So — whoops. My whole family has a tendency to start sentences with “so.” For awhile we were calling each other on it and you’d get bread flung at you during dinner if you did it.
Well anyway. So I’m reading Michael Ondaatje’s Handwriting poems now, which I’ve read before but you can’t read this stuff too often. He’s all broken sentences and infinitives. My favorite author can’t write a complete sentence and yet I have a tendency to date men whose favorite authors can’t stop writing a complete sentence, i.e. Pynchon.
Which segues nicely into the dream I had last night, wherein I was dating a blind boy. Sometimes the metaphors my subconscious invents are so obvious that I wonder why it bothers. In this dream I had to buy a map from him but I had no money, so I stole a coin from his beggar’s cup. Then he asked me out. Men are funny.
Not to say that all blind people are beggars. If any blind people are reading this.