we painted the living room prussian blue last night. mixing together four gallons of remnant paint, that was what we came up with. when the painting was over, c & I went to a concert in the city, where two out of twenty songs made me cry. I stood to the right of the stage under the balcony, right where I'd stood the last time tears filled my eyes at a concert. I'd like to blame the aura of the venue (conjuring history and the sea, grand and outdated), but really my fondness for sad music is at fault. my sappy heart. I was sobby last night because they played the songs I'd set my last dance piece to, and I don't quite know why that's tear-worthy. crying at a concert because you think you've ruined all your hopes for love, and a sad-eyed man is driving that thought home by playing the hopeful song you sent to hungary on a topnotch mixtape right when love was still good, before you both really botched it, and then he plays all the other heartrenders too and you know it's ruined, you know you've done it now: see, crying then makes sense. but because a song is beautiful? and you've used it as the score to your own art? that, I think, is less explicable.

I don't know, sometimes summer feels heavy to me. I feel strange about leaving. I will be teaching for the first time while I'm away. my interests are obscure, and I'm unsure that anyone else will be interested in a class on slow, small, subtle movement. oh where has my audience gone? where are my people? where are the ones who'll talk of this with me? oh oh. they were only made up of fragments, now all blown to the wind.