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Collected Agenda #35

WHAT I DID

Saturday, February 22

And then, it was a nice few nights. Nothing ever tends to actually go wrong on these nice and glittering nights. And the weekend was nice, and not over yet, even, though I'm being terribly lazy this Saturday morning, acting like I could let the momentum of the past few days carry me for a while, descending into half asleep fog lying on the floor because in my mind I am content, very content, with having already done enough of it all.

Everything feels a bit inflamed today or, the day is just slow to start or, there is the clean laundry on the floor that's been overdue to put away and it's starting to spread across the room like clutter or, David says the way that I've been writing about Purity and Routine is a bit Strange and Off Putting or, at least kind of Mentally Ill.

"Do you want to be famous," the manager asked me at the party last night and then, before I could respond, "if you want to be famous you should write gossip, not esoteric thoughts on bullshit."

"Well I don't really want to do reporting," I had said, which threw the manager for a loop, because I know this manager does not really like reporters very much and here I was suggesting he was implicating me as a journalist, and then he said "not reporting. I’ve been telling Poppy this too, not reporting just gossip and then you'll be famous, dumb bitch!!"

"People already do that," I think I said, but then the manager had already walked away.

Later, you were telling me those stories about In-Group Feudalism, and I was thinking this is probably what he means by things of gossip, but it wasn't a very good story, and nobody new gets famous anymore, and this isn't something I actually ever wanted in a real sense, or maybe I used to want this, but I have always kind of known myself to be very bad at the sorts of things that people become famous from. And, I disagree that you'll get famous from gossip, anyways. I disagree that these stories are any good at all.

Another light snow has started by the afternoon. I thought it might be spring soon, but there's a grayness to this week's frigidity that feels uniquely never ending.

a young couple roller bladed on by me on this gray and snowy street on the walk to the bar.

Sunday, February 23

"Whenever I see a guy in a Yankees cap I assume it's a cop," David said, of the clearly undercover officer observing the turnstiles at the Bleecker St station.”

At the bar, I was playing journalist.