I wanted to write a journal. This isn't it.

It's going to get cold tonight. Low 40s in Chicago Thursday. I have always loved terrible weather. Went hiking down to Chinatown in a blizzard once to get a red snapper. Need good waterproof shoes. Need to reread Ulysses -- internal monologue ripe for a revival. Good sleeping weather ahead. Oh the landlord, the bed, the walkie talkie morse code. Impossibly cheap subscription offers on the Nation, Billboard, the TLS, but do I want all that paper coming into my home, not really. Let the NYer go, all I was reading were the cartoons and the critics. Oh and the poems but out of professional obligation.

Feeling close. Loving that head-down feeling in J. Wright's poems, patently predictably sad tho it be. And remembering Fromm -- love doesn't lead to a withdrawal from the world. Also remembering Kenneth's poem: "You want a social life..."