message from the universe:
how best to prepare for winter:
catch a common cold.
(get some rest, chelsea)

this is what a sick cat has for dinner:
five mugs of tea
four fingers of ginger
three cloves of garlic
two leaves of steamed kale
one salmon filet

cat would like to go to sleep but cat is not sleeping.
cat will try to edit workshop poems in bed, in stead
but i don't know. it's a slow go.
(thanks, m. dar none
for nothing)


ok chels.
start preparing for winter.

nostalgia for your sandals is of no use at this particular moment.


bye, midterms.

in other news,
apparently i don't eat dinner anymore?
o well?


superego says:
see, chels?
going to class isn't so bad.
now you can go downtown and buy prayer flags and go see gian and then come home and do your homework and not feel guilty about hendricks.
feels good, right?
id says:
ya. i know. you're right.


i am homesick for july.
i am getting no work done.
the poem i'm trying to edit is the most alienating in the batch.
i wonder what substitute steve will say about this tuesday.
and if i read one more page of my art history text book i will almost certainly lose my faculty of language.

i know i know
whine whine whine.
the tiny violins.

but it really says something about something when the only work i'm actually doing this early in the semester is for bh.


beep beep
poem coming thru

--- --.---.--


last weekend during wisdom teeth T-3 recovery time i went to a meditation retreat at an oceanside log cabin with a bunch of middle-aged women and a tibetan monk and the monk told us a wise thing: if you're repeatedly distracted by something while you're meditating, meditate on that instead.

i tried to type
but i accidentally put the last letter
and spelled



some of you may know i had my wisdom teeth out today.
some of you may know i was deep-sedated and some of you may know i do not particularly like the idea of being deep-sedated. the mind turned off. losing time.

but it wasn't, really. i didn't, really. actually, i wonder if time moved at all, because

the last thing i can remember before i went under is two brick chimneys through the window, one crow on each chimney,
the two crows talking.
and the first thing i saw when i woke up were two chimneys through the window, one crow on each chimney,
the two crows talking.

"how are you feeling?" says the nurse.
"i had some really nice meditations," i say, coming to.