hi blog.  after lunch it was sunny so i sat by the river with my feet on the ledge just a few inches from the water.  i was reading yukio mishima's death in midsummer.  i thought it was lovely.  i wish i could read it in japanese.  i have only just discovered him and have read about his life and his ritual suicide and i find him really so interesting.  the suggestion that he planned a coup that he knew would fail so that he could act out his own (gruesome) ending.  he made a fictional character of himself, perhaps.

rambling.  and then i went to the university library but didn't want to go in because the air was so nice so i sat outside on the steps and read some more.  then i ventured in, and to the secret world of floor 6 of the south front.  the smell of books clamped in the darkness.  so much silent knowledge.  i fancy that if you were stealthy you could live on that floor for a few days and nobody would notice.  

And then i went to the fac and tried to read some Carlos Williams.  i couldn't concentrate.

i have had this poem in my head for a few days. 

and something about ruins that i once read.  what is it?  i remember really liking it; i will try to hunt it down.  but that's the thing about memories.  they are like marbles; the more fervently you try to reclaim them the further they roll under the sofa.