a fellow named Badger. Only Jones knows what I'm talking about.

Someday I will move to Scandinavia.

Sigur Ros - Hoppipolla

Dungen - Festival

Varttina - Itkin

Varttina - Emoton

Hedningarna - Raven (Foxwoman)

Hedningarna - Tuuli (Wind)

Monday.

7:45 - wake up

8:45 - start work

shelve books
shelve books
CHILDREN
shelve books

1:15 - leave work

1:45- lunch

2:00 - shopping

new sandals
resized watch
short-sleeved skirt suit?
strange shoe store shemalebeast
TOO MUCH ALLITERATION

3:30 - clean the house

5:00 - shower

6:30 - choral invasion (dinner party)

9:00 - JOANNA

boy gossip
homemade ice cream
Dexter!

10:30 - G-House

1:00 - star wars rifftrax

3:00 - home

now - sleep

i dream of snow

Please download this song. (If you don't have it already.)

Sigur Ros - Untitled 4 (The Nothing Song)

This is what my mind sounds like at the best of times.

silver apples of the moon

Here is some poetry I like.

The Second Coming
by William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?


Marginalia
by Billy Collins

Sometimes the notes are ferocious,
skirmishes against the author
raging along the borders of every page
in tiny black script.
If I could just get my hands on you,
Kierkegaard, or Conor Cruise O'Brien,
they seem to say,
I would bolt the door and beat some logic into your head.

Other comments are more offhand, dismissive -
"Nonsense." "Please!" "HA!!" -
that kind of thing.
I remember once looking up from my reading,
my thumb as a bookmark,
trying to imagine what the person must look like
why wrote "Don't be a ninny"
alongside a paragraph in The Life of Emily Dickinson.

Students are more modest
needing to leave only their splayed footprints
along the shore of the page.
One scrawls "Metaphor" next to a stanza of Eliot's.
Another notes the presence of "Irony"
fifty times outside the paragraphs of A Modest Proposal.

Or they are fans who cheer from the empty bleachers,
Hands cupped around their mouths.
"Absolutely," they shout
to Duns Scotus and James Baldwin.
"Yes." "Bull's-eye." "My man!"
Check marks, asterisks, and exclamation points
rain down along the sidelines.

And if you have managed to graduate from college
without ever having written "Man vs. Nature"
in a margin, perhaps now
is the time to take one step forward.

We have all seized the white perimeter as our own
and reached for a pen if only to show
we did not just laze in an armchair turning pages;
we pressed a thought into the wayside,
planted an impression along the verge.

Even Irish monks in their cold scriptoria
jotted along the borders of the Gospels
brief asides about the pains of copying,
a bird signing near their window,
or the sunlight that illuminated their page-
anonymous men catching a ride into the future
on a vessel more lasting than themselves.

And you have not read Joshua Reynolds,
they say, until you have read him
enwreathed with Blake's furious scribbling.

Yet the one I think of most often,
the one that dangles from me like a locket,
was written in the copy of Catcher in the Rye
I borrowed from the local library
one slow, hot summer.
I was just beginning high school then,
reading books on a davenport in my parents' living room,
and I cannot tell you
how vastly my loneliness was deepened,
how poignant and amplified the world before me seemed,
when I found on one page

A few greasy looking smears
and next to them, written in soft pencil-
by a beautiful girl, I could tell,
whom I would never meet-
"Pardon the egg salad stains, but I'm in love."