11.19.2001
It's been five days now and 你好坏 still in my phone and I'm all
dizzy over
the xingcheng girl and for days that will last and phone tag with ellie which is
all via messages as she, Chinese girl from harbin, tries to figure out just
what the hell phatic mode is, as though I myself've known for more than six
months.
And Williams is sending me books on asian American criticism and I have books on
hypertext large and looming and still the strobes burnt into my retinae and one
artificial god damn tree in the way.
My sister based in denmark, she asks me about my nurse. I, without basis, ask her about
my cohiba minis and at what point in time they will arrive.
Money is a fickle thing and love ever oscillating. And so poets sing of sex.
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