HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Wednesday, September 03, 2008
ithaca is gorges
just met up with philip, my professor last semester, who just had an emergency brain surgery, which involved drilling 3 holes in his head, and sucking out the blood in his brain--yes, like the bloodletting of the renaissance modelled along the greek idea of catharsis. "i was reading derrida's the double side, and i started seeing double, and i called my doctor, and my family and wife is in new york, but i had to do an operation in ithaca, in 10 hours. ithaca is a great place to get sick--if you are a dog." (this is a reference to the fact that i live in the country, and the only great hospital is a veterinarian hospital) we might go out for drinks, which is ridiculous when you think about it, but thoroughly great. "coffee, or a beer," he suggests, testing the waters. sounds good to me, i say. justin came over this weekend, and it was crazy too. we jumped from gorges 40-50 feet high, into pools of rocks, encouraged by some hippie guy in front of us. we made an herb chicken, went to the farmers' market, and bought these crazy sunflowers without middles--they're called sungolds! it was actually really scary because his car broke down 15 times along the way from baltimore and when he finally arrived at night, he was a complete bundle of nerves. now his car has been left with me--along with the 2 sacks of rice and a huge wok which he got in a tizzy at an asian supermarket here--and he took the greyhound back up, on a bus which overheated and then subsequently broke down. and last week was dinner (2 times in a row) with the parents of my ex--sans the ex--which was terribly awkward but wonderful. then out of the blue while i was queuing up at the farmers' market for squash stew and roasted walnuts, sam calls. "i'm sorry," he says. "i'm sorry too," i reply. it was a long overdue end. last night i cooked dinner with my room mate, and she was trying to teach me how to parallel park. on my russian speaking room mate who went to russia on a cia-sponsored language program, on't piss your room mate off, justin tells me, or you'll get the cia at your back. in his awful handwriting that he leaves on a post-it, he writes, "ithaca wasn't as gorges without you." we talk about houses, i owe him money (4 digit figures), his car is to be parked on my street, and he is theoretically the owner of my car, because of his credit history, and i am a co-owner. i keep thinking about the future, he says, daring me to answer. live in the now, i say, because the future will happen if you don't live in the now. he leaves for baltimore. he makes me feel more youthful, and older, than i have ever felt before. the afternoon he leaves, i cook, clean, buy books, sweep the smell of his body out of my room. but the promises have been made, and i realise, almost with shock, that i have gotten myself deeper into this than i ever have been. our names co-signed in various car and insurance documents are just the tip of the iceberg, of an unspoken promise that we indelibly, almost too innocently, made.

[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators

[people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel .

[other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc

[me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca.

[yesterday] browntown
it's been pure madness, and i have just moved into...
bayard street
red moon
clambake
cars and dirt
plant
i wrote this after leaving for new york. Ars Poeti...
the man at the gate
breaking bread

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