Keats, and a state I would very much love to achieve:
The other morning I was telling someone about the Barthelme passage that moved me to run out (well, go to amazon.com) and buy everything I could of his writings. I found it on the wayback machine yesterday, here. Thank you, Jennifer Sykes, a.k.a. Our Favorite Snob.
So I knew my name means “blanket” in Kyrgyz.
What I didn’t know is that it also means “mattress” in Bangla.
Here’s the Bangla spelling:
This would make a decent tattoo - would sure beat the pants off the cliche gothic lettering everyone has across their torso.
In my new favorite coffee shop, Ritual Roasters, on a couch, hacking. I remember sitting in papalote discussing the logo with the girl that was planning to open this place, several months ago. She was the one that took my drink order today, and told me she very much liked my shirt. I can’t remember her name, but I remember her.
Thinking about the words “I remember you” made me think of the Skid Row song. I am now filled with the sudden an intense desire to go buy their self titled 1989 release.
I feel like I’ve been run over by a freight train. I’m sore and weak. Both eyes are so dry and irritated I can barely keep them open. Quite the hangover, considering no alcohol or soma was involved. More fallout from the work yesterday?
