de ser...

has pasado a ser una persona indispensable en mi vida

THE ONLY BOOK I MISS


But I guess that's not totally true. I also miss TEMPORARY HELP. I've lent/given it away four times.


And lastly. Any book by one of these guys



In looking for the definition of Cronopio (as in Cronopio carelessness) I came across the quote at the top of the page. It made me wistful... like, there was this boy I met in Bologna, Italy and with whom I hung out. His name was Davide and he was very kind and smart and rare and genuine. He was like my only friend that entire year. We didn't really do anything except listen to music, share awkward silences and smoke pot standing by his bedroom window at his parents' apartment on via delle belle arti, and we talked about poetry and filosofia because that was what he was studying and I am obsessed with death. We weren't a couple or anything; we never 'did anything.' But he gave me small gifts -- mix tapes, necklaces, books... it was really intense in a way and still stirs within me a very physical sense of anguish. The things he gave me before I left are things I still have and sometimes when I open a book I find things he wrote, notes. We spoke via letters and email for a while after and to this day sometimes exchange an email, but it is gone. I know for sure because two years ago we were Instant Messaging (the first and only time I have done this) and it was strange sort of; it sort of highlighted the impossibility of the illusion I'd been harboring. Also, he sent me a picture of himself and he was more handsome than ever and I was like, oh, how does this make me feel? And I felt, well, sort of vaguely nostalgiac I guess--

Anyway, that line (You were once just someone I wrote to...) made me think of these things...

TMI, as they say. Next time I will talk about Anne Sexton's obsession with being admitted to McLean Hospital in Belmont, MA.


-abbi

"there's a chance of rain on Minnehaha Avenue. that's how a poem should start."