Reading about Wales makes me feel like I am going to Narnia or wherever Lord of the Rings takes place.

Dylan Thomas was entirely destroyed/enlightened for me by the suggestion of someone in my class that he and the Dylan Thomas professor are wizards like in Harry Potter.

New goal: See the Knox Fox before I graduate.

Senior symposium for lit majors is making me really glad I'm not a lit major, largely because most of the papers were so impressive and used literary terms I don't understand as a lonely creative writing major. I especially liked Sarah's, because it was about eggs and I love eggs.

In honor of Sarah's paper about eggs and Hitchcock, I will post a poem.

The Constant Distancing of Bodies

The toast is burnt. The toast is only burnt
because I wasn’t using my nose, but instead my ears which heard nothing,
but the absence of a ring (a repeated absence, a message left by others before)
It could be that I am deaf, but I don’t think I am,
because for a short while there was noise (consistency, happiness as a hum),
it was not music, but it could be called music (definition was what we lacked).
What is more pleasing than the sound of someone
who wants to talk to you?
The toast is burnt and I eat it anyways. I think I might be angry
because I burnt my toast, even though I know this isn’t
true. (Think of the time wasted) I could’ve been making
eggs, but eggs are too loud. (To stay still and silent.
Perhaps we will drift closer again, if only I stay here and listen.)


The universe began with things
that were very close together. This was after
the bang. Since then, they have been moving
further apart. If this failed to happen,
the stars would continuously heat up
space until everything existed
at the same temperature and filled with light.
Human beings would not be able to live
under those conditions. It makes sense then, the constant distancing of bodies.
We tried to erase Pluto and he is still there, more so.

For some reason I always think when I wake up from naps, I only need twenty minutes. This is absolutely not true.

I wish my mood didn't change because of the book of poetry I happened to be reading.

My Dylan Thomas Professor keeps saying that when Thomas was writing happy poems it was because he was enlightened with spirituality and environmental awareness and he knew his soul was everywhere.

In the biographies, the biographers talk about how depressed Thomas was during that time and how much he drank. He was about to divorce his wife. Even his lover was about to leave him because he was so destructive.

I think the happy poetry was a cop-out.

But really, I'm having a hard time dealing with these heartbroken poets.

My heart isn't breaking. I don't even have a goddamn crush, yet every fucking poem I read my heart breaks all over again.

I think I would not like to love Rick Jackson. He loves people long after they are gone, which means desperately. He says it in Resonance, that love is desperate. That seems to be the word for love. Dee and I talked about it awhile ago and desperate was the word we used also.

I would rather date someone who loves my legs or my breasts. I can feel appreciated, yet desperately longing. Rarely are two people desperate. Then it is no longer desperation.

It's a lonely kind of night apparently. I haven't been very lonely lately because I've been so busy. But then I had to watch a movie for class and it made me distinctly panic. I keep getting hives. Yesterday I woke up with one on my cheek. During the movie I got one on my forehead. I don't think you are supposed to get one hive, but I'm pretty sure that's what they are. They go away within a couple of hours. I feel like I'm about 85 years old. I need to move my body.

So I'm reading this book, Resonance by Richard Jackson. As my professor said, "no one does the heart better than Rick Jackson," and I have to agree. Then I look at the back cover and he's a middle-aged balding man. Somehow this makes it better, that a middle aged balding man can write such poems about love.

"But for this moment, not like those other moments, it is
simply so surprising to be alive with you. Why is it enough
just to listen to the earth spin? Why is it that, at this moment,
despite the fact that our hearts beat at sixty fears a second
despite the fact that, at this moment the silence of our
dreams is immense, we can offer each other, and our world,
these unforgettable petals of frost unfolding on their stems."

I can't write about love. I mean, I write about love all the time, but it's always veiled. Maybe you have to be Rick Jackson to write about love. Or Pablo Neruda.

Reading poetry will always be like dating a boy who doesn't give enough.
That's why it's so good and so awful.

Finals countdown

1. Watch "Die Fetten Jahre Sind Vorbei." Think about how Daniel Bruehl would be a good boyfriend. He could teach me German.
2. Correct German paper. Meet with Anke and have her look at my corrections.
3. Write two pages about my expectations for Wales.
4. Memorize Sarah Manguso poem "Beautiful Things,"
Sometimes I think I understand the way things work
and then I find out that on Neptune it rains diamonds.
(that's what I know so far)

What a great poem.
5. Read Rick Jackson's book of poems "Resonance."

That's it that's it that's it. I wrote a five page paper in two hours today. I feel great. I feel caffeinated.

Plan for the afternoon:
Go to Innkeeps and eat this

Drink this

And do this

I am the sleepiest person in the entire world.

I can say now, in the morning with the sun coming into my window and making me really warm, and my body really tired because I was up too late last night, that if I don't get either of the things I applied for, I will be okay. Myself will remain intact. Do you ever feel like if certain things happen your entire body will just cease to exist? It's not really a conscious thing, but more like I can't imagine myself existing if something happens or doesn't happen. But I will.

Julia and I were talking on Wednesday and I mentionded that I no longer felt like an attrative human being, even though I look relatively the same as I used to when I was an attrative being. The difference is that I am not attracted to anyone. She said, "That's because we want to be objectified." I agree, sort of. I want some people to see me as a sexual being and not others. I want to be attractive only sometimes. And thus when I am attracted to very few people, I don't feel attractive at all, even though I look the same.

The people upstairs are playing incredibly loud music. They must have great speakers. But at some point soon I would like them to turn it down.

I can admit to myself now, in this moment of being alone, of waiting for other people, that I am scared I won't get either of the things that I applied for and that I will be ecstatic if I get either.

But what happens if I get nothing?

I miss wanting to be close to people. Like those lions, you know? Spooning. I miss wanting that. I have no notion of what is to even be near a person.

How is everyone doing?

Things to do for finals:
1. Write 5 page paper on "Under Milk Wood" See: Dylan Thomas went to Hogwarts.
2. Write 2 pages about expectations of Wales. See: Fish and chips. Beer. The sea.
3. Finish poetry portfolio and collaborative chapbook (almost done)
4. Revise German essay.
5. Do minor German assignment.
6. Watch "Die Fetten Jahre sind Vorbei" (Should be retitled: Daniel Bruehl is a cutie. He's less cute as a nazi in "Inglorious Basterds" and more cute as a radical communist activist, but he's pretty much always cute)

I said: "I will never not be a white girl from St. Paul, Minnesota," in an interview. What is wrong with me? But you know, otherwise I think it went well. I have no expectations whatsoever though. I can't tell what they are looking for.

I was worried my gloomy mood from yesterday would stick around, but I am feeling loads better today. Finished my poetry collaboration, some of the poems I actually like a lot, so I'm really happy with it. Next I have a telephone interview and then I am going to rush to the Cellar Door release party to eat cake. Later I am going out with some lovely friends. It promises to be a very nice evening.

(I had a dream last night that I went out on a Friday, drank too much, fell asleep, woke up in my dream, amazed I didn't have a hangover. It made going out tonight seem rather unappealing at the time)