I’ve really found myself wanting to write some poetry lately. But nothing at all poetical has been happening to me, so I have nothing to do but rehash old victories and defeats. And I don’t want to do that, so I haven’t been doing that. And that frenzied bit of research I just finished up was fun, but what comes next after this? It’s already thanksgiving. Soon Christmas, my birthday, and then I leave New York. In one way thank god, in another way certain things that I wanted to happen here never materialized and don’t look like they will. But then other things that I never expected did and that’s probably worth more in the long run. But the short run would be nice, as far as poetry goes. So no poetry. I’m ready to admit that New York is the loneliest and happiest I’ve ever been. I never really thought those two things could go together. I know I won’t really understand any of this until I’m on a bus or a train someplace else, listening to some album that reminds me of this place, and these moments and then it all fits together. It’s weird how you can miss being sad, or the slow nobility of loneliness. I’m glad I left Baltimore. None of this would have happened if I’d stayed there. None of these conclusions would have been reached. Other conclusions maybe. But not these ones, and these ones are the important ones, since these are the ones that happened and the others are only potentialities in rival patterns of existence. It’s November 26, 2003. Tonight I walked home with no headphones, cause the batteries died a few days ago. Without the cover of headphones, my street is as cold and quiet as ever.