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Moonbeam, a pet name, swigging pomegranate juice, music slightly twisting, thinking about dancing, thinking about how bodies move under black light, the enigma of timing, concentration, rhythm, like a trance, a physical auto-glossolalia. Tonight, different plans. Dinner, go see a show, LIME, friends and people I don’t know. Spare keys for James, who will be staying here the night I am away. Still thinking about Moonbeam, wondering about the placement of the word, stretching my fingers, feeling if it fits. Thinking it sounds like a lyric from a Captain Beefheart song, not something that could still be alive in the world.
Conversations about Amy Winehouse, how none of us cared until we found out how good the music was. Conversations about ending world hunger, the war on nebulous words, and what’s new in advertising. How many books can I finish in a week? How many links can I send in a day? Word count. Trying to remember what a voice sounds like, strange dreams, going too bed too late and waking up too early.
Someone stayed over last night. When my alarm went off, they were gone.