A little made-up town with its own topography.

I keep going back and forth: would it be capital A amazing to be a poet in New York, or would it be a crusher? Obviously, its the center of the literary world, so that's a vote in the right direction, but I'm not so sure I'd love it. There's stimuli up the cornhole out here; way too many excuses to write. A visit is good, though: you don't have enough time to get hard, but it reminds you that there's hard things and people out there, and you get exposed to a little of that, and that's good. Adam and Jay's neck of the old woods, in particular, is exceptional. I'd give away one of my nuts to live here if they weren't already spread and promised a little too thin as it is. I'm really, really glad to be able to visit them, though. And, also, it will be really nice to be back in Tucson. Ah, crap--I really said that, didn't I? Man, I hate to admit it, but Tucson is getting more of me than I've been prepared to give. Our own little spot out there is really, really nice, and I love that I can walk about anywhere I want to go (except I'm too lazy to walk to my office--you gotta draw the line). Sure, you can't find a vintage pin-striped YSL jacket at the corner vintage store for 15$, but that's why you make sure one of your best friends lives in an orgasmic city, right? OK, I'm going to go pretend to try to write some poesy.