oh well. I got up at the crack of dawn this morning and my first class is a 30 minute walk from my apartment. Too
bad it seems like an awesome class because I have a feeling I may be
skipping it frequently. I guessed within the first 20 minutes of class
that the prof was irish and I found out at the end that I was right.
And we spent the whole time talking about the war... instead of the
fucking syllabus like all the other boring assholes. And about how
professors can't actually teach you facts because all they can do is
argue and arguments are inherently bias. On second thought. I think I will be going to that class. It's worth the walk.
I can't seem to escape
the art building however... my history class is in there. And
unfortunately it seems like it's going to be boring as HELL. oh well.
Attendance isn't mandatory for that one. So I won't be going save for
tests.
And now I am soooo hungry but my bank account is at
negative 200 something dollars and my credit card is maxed out. And my
apartment is far. I might walk over there anyway. Or just wait till
fucking 3 to eat. Next time I am bringing peanut butter and jelly. GOOD
JOB TO ME for finding an apartment on the opposite side of campus from
where all my classes are. At least the classes themselves are in the
same general area. I tried to ride my bike to class this morning
with my laptop and books in my book bag, and I totally ditched it and
tied it to a water meter at the apartments down the street.
BOO
the free internet at my apartment stopped working so I guess we're
going to have to pay. It's not too bad only 14.99 a month. and we can
split it. Once my loan comes in because.. uhh... I'm a broke ass nigga
right now. Campus internet will have to suffice.
AND there's
more books I need to buy but I checked the library and they have the
ones I need. so... perhaps I will be spending some time there this
semester. seeing as I am broke and all.
Being at the apartment
is really fun. Our first night there we had a party. I forgot to invite
anyone but Jose's friends were pretty cool. and some of them I knew
from highschool. Drinking cheap mexican beer and debating about the
current political climate. Meeting my neighbors. The guy above us must
be a music major. He's playing trumpet like ALL the time. He's a nice
guy though. And the chick next door has this AWESOME dog. It's like a
boxer mix or something. he's beautiful. and then the people like...
across from us kinda are these loud black guys. haha. oh wellz. AND my room is badass, my window faces this lady's huge yard who has this really cool dog.
This squirrel is eyeballing me. it's creeping me the fuck out. it's less than a foot away from me. Should I kick it?
Sometimes when you don't sleep enough, and then sleep all day for a day, your head gets a little achy.
I really have little to say about life as of lately. Or maybe I'm not as inspired to write because I haven't been reading enough. Things are fine, I still get sad occasionally and it's a sadness I wish I didn't have, but with life comes burdens I suppose.
So instead, I will just share a few of my inspirations lately. 1. Sea Change is indeed my favorite Beck album. ("Lonesome Tears" is my favorite track)
2. Dead Man with Johnny Depp (and sountrack by Neil Young) is a very interesting and artistically inspiring movie.
3. The Tent by Margaret Atwood is a book I just finished. It's a collection of short stories/essays/poetry. Truly wonderful writing... here's one of my favorite's from the book:
The Animals Reject Their Names and Things Return to Their Origins by Margaret Atwood
I.
It was the bear who began it. Said, I'm getting out from under. I am not Bear, l'Ours, Ursus, Bar or any other syllables you've pinned on me. Forget the chateau tapestries in which I'm led in embroidered chains. and the scarlet glories of the hunt that was only glorious for you, you with your clubs and bludgeons.
Forget the fairy tales, in which I was your shaggy puppet, prince in hairshirt, surrogate for human demons. I'm not your coat, rug, glass-eyed trophy head, plush bedtime toy, and that's not me in outer space with my spangled cub. I'm not your totem; I refuse to dance in your circuses; you cannot carve my soul in stone.
I renounce metaphor: I am not child-stealer, shape-changer, old garbage-eater, and you can stuff simile also: unpeeled, I am not like a man.
I take back what you have stolen and in your languages I announce I am now nameless. My true name is a growl.
(Come to think of it I am not a British headdress either: I do not signify bravery. I want to go back to eating salmon without all this military responsibility.)
I follow suit, said the lion. vacating his coats of arms and movie logos; and the eagle said, Get me off this flag.
II.
At this dictionaries began to untwist, and time stalled and reversed; the sweaters wound back into their balls of wool, which rolled bleating out into the meadows the perfumes returned to France and old men there fell sweetly dead form a surfeit of aroma. Priests gave their dresses up again to the women, and the women ditched their alligator shoes in a hurry before their former owners turned up to claim them.
The violins of the East Coast shores took flight from the fingers of their players, sucking in waltzes, laments, and reels landed in Scotland, fell apart with wailing into their own wood and sinew and vanished into the trees and int the guts and howls of long-dead cats and the tails of knackered horses. Songs crammed themselves back down the throats of their singers and a billion computers blew apart and homed in chip by chip on the brains of the inventors.
Squashed mice were shot backwards out of traps, brides and grooms uncoupled like shunting trains, tins of sardines exploded, releasing their wiggling shoals; dinosaur bones whizzed like missiles out of museums back to the badlands, and bullets flew sizzling into their guns. Glass beads popped off gowns and moccasins and fell on Italy in a hail of dangerous colour, as white people dissappeared over the Atlantic in a whoosh of pollution, vainly clutching their power tools, car keys, and lawn mowers which drove like metal fish back into the mines; black people too, recapturing syncopation; all flowers were suctioned budwise into their stems. The Native peoples made speedy clearance work of cowboys and longhorns, but then took off westard instead, changing goodbye to ancestral plains, which were reclaimed by shaggy mastadons and the precursors of horses and everywhere the children shrank and began to drop teeth and grow hair.
III.
Well, there were suddenly a lot more flamingos before they in their turn became eggs, while people's bodies reverted through their own flesh genealogies like stepping stones, man woman man, container into contained, shedding language and gathering themselves in, skein after skein of protoplasm
until there was only one of them alone at the first naming; but the streetwise animals, forewarned and having learned the diverse meanings of the word dominion, did not show up, and Adam, inarticulate, deprived of his arsenal of proper nouns, returned to mud
and mud itself became lava and lava the uncooled earth and the uncooled earth a swirl of white-hot energy, and the energy jammed itself into it's own potential, and swirled like florescent bathwater down a non-existent wormhole.
IV.
I could end this with a moral, as if this were a fable about animals, though no fables are really about animals.
I could say: Don't offend the bear, don't tell bad jokes about him, have compassion on his bear heart; I could say, Think twice before you speak. I could say, Don't take the name of anything in vain.
But it's too late for that, because you can't read this, because you can't remember the word for read, because you're dizzy with aphasia,
because the page darkens and ripples because it is liquid and unbroken,
because God has bitten his own tongue and the first bright word of creation hovers in the formless void unspoken
the things that give me pleasure these days do not come from me. you know? they are coming from external sources.
without external sources we are nothing, lass
yeah I suppose.
our bodies are more designed for input
I think its like a web. The input and output... it isn't productive to send your output in the same direction as your input because then it wouldn't be a web, it would be a line.
i can see that. And your output is input to others to its perpetual.
right. exactly.
we're nothing with out others yet we're so alone. Our thoughts are only ours
such a huge irony.
indeed. and the life of an artist gah such a lonley one.
If only there was someone out there to understand this.
Because I sure don't. And neither do you... but what can you do?
Just gotta keep my chin up. Let everything else do what it does. Stop trying so hard to understand, or resolve. Find my center, my core, my self, and just let it be.
