| dystopic narrative appreciation weekend |
[Apr. 29th, 2007|01:39 pm] |
five more days of this whole miami thing. i'm so over the epilogue at this point.
i love how earning a college degree will get me the same job I have now, with the ravishing prospect of being a kroger employee for the summer.
phone is still dead; subtext: i don't miss it (bluetoothed blasphemy, i know).
if dali could have reflected friday night, i think even unrequited surrealism would have been a barrier.
it's All eggs and No shells.
but i think braided lips are poetic. and this time, its about melting away that pesky law enforcement. |
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| she's got one in the oven, but it's nothing to do with me |
[Apr. 8th, 2007|11:42 am] |
Much better.
I walked out the front door Friday morning and 'She's Electric' immediately came on my shuffle. I feel 100,000 volts better.
Is it coincidence christians anniversarize Jesus' death and (James Cameron-style) rebirth this time of the year? Funny how histories intersect in blog-worthyly fascinating ways (and the awkward grammar it creates).
See? Jesus isn't some fleshy epiphany--he was just that tangental stoner guy who just needed plugged in.
wee! |
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| mother do you think they'll drop the bomb? |
[Apr. 6th, 2007|12:25 am] |
| [ | What Timmy's listening to |
| | Ravi Shankar - Raga Jogeshwari | ] |
Last week I began to write a sentence that began, 'everything is springing, stretching, seeding,' but that seems utterly inappropriate now.
Today was definitely the nadir of this year. All I can think about are conspicuous smiles scattered with a dangerous amount of strategy. I got nothing accomplished at the library today, since every ten minutes someone else came by to chat and relay the distressing amount of bullshit thay yet need to manufacture in exchange for that lovely piece of paper we'll oh-so-ceremoniously receive four weeks from now. Calculated quicksand. So much busywork/final projects and so so so little money in this month. Josh getting an awesome ticket to New York for two years--while I'm like overwhelmed at him securing that--certainly doesn't help me when I won't hear back from Amsterdam until June, and I can't even turn in my LSE application because my bank account just laughs at me. I think I might actually be worried about the 'future', which is something I've never really allowed myself to ever do. It's a shockingly disarming feeling. I had to sequester myself in the Spectrum office this afternoon with a bag of stale Ruffles and (ha) some Maria Callas just so could dissolve myself for an hour. Drama fucking queen.
And then I got chatted up again at the info desk by this student who had an absurd passion for philosophy, was nothing but smiles and smartly deployed puns. And who is, as I later found out, also a spritely fifteen years old.
Yeah.
If I could tease out a silver lining, it's that I'm writing a short-story for my queer theory final in which I narrate a pansexual Miss-X-style character. I haven't decided on any particular craft yet, but this character is definitely channelling a very unique way to lay claim to itself, albeit a tish swampy.
Vicky and Ruth arrive from Heathrow this wednesday. I've successfully smuggled enough elatation through all this asinine stress to be way too overjoyed :) It gonna be a shitshow at our apartment next weekend, since we have about six people staying for the final drag show/lavender graduation, but its totally worth it. I can't wait to kick it with them. The only thing I love more than stitching Butler into literary fiction are two saucy English birds swooping in to eat, drink, and be merry for ten days. |
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| next year |
[Feb. 2nd, 2007|12:46 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | home | ] |
| [ | What Timmy's listening to |
| | Beatles - Mother Nature's Son | ] |
Justin got into his doctoral program at Loyola, Josh has an interview in Colorado next week, and all my applications are stacked in a pretty pile somewhere in the vicinity of the foot of my bed--I think. I guess I haven't really cleaned my room in a few weeks.
My plans for next year apparently include a sidejob as a maid somewhere in new jersey.
I promised myself letters of rec/statements of purpose would be completed by february, but that's obviously a complete lie.
Meeting with Madelyn in an hour about thesis ideas for masters programs. At least she's on board with all this Foucault business. She'll make everything better. |
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