after having attended a poetry reading in German
25% understood? 34.80%? Does it matter? Trying too hard to understand brings nix, one must let it wash over one and fill in the missing percents later. And what percentage of those percents will remain forever ununderstood? Ununderstanded? And the confused way she looked at me when I thanked her and said goodbye, which kind of looked like, "and who the hell are you?" but it could not have been like that because she did not otherwise come across so or work that way in her purple hose and cowboy boots.
I think about literature (anything) and become immediately anxious. I'm thinking German and writing English. I'm thinking English. Never writing German. Never? A late start, I have had one? Too highly of myself, do I think? Not highly enough? College, then, what of it? And fat mothers treat their fat sons to fattening treats here behind me in the cafe.
The once cylindrical pink eraser of the pencil with which I am writing this (brass bullet pencil) is becoming ever more conical by being carried in my pocket.
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before finishing Fitzcarraldo then some days later