I dreamed Eileen Myles’ voice reading the LaTeX manual like it was her poem. She was reading from the part about lines. All I remember is something about ragged edges.

We’re almost done laying out Dewclaw, is what that dream means.


I’ve been trying to notice how my mind connects to objects just before it makes sense of them. A few days ago I found myself comparing myself to a big silver “walk” button. I realize I’m dreaming all the time. A dog runs to each point of a quasi-star.

Today I saw a can of Bud Light under a tree in huge white blossom and realized what a lovely name that is, Bud Light, like from some haiku, but in the spring everything seems like it’s composed in haiku.

I have to get the hell out of the way of something, maybe of this:

“When I’m surrounded by trees, a condition I’ve sought out pretty persistently throughout my life I think the thing I might like the most about them is this whisper like all the hair of the world passing through the tunnel of one single breath – if that is a form of percussion. This irregular hiss of trees and wind. I think it is my mother. And I am her son, and you are my dog.”
from “Protect Me You” by Eileen Myles