Carousel.

So I took Old Phoebe to the carousel today. She really seemed to like it. She got up to the carousel and walked around in a circle to get to the horse that she wanted. She ended up riding the carousel twice and rode the same horse both times. So I sat there on the bench near it and just watched her go around, and around, and around in a circle until it stopped. I was so nervous that she was going to fall but figured if she fell, she fell. It started to rain and I got pretty drenched. I just sat there on the bench watching all the other parents scramble to go and get there kids and all. All of a sudden I felt so goddam happy watching Phoebe go around in circles in her nice blue coat and all. You really should’ve been there.

Roses.

A Red Red Rose

O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it ware ten thousand mile.

Robert Burns

Jane.

I was just sitting in the hotel lobby thinking about this girl I used to know a couple summers ago. She was my neighbor the first year she stayed in Maine. My mother didn’t like the way she looked, but she really knocked me out. We used to play tennis in the morning and golf in the afternoon every day for the whole summer. Sometimes we’d see her driving her family’s convertible to the market with her mother in the passenger’s seat. We used to play checkers too in the summer on her porch. One day we were playing checkers and her stepfather, who was a real dirt bag, came out and asked her for cigarettes and she wouldn’t tell him where they were. When he went back in the house, she started crying in front of me. I didn’t know what to do so I just sat real close and kissed her all almost everywhere. Everywhere but the mouth because she wouldn’t let me. I don’t know what was wrong, sometimes I can’t understand people, but I bet I helped her feel better.

I wonder why she would go for a guy like Stradlater.

What a night.

The weirdest thing happened to me today. If you know me, you know I’m a pretty suave and sexy kind of guy. Maybe not as sexy as someone like Stradlater or some bastard like that, but for a guy my age I’m pretty smooth. I mean I can get drinks when I go out because of my height and the grey hairs I have, and some people say I look like a movie star. Anyway, when I was in the elevator today, the man working the elevator asked me if I wanted to buy a throw with one of his girls. I said I’d have a throw, so he sent up a girl to my room. I was feeling pretty sexy, but when she took off her dress all I felt was depressed and lonely. I don’t know what that means, but I couldn’t go through with it. Her green dress hanging alone in the closet was just so sad looking; I couldn’t help but feel sad for her being a prostitute and all. I paid for a throw, but just let her walk out without earning her money. I didn’t even want the old bag anyway.

Goddam Ducks

I was just wondering if anyone knew where the ducks go when they leave the pond at central park for the winter. Feeling kind of depressed, wondering how they can just up and leave. Do they fly all the way down south for the winter? That seems kind of hard to believe. Wouldn’t they get tired and hungry on their trip? How would a duck make a trip that big without a bus ticket?

I asked my cab driver today since he seemed like a nice guy and all, but he kept talking about the goddamn fish that stay in the pond all winter long. That seems strange too, what they do. They have to stay in the pond, so they go to a warm spot together and sleep through the winter! They eat and breathe through pores on their skin or something. Anyway, I didn’t care about the stupid fish, but the sonuvabitch wouldn’t stop going on about them. I’m glad we weren’t going out for drinks or something because he probably wouldn’t stop talking about those fish anyway.

Sometimes I wish I could fly south for the winter, and get away from this goddamn city.

A poem by Walt Whitman

A Noiseless Patient Spider

A noiseless patient spider,
I marked where on a promontory it stood isolated,
Marked how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in

measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be formed, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

Walt Whitman

A Composition

I wrote Stradlater this goddam composition but the ungrateful sonuvabitch didn’t appreciate it. Maybe someone else can appreciate my writing:

My friend John’s baseball mitt is something I always bring with me when I go somewhere new, like to a new town or a new school. It’s a left handed fielder’s mitt, worn out from all the use it got. The palm is soft from all the catches in the outfield but, the thing that makes this glove different from any other glove is that it’s covered in poems. The green ink covers the fingers and palm of the glove. The etched in poems have probably been read over a thousand times by a bored kid standing in the outfield waiting, to make the winning catch. The green ink is perfect on the glove, written on with the most care a kid could give. Every letter is flawless and each poem looks to be so cherished by the reader. Each poem is different too. All with different themes and each with a different message or feeling it gives you. You can tell the owner of this glove is an intelligent person, much smarter that many people you get the chance to meet.