This was a stupefyingly nothing kind of day. Nothing was going on. Nowhere. I got an old dog-eared, paperback copy of Beckett's plays down from the top shelf, where it was situated between "Finnegan's Wake" and "The Long Dark Night of the Soul". I started reading "Krapp's Last Tape" again. That's the kind of day this was.
I need to get out more often. Away from this trading pit. I wonder what life is like in Outremont, Glendale or Sherman Oaks - I think the people there must be refined and fond of repartee.
In those places, I imagine music in the cafes at night, and revolution in the air. I used to go to places, but they're all gone, now.
Friday, February 15, 2008
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