Saturday, November 17, 2007

Missing Days

Missing days not necessarily empty vanish without a trace. As if I was not. I was writing something else. "Thinking." We can find out by looking in my datebook, collating journal fragments, excavating emails. My calls not necessarily returned. I was reading Sartre, McEwan, The New Yorker, The New York Review of Books. I was keeping warm and dry, playing Schumann, Chopin, Liszt.

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