ever since my dad installed speedy at home i’ve been addicted to the internet.
it’s not like i wasn’t addicted before. at the office i spend all my time online, too.
but then i think maybe what i’m addicted to is digression.
like, say i was reading lorrie moore’s introduction to the special issue of ploughshare she was editing, then i thought about her novel, ‘who will run the frog hospital?,’ and its french title, ‘que vont devenir les grenouilles?,’ which was half about paris (‘one big stairmaster’), and then i thought about anatomica, this shoe store at le marais, where i saw this pair of shoes that i ended up not buying because i hate shops that sell birkenstocks, too, and then i felt stupid because maybe i should’ve just bought them and not stuck so rigidly to all these laws i’ve imposed on myself, like ‘never buy anything from shops that sell birkenstocks,’ laws that i create because i am so afraid of being ‘not cool,’ not cool to whom?, and then i started googling ‘anatomica + paris’, and next thing i know i had been reading the cydwoq—the brand of the shoes—site for 30 minutes.
and now i think i want a pair of zizi homme in calfskin white just like serge’s. i limewired lemon incest but i like la marseillaise much more. the reggae drums.
a pack of gitanes surely would be nice rite about now.
and a quick lunch of lungs.
Divagyrations 