she may not be too happy about this.

twin and me.

*again made it to strand today before poetry, bought three books: danielle collorbert notebooks 1956-1978, andrew sean greer confessions of max tivoli, aleksandear hemon question of bruno. tomorrow i already expect i'll go to st. mark's bookstore and buy at least two books i have on hold, luce irigaray the sex which is not one and john berg and our faces, my heart, brief as photos. will i complete all of these? of course not, my attention span is barely existent and i'm manic. came home early evening, neighbor knocked on door, the hall smelt like burning peanut butter toast, he said he would believe it if i fell asleep next to the stove, but i don't sleep despite all the ambien, which is for fun and makes late night visitors think i'm crazzzzy. went over to his apartment, pacing back in forth, posing hypotheticals, smiling he asked me what was into me, was i high? no. oh you're finally sober. i'm happy, it's wild, i've been like this for awhile now. and i couldn't stop giggling like a child, like someone with a secret and an array of mental images stealing her from the moment. ohhh, are you dating someone now? he would do anything to find out more about me, always claiming behind my back that i am elusive. not some one, i said. did you have sex with him? will you still talk to him? i have always talked to him. but will you still? i realized i hadn't thought about it. my neighbor and i have shared a few nights of fun. he has black toenails, a wonderful smile and is insanely blunt. but i'm not real shy with secrets either. over the weekend i was suppose to write a rendition of one of ovid's metamorphosis poems, but i already own his erotic collection (in fact it was the first poetry text i ever picked up) so when i got to class i claimed i was confused about the assignment and read his book of the amores instead. it was somewhat true, but eh, not really. in actuality, i've never been interested in the passing of people's stories, and plus i feel a similar enough ovid thematic already, and at the time i found it more important to write myself so i could know how i felt, or perhaps, feel out what i know.