I don't know what poetry is, but I'm sketching some pretty bad stuff. I'm not classically trained. I'm just drawing isopods and filling them with meaningless poetry. Words.
At 7:21pm I was staying late at work. I was putting a new stem on my bicycle and putting the handlebars that I like back on. I was also using the internet to continue fucking around with OkCupid. I think I come across like a scary drug-nut on there. Hm.
I wasted plenty of time and then I headed to a backyard party over in my old neighborhood. I hoped I wouldn't see anyone who I don't feel like seeing. I succeeded. I saw my ex-roommate Lee, and was happy to talk to him for awhile. I talked to my friend Derrick who is friendly funny and insightful. The party was behind his house. I showed up early with a case of Nice Bud Ice to share.
I did a shitty job of DJ-ing from my iPod and started to get fairly ripped up. This cool girl Tracy said I could stay at her place if I didn't want to ride all the way back to West Philly. I liked her. She seemed fun and quirky. She had sexy glasses that were unpretentious and had that string that lets you hang them around your neck. It was a good look. I slept on a sofa in a huge warehouse that was separated into many rooms by cloth hanging from the ceiling. There are a million artists living there, and they are separated by curtains. Fucking interesting. I woke up with a smile and tried to invite Tracy to a house show I'm going to be at later. I'd like to get a chance to actually talk to her and see what's going on with this whole warehouse setup. I'm interested.