I was standing on the lawn and watching the storm come in. 

Sheldon, Illinois is a small town two hours from Chicago. Living there I went to Chicago, once. 

Active compost requires even layers of brown and green matter: every time you add food or plant waste
(green matter), for nitrogen, you need to add two to three times the amount of brown matter, for carbon.
Brown matter is: sticks, straw, grass clippings Jacky has laid out to dry in the sun for several days. 

I turned the compost once a week, and other people turned it the other two necessary times. 

At the farmers market I talk to someone named James who wears a Navy hat and a light blue polo shirt
tucked into cargo pants. His feet are knobbled like knees in his sandals which have thick brown straps. 

Bagging produce, adding fresh water to the yogurt container where we’re keeping the drooping fennel. 

In some old medicine practices, fennel was used for strengthening the eyesight, and as a way of warding
off evil spirits. So was white vervain, which grows wild in the woods and the cow pasture. 

I’m reading a biography of Kathy Acker. The biographer clearly admires her work a lot but they do not
shy away from portraying her like she is: selfish and self-serving, crazy. 

When she died Kevin Killian and another one of her friends, seeing that her ashes had spilled on the floor,
swallowed them. 

The ashes collected in their stomachs, they said, felt warm like Kathy did. 

Ultimately maybe I am not supposed to be by myself all the time. It feels good to be able to do it again
though. 

The neutrino is an invisible particle. Neutrinos are created in certain radioactive situations and they move
at the speed of light or maybe faster. They are basically immortal but most of the ones that pass through
us are newborn, made in the Sun eight to ten minutes ago. They exist in a space of matter perpendicular to
ours. I just got a book about their discovery from the library. 

X and I hunched over our computers like stabbed wounded people, researching the magical properties of
plants. Now we are planning how we want to celebrate Rosh Hashanah. 

They text me, “I have a mole on the back of my neck in the same place as you.”

Kathy Acker’s last words were “up! up! up!” in reference to the raising of her hospital bed.

In Sheldon, Illinois the roads are longer than they seem because they rarely intersect. What I would
imagine Thunder Road to look like. It takes ten minutes to drive to the center of town, where we sell our
produce and check books out from the library with our library cards. 

The library cards were handwritten by the old woman who runs the library, possibly its sole employee,
who has loopy handwriting and put the cards into small plastic sleeves before she gave them to us. 

I’m feeling okay but earlier I was feeling better. At this point in The Scarlet Letter and in my life politics
don’t disappear but take place inside of my body. But do I even have a wide enough understanding of
literature to plagiarize like Kathy does. 

What would Kathy think about me, would she like my purple glasses? 

James showed me a picture of his dog. The dog was a pit bull, eight years old, birthday a few days later,
in July. 

The dog slept in James’s bed with him. 

One man at the farmer’s market talking about his other half, who he adopted sons with. He never
gendered his partner. His hair was blond and limply spiked, like the moisture in the air had gotten to it. 

James is bald. 

I learned how to scrabble up hay bales, how to check the soil for proper moisture, how to use a pressure
washer. I walked very far distances on the phone with my mom. 

Soon many other Janeys will be born and those Janeys will cover the Earth. 

In the bunk bed, my foot was hanging down into E’s face. Watching Tori Amos on YouTube. Drawing a
map of the farm and painting it with watercolor. 

Neutrinos do not have no mass, but they have at most a mass of a triflingly small number. “Trifling” is the
word scientists use. They are like epsilons, which represent arbitrarily small numbers. Say: neutrinos have
arbitrarily small masses. 

By the time Kathy Acker was really dying she could no longer move most of her limbs. She also couldn’t
speak. A friend of hers, sitting with her on her deathbed in a Mexican hospital, started to touch her. The
friend says: I touched her face, her chest, her legs, her pussy. In response Kathy kissed the air gently. 

On that bed: Where I was when I kissed Lolly for the first time: up! up! up! On Thunder Road, I left her
at the end of that phone line. So she is gone now, lying in the center of the long road in Sheldon, Illinois.