17 AUG 07
I saw this place the other day, about an hour north, and thought, yeah, that looks like it...the garden, the chicken coop. The lady was moving to Paris, I'd pick up where she left off.
I saw covered wagons floating in the surf, I went to tell you about it and you said what you keep saying, over and over: let me tell you what my friend Chris says about it. Or: do you want to hear a story my friend Chris told me?
Belief is dispositional. Somewhere there's a man with a very, very long penis and a replica watch. Do you have any idea at all when you'll ship my items? Belief resembles knowledge: stairways of wax, slower ways of seeing. I had to quit with the nostalgia stuff because I just ran out of room.
I had no other goal except to go out and have nothing destroy me.
You know how people are always talking about shoes, and what kinds are good? They want sense. That's why poetry was invented. So, no, I guess I don't want to hear what Chris said.
[thanks Maurice, Krissy, and Colin McGinn]
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