Sunday, uncle's old company shirt, barefoot

Waiting for a student assistant and typing along, the mayas have left the rooftop to eat. Sunday, sunday, sunday. I think of all my Babies and their interactions with the world and know that my role is to watch, watch, watch the world spin, spin, spin, around them. I have never been thirty-two. After the age of eleven, I think I turned thirteen four years ago and stopped counting. I am about to be thirty-three and I have a little more than a month to know what thirty-three is about.

Thirty three pieces of silver in the hands of Judas?
The age when Jesus was crucified?

This old company shirt, kitchy logo of Taka Shoes, was from my Uncle who is already dead. Maybe as the role of the Guevaras in the shoe industry is already dead. Of course, I will look back.

Barefoot with tired feet. Last night, a reading with old friends and people I will always love even when everything is done. (What is this wind blowing through my door? The summer heat is starting to make me homesick. It was Mickey's Birthday last Thursday. I will have to buy him something magical, my giant brother.)

Other Things. Poets and their many levels of energy.
1. It is best to just be silent and watch the bigger aura glow, a new resolution.

2. Avoid people who don't seem to want to be your friend after five polite times.

3. We are all, always, absolutely right. Nod frequently and return every minute to your sacred space.