in love

I’m having an awful time trying to sleep, even though I had an awesome evening - some workmates came over and lots of beer was drunk and junk food consumed.

At present, the neighbour’s cat is lying on my bed, curled up and very happy. He has gradually become a quite pleasant cat, not at all hissy and nasty like he first used to be when I met him nearly a year ago. I’d rather like to think I’ve won him over.

Over the last month, it’s become obvious to me that I am totally in love with the poetry of e.e. cummings and Pablo Neruda. When I was younger, I used to think cummings affected and…don’t know, but something about it made me think he tried too hard. I was just an idiot. His stuff is sheer genius.

Neruda I can’t read in the original (well, I could struggle with the Spanish I guess, what with my French/Tagalog…) but in translation…wow. God to be able to write poems that leave a sweet, lingering taste in one’s mouth. That’s what Neruda does for me.

Must hunt down complete poetic works of cummings and Neruda.

Gosh, it’s so nice to feel so…normal (read: on less psychotropic shit). Granted the insomnia’s not, but eh.

A friend (thanks T - I might be dumb but I did get them working) gave me some computer speakers and christ, listening to minimal tech is so fecking good now. I love it (Vladislav Delay’s Multila and Jan Jelinek avec les exposures’ La nouvelle pauvrete [yeah yeah, kill me, I left out my accents. Baise-toi]) - fantastic music for insomnia.

Holy feck, edited to add - how could I forget to mention the American contemporary poet Richard Siken?! I would kill/perform various sex acts for a copy of his Crush which I guess I’ll just have to order as no one on e(vil)Bay is selling one…boo-urns (yes, Z, that was for you).