I had a very long and complicated dream last night, but I remember Erik was in it, and we were a bit older. He had found his vocation writing incredible, beautiful, abstract-yet-accessible books that mixed poetry with nonfiction and prose poems. They were received with intense critical acclaim but he was only a household name to pretty literate people. I was very proud of him.
It was nice.
[This post was imported on 4/10/14 from my old blog at satsumabug.livejournal.com.]
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