but it's warm in my apt

i'm supposed to be out with my friends right now...but it's so nice and cozy in my apt.
i've got my school books out...but instead i'm listening to steven jesse bernstein:

it's midnight and the sunglasses twirl
my injuries a deaf plant warped in the Hollywood
rockery of juice cans and hypodermic needles
so cool baby you don't know what you need

half the time i'm unsure where he's going, or if he's going anywhere, or where he came from, or even what the hell he's talking about...but dammit...it sounds so fucking great.

there's a posthumously published book out now that i need to get before it goes out of print like all the rest of his stuff.

the remarkable people always take themselves away from us-what's that all about? i think, especially in poetry, the good shit comes from dark places in people.