so now that i’m officially going to sarah lawrence for my MFA next year, I have access to JSTOR/Project Muse etc etc, inbox me academic journal requests and i’ll try and make that happen because obviously it’s bullshit that you can’t just get any journal article for free.

i wanna read and i’m tired
from work
my landlord won’t let me shit because he keeps letting people into my apartment.
and yes, i built the walls.

last shift with kenny my first co-worker and tomorrow is MAY DAY.
I’ll celebrate my time working with him and friends and all other people who have to work and sort of like it but actually hate it because everyone who comes into their job is an arrogant bourgeois piece of shit from DUKE.

don’t be proud if you went to Duke; everyone hates you.

“I now think, Love is rather deaf than blind,
For else it could not be
That she
Whom I adore so much should slight me,
And cast my love behind.”

The Snow Man

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-tress crusted with snow,

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun, and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing this is not there and the nothing that is.

-Wallace Stevens

theparisreview:

INTERVIEWER

Trains appear often in your novels—what do they symbolize?

CLAUDE SIMON

Nothing but trains.

winter people are still wearing
sweaters & scarves;
summer people are naked.

Rolling down the sidewalk,
spill empty into Union Square until
George is drowned

But I remember May
last year
sun-baked.

**

This isn’t a preamble to anything and
certainly isn’t going to make up for the fact that
I’d slept one night in the park
and
re-tweeted
anything with the
words
-revolution
-worker
-class
-war
-drone
-struggle
-May
-human
-Syria

never thinking of their purport
unless lying stretched, uncompromised
drained
in golden light reflected off mid-town
towers