The poems of Dylan Thomas.
"I bought it once when i was almost broke," she said. "Whenever I'm almost broke I buy an expensive book."
The Pisan Cantos of Pound.
"I stole that," she said. "I think that's the only moral way to get books."

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She was reading Freud ( the red-covered Perma-Book edition of the Introductory Lectures) and drinking black coffee. She had returned to school. She was studying French. She wanted to read Rimbaud in the original.

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extract from leo skir's 'elise cowen: a brief memoir of the fifties', taken from 'a diferent beat: writings by women of the beat generation'

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today i wanted to ramble and not be a social creature so i wandered off by myself during lunch, took a peep at the white room at haji lane. cafe signs let me into bali lane but they looked lonely. i crossed the road to the coffee bean and tea leaf at hospital and read the newspapers while waiting for my sandwich order. i didn't want rice. didn't want cake. i might have liked a quiche. actually i just craved solitude. i like solitary lunches. faux pearls and dark blue jeans and orange slippers and a brown paper lunch bag.

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my blue/black nike runners have officially deceased. while running this morning both soles peeled away and my light steps became plods. perhaps this is a celebration of having used my shoes to this extent. i wished it was not now because i planned to run every morning. and i don't like new shoes. the first few wearings are as hard as, say, new books, or the pen with the wrong ink flow - staggered, handicapped. however, thank God for music and mornings.