last night Anna got home with a handful of old papers. her sister found these pieces in an old leather bomber jacket I'd forgotten I owned at their mother's house.

--here, I think you might like these things.

--what things?

and so digging thru the piles of scrap were receipts for beer, pizza etc. etc., movie ticket stubs, college class schedules and check stubs for a non-profit I worked for all from 1994-95. it seems I don't throw any shit away.

I have the New Testament/Psalms/Proverbs in a little green book handed out by the Gideons when they were on campus one afternoon.

I have a movie stub for Schindler's List at 8:00 pm on Jan. 15 (admission seven bucks).

I have a Spring 1994 class schedule for Poetry Writing II, Masterpieces of Cinema, World Civilization 1600-present, Media History and Mass Media Law.

and so on. as I go thru this shit I realize that the circumstances of my life have changed, dramatically changed, these past 10 years, but my obsessions are just the same.

for example, among the movie tickets and receipts for beer and pizza are countless pieces of scrap paper with library numbers written on them. most of my college days were spent in the library on my own looking up everything I could find re: poetry. I loved it, padding among the stacks, pulling this and that book off the shelf, making discoveries etc. etc.

here is one such scrap: Villon PQ 1590 E5 K5; Keats Complete Poetry and Letters PR 4890 E99.

here is another for a panel I must've wanted to see: Poetry Panel Discussion 11:30-1:00, E&C5 1015.

what a time warp. and what a lot of scrunched up paper.

going thru these items from my past when I was one Richard Lopez who was, and still is, discovering the life of a writer to the Richard Lopez who is typing these words, recalls this little text from Edmond Jabes.

Open my name
Open the book.
(translated by Rosmarie Waldrop)

but in this case the opening is among the scraps of paper that was my life.