alvie just had a hilarious scare with my earphones. i haven’t showered since august 1. this might be a personal record. my friend alec and his two friends are visiting NYC this weekend and i said they could stay at my place. forgot it was ‘weekend’ already. sent him a facebook message saying he could stay and that i’ve been feeling bad and it’s all seemed like the same day since sunday (day of his last message to me). he responded a few minutes ago with something very sweet and empathic that…damn. don’t want to type it all, just want to respond.

9:20PM: wrote a long emotional response to alec’s message which basically said ‘here’s how to park, this is where i live, i want to be alone tonight, i want to see you and have you stay over tomorrow/however long you want to visit.’

10:04PM: just going to insert ‘abandoned’ now, in parts where i thought i’d write more and stopped.

10:05–11:59PM: abandoned.

AUGUST 10, 2013

1:08AM: keep losing my goddamned e-cigarette batteries. keep. keep losing. stood to look and got dizzy. heart beats faster when i stand up. in a rap it’d be like: ‘heart beats faster when i stand up [noise that goes from low to high, like when something ‘powers up’ in a game or something shit why do i know this sound, it’s like ‘d-oooyyyyyy-ing?’]’ then the beat drops.

1:51AM: bought ‘turns turns turns’ EP by majical clouds from itunes. think it’s actually ‘cloudz.’ shit. i always forget um. the main idea of this, liveblog. which is that…nothing is permanent…or something. i think the main idea was to feel like things were more permanent/i had more agency. er. i don’t think permanence was addressed. i completely forget my introduction to this. the prelude…i’m laughing…‘prelude to a liveblog’…one of keats’ uh, lesser-known…very rare…you can only see it if you do a tour of his house, it’s like, in a journal that’s kind of falling apart, they keep the journal in a clear bulletproof plastic case…bulletproof…it needs to be…you don’t need to know why it needs to be bulletproof, it just is…it’s not even open to the page with ‘prelude to a liveblog,’ because that part, he actually…um. he ripped it out before he died, actually. he was too ashamed.

people think a poem about a ‘grecian urn’ is like…[something]…but a lot of those same people think what i’m doing is [something else, bad]. i don’t know that to be true. this is just a feeling i have. i’m laughing. what the hell am i trying to say. peace b witchoo keats. bummer about your name being almost the same as ‘yeats.’ bet that gets you rolling over in your grave.

wonder how many poetry M.F.A.s’ first exposure to keats and yeats was ‘cemetery gates.’ ‘oddly enough’ i knew about keats and yeats a few years before i knew about the smiths (or knew…that those names were mentioned in a song i knew by a band called ‘the smiths’).