lynched.

I watched Blue Velvet last night. I can't stop thinking about it. I hate it when I can't just turn off my thoughts like some sort of faucet.

Yesterday I got three poetry books, with some long forgotten gift certificates from Chapters. Three for my further education and edification...

Sylvia Plath - Collected Poems
Leonard Cohen - Beautiful Losers
The Art of Reading Poetry - Harold Bloom

Plath and Cohen were chosen because I only have fragments of their work in the compilations that form the better part of my poetry shelf. The latter book is a slim critique that addresses my main problem with poetry these days; that I don't know how to read it.
I read poetry rather childishly. I know what I like, and have no idea why. Bloom addresses what poetry is and what makes it good. If I disagree with him from here on out, at least I'll know why.

Today brings with it a mission, which will involve browsing the dusty piles in the used bookstores on water street, and if that part is successful, I will be occupied for the rest of the day. Wish me luck.