November 30, 2012

but i am never disappointed in myself at this stage.  and i am never angry.

you are right and you are wrong.  i think i wish that I could change times, places, things.

it seems as if we have other listeners out there, arthur.

November 29, 2012

toe into the cold pool of fear.

you feel helpless, invisible though you are not. you like dipping your 

you are angry.  you can not change anything.  that is your bugaboo.

November 27, 2012

you feel a little disappointment then.  you are disappointed that you can't help them.

November 26, 2012

you know that i could be in love with almost everyone.  i think that people are the greatest fun.

November 25, 2012

less words to explain away the pain.  less images to coax certainty out of the vague. 

in a world without a conscience there would be fewer words, fewer images.

November 22, 2012

it will come and go as it pleases.  where would the world be without guilt?

November 21, 2012

i don't think repression is the answer.  either let it go, or let it go through you.

i am guilty.  i recognize it.  but i'll keep it in a locked up car on a dead end street. 

November 19, 2012

i am vain and rebellious.  arthur, you are guilty but exquisite.

November 18, 2012

and strangle it.  if it will let me, of course.

but i feel i can grasp it!  maybe while it's bouncing down the hallway.

the doctors tell me to just let it go.  let it drop to the floor.  let it roll away.

November 16, 2012

and the passion is there.  sometimes it takes the wrong road.

November 14, 2012

i am capable of feelings of guilt.  you are right.  i never saw this coming.

i give in to my desires.  would you like to be a saint, arthur?  can you still possess a guilty conscience?

if you are saying that i am not a saint, arthur, i agree wholeheartedly.

November 13, 2012

it can also be treacherous.  rotten to the core.

November 12, 2012

November 11, 2012

dune buggy on the beach.  1966.  fire island.  you certainly pick your spots.

i know.  sardines.  orange.  i was there that night when he was killed on the beach.

that is why i am not a romantic.  

in o'hara's poem, why i am not a painter, substitute painter with romantic.

November 10, 2012

you are such a romantic, arthur.

the lying, the cheating, the meanness.  it is better here.  with you. 

i've lost my taste for artifice.  i blow their lights out occasionally.

November 8, 2012

leonor fini said it to me once in venice.  i didn't think it was original.

a bit precious.  but whom am i to speak?

November 7, 2012

November 6, 2012

i don't know.  i can't find it in any of the books here.  it sounds vaguely surrealist.

arthur, where did that come from?

November 5, 2012

if glasses were glasses, and not airships, would hands really be birds?

November 3, 2012

we were falling and we found each other just in time.  there are so many wandering alone.  

it is only an object slightly turned.  we must learn to play with our toys.

at times, i feel so tired and exhausted with metaphors.

the space represents the answers and the questions.  at least that is our game.

kundera said, the greater the ambiguity, the greater the pleasure.