29.09.06 - 3:45 p.m.

you should hear my stomach; it is really going crazy.
but if you did hear my stomach, you'd be doing so from my bed, right next to me in bed. that is a pleasure reserved for one person in particular, however, who has season tickets to the whole symphony - the groans and hisses that punish a misstep (a poorly thought out sonata, that turkish number everyone considers gauche) as well as the tympani, the bells, the cello and even the saw we break out to keep the youngsters entertained. there are tiny virtuosos in here, all covered in guts and lunch, playing their hearts out, who will never accompany a ballet troupe or perform for the president but they know i love them and that's why they choose to start the show at a quarter to four on friday afternoon when i am suffering from writer's block.

i should really give them names
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the project museum

the revolution will be catalogued

this american life

the library of congress

i used to believe







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