Intro

O full-orb'd moon, did but thy rays

Their last upon mine anguish gaze!

Beside this desk, at dead of night,

Oft have I watched to hail thy light:

Then, pensive friend! o'er book and scroll,

With soothing power, thy radiance stole!

In thy dear light, ah, might I climb,

Freely, some mountain height sublime,

Round mountain caves with spirits ride,

In thy mild haze o'er meadows glide,

And, purged from knowledge-fumes, renew

My spirit, in thy healing dew!

Goethe: Faust I.

Wednesday, November 7, 2001

A colder Brooklyn

Wow, it's been harrowing. I spent time, and peculiarly lovely time with the company of a vastly more educated person than I can hope to be. Well, perhaps if I found my way into school and eliminated the slackery.

Brooklyn is colder now. Night is spooky, with dirty warehouses and loading docks. Shuffling men in black with hats and long coats. Stale, quiet.

Last night's sleep was magnificently indulgent.
Published by G. Etranger at 12:00 AM

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