I am beautiful at night listening to music in my room, wearing the long dangling earrings from their treestand, and makeup from a kit wrapped in red tissue paper that my step daughter gave me for my last birthday. Violet eyes.

Say yes to Cambridge SoundWorks and their small sound systems and to boxes that can be easily placed in the back of a trunk.

I am beautiful with candles lit on the top of my dresser drawer and light from the halogen bulb shining in a single circle above the computer screen. I think tomorrow I will bring this same CD to work, Zap Mama, and broadcast it on the seventh floor of the lunchroom and see if the planners and schedulers get up from their desks and start to dance in between cubicle cells like I am doing now in my bedroom. Castanets are not mandatory.

Sharon Doubiago's Hard Country awaits me on my desk, the first in a stack of books.

I am beautiful when music stops playing and I hear cars driving up the street and listen to the humming of a fan inside my laptop, and the burbling of the refrigerator calling to its individual parts. It's movement that interests me tonight, a young man sailing on a skateboard to a bus stop wearing a backpack, one continous movement without breakage.

The Seybold Conference on web technology whooshed me from one workshop to the next. Now I am filled with new code, but I don't know how to execute.