ecrasez le.

moi je ne suis pas finit avec mes devoirs, mes essaies, mais je suis finit, absolument, avec cette vie des miserables, avec cette rue d'ennuie et nul. baise it baise it baise it.

I want to crush these words and sift each phoneme through my fingers like a falling rain of powder, straight into being. I am eight kinds of done with this shit. 13 pages before tomorrow night. Not including the annotated biblio. 

I'm not cut out for this. When I'm done with this degree I'm getting out of here. I'm learning my languages as best as I can and I'm quitting. I'll join the Peace Corps, I'll fly out of this world. I'll peel off my skin and emerge some new and finally satisfied thing. Something beautiful for once. 

Relatively Speaking.

I know I'm always talking about how my brain is dying, deteriorating, melting into the void, etc.


I'm sitting near two college students, one of whom just asked the other, "Hey, what's fornication mean?"

Face--->palm.

So I suppose maybe my brain is actually growing relative to the kids around me. I swear, this technoculture is getting out of hand. I saw two young boys in a family who each had an iPhone. Who needs a fucking iPhone when you're 9? I had fucking hot wheels, and a toy bulldozer I named Rosy. Kids these days! Weaned on this high-velocity, low content information bullshit. Where does the mind meander, yes in endless rivulets of possibility but only ankle-deep, only ever ankle-deep.

sigh.

with my palms on my eyelids i get that rainbow vision.

though i lose the clarity i gain beauty and wonder all up in my face, and your curious scent, tobacco and sweat and potatoes, the soil. your curious scent.

which is good because if i could see you now, the way you ought to be seen, i would want to walk. 

but oh, the bliss blindness brings.

how much of love is tongue-wrought and money-bought and safety-sought, how much of happiness is lost when we hold each other too close too fast. i wonder.

in the wood.

i want to crush this ominous wood and rummage through the rubble. i want to make a nest of those gnarled trees and in their solid arms i'd place this giant shapeless sadness. i'd put it to rest. i'd perch it on the obsidian face of Time by Prometheus and they both can dream on in those terrible undulating measures of pain and despair.

And I could finally walk away.


Johnnie and I were talking today about acting, and it made me miss it ever so much. I wonder if I have time in my schedule for it next year. MMmm.

I miss memo. Maybe I can see him on Friday. Every week is a busy, busy week for me. Make it stop. huummm.

one small boat on the crest of a towering wave.

Lately I seem to float through these bizarre moods, but no matter if I'm wrapped in euphoria or indifference or throbbing anger, I feel so spaced out. 

I can't seem to give a shit about anything or anybody.

I don't give a shit about the research I need to be doing, or coming to school or work on time. I don't care that I got all these obligations. I just don't care. 

 But. n'importe quoi. I need to be looking at internships and working out my schedule for next semester. I still have at least 3 semesters left. I'm thinking about taking only 4 classes next semester. This semester itself is flooring me. Saturday was my first day of real rest in a good three or four weeks. Besides hanging out with the I/ST girls I haven't seen anybody but Memo.

Or maybe I'm exaggerating. Yes, I've seen a few other people in there, but well. The meetings are but fleeting and insubstantial.

Another distinctly discomforting mood I've found myself in: crippling insecurity. There are some days I look in the mirror and just claw my face off. This morning I saw my haggard self and lay in Memo's bed just, disappointed and sad. 

Last night I went to a party with him. Maya is this real sweet lady. She teaches middle school, and this was an older crowd that came to her house. I don't often feel my age; I try to look past that kind of shit. But man. Man oh man, did I feel young. It wasn't so much the musick. I listen to Snoop Dogg and Salt n Pepa and all that mess. 

But maybe it was the slightly frumpy, decaying women in "sexy" costumes awkwardly gyrating with bud lites to Sean Paul's "Temperature". And the awkward older dudes. I mean, Memo's kind of an awkward older dude, too, but I like him.

So even this depressing prospect of going to a thirty-something crowd's halloween get-together got me all funked out before we left the house, and I put on my dead face with dread in my bones. And when we entered the place, it was practically empty. And dark. And quiet. Costumed people stood around slightly forlorn, embarrassed, and confused, as if they had just caught themselves wearing a homemade "Ceiling Fan" costume.

I mean. yeah.

So I felt pretty miserable until my second gigantic cup of cap'n coke. 

I don't really like getting drunk anymore, but I eventually came to the realization that I'd

better make the best of the situation or ruin Memo's evening, so I ended up taking a shot with 

everyone and having an okay time. 

I mostly ditched my friends and turned down other party invitations to spend the night in Memo's arms. 

And I didn't know, really, how much I liked him until this morning, when he woke up and was telling me, in the sweetest voice, about this dream he had where he was in a library with a lot of delicious fruit.

And oh, oh, my beating heart.