ahhhhhh yes that is the sound of my mind imbibing one iota of a wrinkle at a time

this semester, yes this one which happens to be at its end is turning right back around into the beginning of the one that ended.

and i am in a space marked by vertical angles and visceral dates for the days run out of succession yes they fumble all the time to and fro and atop one another and then they trip back up.

tomorrow, tomorrow, i love ya, tomorrow, although i do not know your face nor what a face feels like.

que brillante is the sun when it remarks on mist and long day fog..........
...............................................................
.........it'll be true and take me through some evening up and coming, as i do plan on a due traipse along the park and the walk and the potholes, benchmarked.

see you soon as a ship comes sailing in lofty rallying side-from-side amok against yellow reflections on the water high on lubbock's plump plateau.

"The Viking Says .....

"This Scanner Works!"

i am always, always, every moment!!! thinking about what life is worth. it sucks. i fucking hate it. i wish i didn't fucking question everything. it makes me so fucking miserable.

i KNOW life isn't worth anything concrete or measurable. but with all my self-doubt i am constantly asking myself whether what i am doing is worth its time, its energy, and what else i could be doing, and what would be better for others, and what would be better for me, and should i just give it all up and become a hobo. that's my fucking dream, so why don't i fucking do it.

ah, because of my family. methinks. i love my family. goddamn, i'm lucky.

stupid fucking work. it's so fucking grotesque. aughhhh why do we all work so much. WHAT ARE WE WORKING FOR? is the grand question. yeah, it's a part of life but HOW DID IT GET THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE? egads.

shitloads of papers. shitloads of work. shitloads of avoidances. god i love this school. some fucking utopia it turned out to be. the life of the mind is still a life, and life necessitates a variety of occupations. therefore, i'm pretty fucking malnourished.

i hate how things here operate on a timetable. you have a set number of weeks to work. you can choose to leave but you only have a set number of weeks in which to do that. you cannot intermittently work. you have to do one or the other. so you're always starving for something.

GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

meanwhile, back at the hellhole. i'm just trying to stay as busy as fucking possible. the monitor of my brother's laptop ceased to function as soon as i brought it home. i guess it was holding out, giving me the last of its grace through those graceless last few days. so now i'm in the library, and that's okay. it's the only place where i can think clearly.. although the edges of my thoughts are still contaminated by hurries and worries and insecurities and self-doubt and bitterness.

yes, i am indeed in a tight spot. and there are rocks all around!

counting the fucking days. it's only monday. i got back last night. not even twenty-four hours ago. jesus fucking christ. AUGGHHHHHH

i miss my family. goddammit. i miss being at home. why does hell exist.

am growing simply tremendous at procrastinating. i've been procrastinating on this shit for a solid week-and-a-half.. actually, technically, two weeks-and-a-half. at the onset of that interval i was granted two extensions: two revisions and a paper.

aughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

wow, i've been awake for twenty hours and i've done an outline.

............

i only have a vague recollection now of how i used to think about the mike-allison-namely mike thing. a few weeks ago when katherine seemed to decide out of the blue that "little blankblank" (spewed in raw, cruel mockery from lips relishing their controlled rage) was, indeed, disloyalty and opportunism incarnate, i realized somewhere in there that people DON'T have control over the perceptions of people they care about. common sense, but the first time you deal in real time, on your own time with an obfuscation of this principle, you're in it and you can't see past your own expectations. and for who knows how many times after. anyway, all during that awful, mystical, eternal hell on earth, when i would let my dead gaze settle on the cracks between floorboards, fantasizing their enlargement into abysmal pits that would receive me, i kept believing that mike possessed an endless capacity for communication and relation that he was shielding from me in fear. perhaps he does. anyway, that doesn't matter. what he did and what he continued to do each time i tried to enter his mind again as he was moving further away from mine was all i could deal with. i can't deal with the possibilities. people set their limits so that you can't cross them. you can't respect that. he said what he said to me for a reason. funny that i thought i knew him better than he knew himself. a lot of people believe that about mike, that they know him better than he knows himself, but that's because his personality is so remarkable that he doesn't appear to be a normal sentient being, which somehow precludes him of a normal degree of judgment by others. everyone is one, after all.

so, sometime after katherine imposed her freaky shit on me, and i viewed myself as suspended above all functional human populations, yet far aside from heaven, in a bird's eye hell, perhaps in the ninth circle, i REALLY forgave mike. and allison. i didn't give a shit. i just wanted to accept everyone. everyone does shit without having the faintest clue of how that can affect other people. you can't always think about other people. katherine and i, we ALWAYS thought about that. i guess i was unaware that katherine really believed in it, all the time. i didn't know it was so permanent and real for her, that everyone should be totally conscious of how they come across to others. funny thing is, when people point something out about katherine's personality to her, she doesn't understand it, it doesn't register, she cannot conceptualize what you are referring to. but then, as david golann once said, "it's just, everything that katherine says... is WRONG."

eh, okay. i don't mean that to sound as if i'm shunning her. it's just that katherine has a very different view of reality from what most people at marlboro, and uh most everyone else, share. for a few months i believed in her view. her ideas about quality and compassion and kindness were, i thought, the closest i could get to richmond hospitality, which was all i wanted, when so many of my friends at marlboro thought they shouldn't mention my mom, as if it were better kept secret. honesty at marlboro is a delicate thing.
...and now i'm getting alive again and really wanting back my reality. so uh. there we are.
.....
hmmm, well. if i ever feel up to it i think i'll start an account with everything2.com. i'd have to put time into it, but i don't think there's a minimum number of nodes you have to write. i guess not because i think my brother still hasn't put anything up.

search for toasterleavings at e2. he writes good shit really well and he's hot like johnny depp. he made me really happy... er, at least less close to suicide, when i believed that katherine was directing me to it.

....
my forearms continue to grow, en masse. why does my body so willingly accept muscular development. it's always slightly aggravating; i'd like to learn about my especial estrogen/testosterone balance. i fear it may be a little off.

....
i'd really like to just fail. i've always wanted to just fail. or, for some time now. i think it started in sixth grade. fuck me.

a blank word document open -- aside an incomplete, erratic outline and a buddy list shining yellow and white, and i chose to compose a bitmap for next friday's computer art party. we're all going to display our little microsoft paint creations (people had better not have trolleyed off with adobe, because i was going to until david counselled me against sophistication), discuss them teleologically and with finesse, and then dine daintily on cheap crackers and box wine. ahh... the hearty, jilted joys of the public art committee.