Someone that I met very briefly, in passing, in another part of the city this weekend, is dead now. I barely remembered his unusual name, and here I am unsure what to say except that sometimes I'm terrified.

Early this morning I had a dream about an infant, rolling on a knife, over and over, somehow still moving and somehow still turning over. I woke up and couldn't forget the way that he cried, and couldn't help wondering why things get so fucked up.

I have started writing poems again.

A girl with a green umbrella and a white hat talked with me for a long time in the rain, and I realized I should never stop. And, more importantly, I never should stop seeing the people who matter and the people who are good. Everything else elapses.