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goodbye old diary.

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oh little february. how i love to go for a walk with a terrible headache, and see the big dipper standing on its hind legs.

and think to myself, twice i have thought i've seen a deer in that tree.

As an aside, the further one has gone into being a freak the more prone one is to suddenly start using words like darling.

A friend of mine, to whom I was showing some of these drawings, when he came to the one of Thomas walking with his mother in the land of dreams, said he thought the child's arms were too thin. As a matter of fact, I made them that way on purpose, because I felt sorry for him. I could not help feeling he was rather unhappy, and the only way I can ( Read more... )

I am acquainted with a lake, out in the country. at first it looks like one big body but there are hallways that lead to other lakes. do you know the small, almost handheld staircases at monticello? the byways between lakes put me in mind of them. they are so narrowly carved out of the tall green reeds as to barely even be the breadth of a boat ( Read more... )

I went swimming today. in a pool and all, which is not the ocean in new england, in fact it is warmer and you can watch everything underwater, provided you wear a pair of goggles. so I wore goggles. amazing. it's so blue down there, and you can't breathe, which is kind of nice. I mean it's nice to not be able to breathe because of something ( Read more... )

it is sad like wearing the hood of horse-grey roses. a minnesota not quite the fine light feeling of not being loved. as of some other seemingly-remembered summer.. on a map of migratory bird routes I once saw minnesota called a haven for the flightless. it was either minnesota or Казахстан ( Read more... )

this morning i woke up in st. petersburg. i wore the bluebird tunic. i stepped off of an old ship humming songs. i know the life history of a ship somehow.. ever since i was little. your years in your eyes i was alone; the streets were foggy with white bees or with white hay balanced across the handlebars of a bicycle.

When I am at home, I am more often than not in my library--as fine a one as you will find out in the country... It is in the third story of a tower, and was formerly a large storeroom and the most useless place in the house. The first story is my chapel. The second, a bedroom with closet, where I frequently sleep in order to be alone. Every ( Read more... )