Did K’s friend commit suicide in California?
Were Courtney and Lindsay just now talking about Colleen? (You eavesdropper!)
Will someone read aloud tonight and pop the balloon?
Am I going to write another anaphoral litany?
Aren’t you glad you got permission –and for free–to use Abbie Hoffman story in Dear Layla?
How will Lindsay N. fare in Paducahville?
What trouble is now going on in the streets of Caracas?
Are people so absorbed in Season 2 of House of Cards able to find Syria on a map?
Breathing in, I am calm after a long day.
Breathing out, I smile.
I receive amazing pieces of mail (today’s from S. Rendell).
Do I send pieces of mail to others that might likewise prompt goosebumps?
“Her heart’s encased in steel wool, poor thing.”
“Let it bleed,” sang Mick and the Stones.
I could write 10,000 lines in 20 hours.
No one I know would want to read it. (Maybe one person.)
It pleases me deeply to see people pair up and engage with one another.
With people like this in our lives, how can we possibly commit to being jaded?
I connected Rebekah and Raeven, hope they can have tea soon.
Right now, one U.S. soldier or veteran is holding a gun to his mouth.
Read Wang Wei’s poem on white hair the other night.
I’ll never dye my grey thinning hair.
Tôi đây. Vietnamese sentence of the day. Only 9,999 to go.
Surrounded by writers, bodhisattvas of the word.
Are we here delusional, thinking our writing matters?
But then consider: how Ale read aloud her piece last week.
I gave The Book of Mev to Lamaya at FPCC; she was reading the acknowledgements and asked me, “What does this mean?” pointing to the word “bodhisattva.”
Cristina is extroverted, charming, ebullient American face of bodhisattvadom.
She brings out the bodhisattva in us.
I take a deep breath,
I could be dead tomorrow.
It’s all right now
In fact it’s a gas
It’s all right
A loving bodhisattva is a gas, gas, gas.
–written during Class #2, Improv Wisdom Writing class, Thursday 27 February 2014