Something someone once whispered to me, or at least wanted to: it really is possible to make it through. I am keeping her words close.

'They don't split the baby! That's the whole point! Read the book, motherfuckers!'

Geeta über Berlin.

'Poetry does nothing. (Except kill poets.)'

Passing under a railroad bridge, my bus was suddenly deluged by the accumulated runoff, massive even compared to tonight's hard rain. We passengers were collectively shocked, even maybe stupefied.

One is hardly allowed time to think, by the world or by one's self.

This post by Alex is remarkable. The Derrida thread he refers to is here.

I'm writing a bibliography.

It's exciting!

A nice little phrase - 'how we stand toward people'.