The most important thing about living is to feel.

I'm going to pull out my brain and stuff my head

with flowers and herbs and seeds and dye my skin

and bury my self in the garden and wait to grow

away

from everything.

Last Thursday, Alberta St. 8/25/2001

I feel as though since months have passed by that I owe all the days a story. Like I should be writing novels of french cities and letters of true friendship and questions about whether we are going up or down.

I hope that I never love you and you never love me and then dear and then darling and then little prowler, if we could just never ever love one another we wouldn't ever have to worry about sadness.