2.13.2007

Watching a silent documentary, with lots of after-the-fact interviews, about a polyamourous multilingual compound. Then I find a sheath of blank paper near the printer, which turns out to have notes from the year I learned to write poetry on the other side. I arrive just as the previews are ending for a screening of a burlesque Glass Elevator. And afterwards the director wants me to score his documentary about a deaf-mute celibate compound. Hum me how it goes, I tell him.

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