2002-05-23 12:37 p.m.
crackle underneath my fingertips

S. and I are keeping our distance amicably. That feels good. Strange, but good. It's like it's always felt when we were apart for a while, that urge to tell her things, to share things, to pass on a book or a recipe or an MP3. At the same time, the space feels great, better than I thought it would. The time when I feel lonesome, missing the microcosm, isn't remotely as long as the time when I'm enjoying the freedom to choose everything in my life, something I felt I didn't have before. I had the freedom, but I also had pressure from all sides, including within.

I'm sure, in time, I won't feel the need to write in here so much, but for right now, it feels refreshing to put something down everyday, every other day, whatever.

heppenin's in Brooklyn:

Monday, my enforced day off, there's the strangest event near me: a concert in Greenwood Cemetary. I don't even know what kinds of music will be there, but just the idea of seating myself among the ghosts and stones, the living and the dead together with ears open, eyes open or shut...it all makes me wish I were more sensitive to psychic emanations than I am. Even so, I'm there.

Elsewhen, there's an art gathering at Pratt Institute of people and the robots they've built that make art, designed to paint or sculpt (how the hell does that work?) or create music? I'm confused and fascinated by the idea. Science fiction is coming true before our very eyes. (And in the 50s, pulp authors were still dreaming about automatic coffeemakers and rockets!)

I haven't read this much since Atlanta. It feels amazing. My curiosity, the crackle under my fingers to hit the keyboard � the accompanying jones for caffeine, dammit � it's all returning. At last.

borrowing a tradition from S (hope you don't mind, luv), because I'm reading so much I want to keep track:

what I'm reading:	A Personal Matter by Kenzaburo Oe
�	Layover by Lisa Zeidner
�	The Book of Revelation by Rupert Thomson