Ta Ta For Now

I am leaving for Indianapolis tonight.

I will miss you, New York.

Keep in touch. I'll be back in two weeks!

Yours Truly,
Bibliophile

mind over matter

It would seem I was the only one with the certitude to take that first treacherous step across the wire. One step at a time, I inched my way forward. I did not think about how far it was to the other side or how long it would take me to get there. I was exhilarated by the fullness of each moment, stepping forward out over the tightrope. There was never any thought of falling. One foot after the next, after the next, after the next, until solid ground reappeared. He, however, succumbed to fear before even lifting a foot off the ground. Overwhelmed by the seemingly monumental task of passing over thin air on little but a cord of wire, he failed to recognize the simplicity of merely setting one foot before the next. So my triumph is bittersweet, for I have no one to share it with. And now there is an expansive ravine sitting between us. Perhaps he will eventually overcome his fear and cross, or he will climb down defeated by his own doubts. Whatever the case, I will not be on the other side waiting.

as we fell asleep

"You see that poster?"

"Yeah."

"We should do that."

"Aren't we already?"

"Yeah, I guess we are."

NY Times: "Bob Kerry Gets Vote of No-Confidence at the New School"

Check out this article from today's NY Times about the president of my university.

Musings on the root of personal beliefs

You are a thirteen-year-old girl. You don't believe in God, but you believe in music. You believe in it because it soothes your pain. Your little teenage heart was broken because you were abandoned, stranded in emotional exile by those who professed nothing but love for you.

**

How can I explain to you that all of the pain and beauty of existence begins and ends in every moment?

*

I am a woman and I am a man.
Divinity exists within me and could not exist without me.

*

My own path to spiritual awakening

*

I found my spirit in the blanketing glow of moonlight in my middle school bedroom
In the rustling of leaves in the trees at a state park
In the warm flickering of a single votive

*

I am a solitary practitioner

*

Crying to the moon.
Listening to the leaves.
Reading the streaks of shooting stars under the skies of Napa Valley
Dwarfed by the fairy tale fjords of Norway

*

When I think of my spirituality I think of tears and blood, moonlight and crashing waves, fjords and mountains and luminescent clouds in Norway, eating mushrooms and asking for rain to play in and getting it, synchronicity, dreams with foresight, shooting stars and the beating of bats wings, LSD on Long Island and the sky filling my mind, transcending space and time and life and death and worry, visions of a past life in the sediment of my cup of tea, chaos and freedom and purposeful puposelessness, no coincidences, understanding, compassion, silence, chemistry, wordless prayer.

*

Lots and lots of tears have aroused the divine in me.

**

Nothing has to be perfect but sometimes it is.

Third Time is the Charm

Barely a year ago I had been traveling to Prospect Park with one of my spiritual colleagues to romp among the greenery for the afternoon. My companion introduced me to the healer; apparently they had met many times before. The healer remained silent for full duration of his ride, although the girl he was traveling with spoke briefly. They disembarked prior to our stop. My companion explained to me that he is a spiritual healer who can usually be found around Union Square. All one need do to find him is say his name. I wrote his name down in the notebook I carried with me, but did not retain it in my memory for more than a few days. I have since lost track of the notebook, though I know it is somewhere among my many identical notebooks. 

I saw him a second time sometime this past summer getting off a train at Union Square.

This morning I had a brief encounter with the healer on the L train. He boarded at Lorimer and started dancing in place. I recognized him immediately. He is a striking figure, perhaps 6'5", with a playful smile and rosy face, topped with a mop of dirty blond locks. He wore a pair of worn khakis on the back of one leg was painted "Healing is the new black" or something to that effect (I hadn't slept so my memory is failing me now). I tried my hardest not to stare at him though I could not suppress my intrigue. He continued to dance a little bit as we passed under the East River, and manipulated the energy in the air with hand gestures. I recognized what he was doing immediately because the last time I had tripped it was revealed to me that such a thing was not only possible but absurdly simple as well. We shared a smile and respectful nod of the head a few times, then he started talking to me. I removed my headphones, and realized he was asking me a question about the prayer beads I wore around my neck. We spoke briefly of how each bead represents a different sacred mantra, and how it might do subway riders some good to recite them. We shared a laugh. Before he exited at Third Avenue, he pressed his hands together before his sternum and bowed his head in peace and farewell. I return his nod and was left the rest of the day with a feeling of much needed recognition.  

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some accounting

Tally of things lost Halloween weekend:
3 compact flash cards
$20
1 nug
some liver tissue
some brain cells
some dignity
some stomach acid
something else I haven't realized yet?

Tally of things gained Halloween weekend:
a hangover
enlightenment
caution
a box of popsicles
numerous bruises

Why I hate Halloween and shall never entertain the idea of having fun on it again

1. The parties I went to were major busts.
2. I got so wasted I, a) lost my camera bag which had 3 FULL memory cards in it (but managed to hang on to my camera which is better but I'm still pissed... that was 300+ pictures!); b) deserted a friend for stupid reasons; c) fell down in the street on my way home, almost on my head if my shoulder hadn't broken the fall, which is still bruised and sore; and d) was so hungover I couldn't get out of bed until 4pm, then threw up all the water I had drank.
3. This is not the first time shit like this has happened on Halloween.

autochthonous

au·toch·tho·nous /ɔˈtɒkθənəs/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[aw-tok-thuh-nuhs] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –adjective

1.	pertaining to autochthons; aboriginal; indigenous (opposed to heterochthonous).

2.	Pathology. a. found in the part of the body in which it originates, as a cancerous lesion. b. found in a locality in which it originates, as an infectious disease.

3.	Psychology. of or pertaining to ideas that arise independently of the individual's own train of thought and seem instead to have some alien or external agency as their source.

4.	Geology. (of rocks, minerals, etc.) formed in the region where found. Compare allochthonous.

mirror mirror

The green queen on the scene tell me what you mean it wasn't halloween anymore
Two times two was four, in and out this door, that door, more, more, and i am sore


In the early hours of the morning I danced with some handsome red devils
And a blackbird with gelded feathers perched nearby to watch our whirling

* * * ( (( 0*)) * * *

I can draw on the Universe

Last night I drew another map of the universe. This time I found mirrors and a black hole. The titans were still there, of course. There were a few handsome devils and at least one devilish woman.


We sought and found the Green Man, but when I tried to put him in my pocket, he disappeared. Now I have to spend the day trying to find out where he got to. I know he's not lost.

This week's world wide visitors

Greetings to:

Bogota, Colombia!
Florianopolis (possibly?), Brazil!
Genoa (or somewhere roughly in NWern), Italy!
Seoul, South Korea!
Budapest, Hungary!
Brisbane, Australia!

And it seems I've passed the 10 hits mark from San Diego, CA and picked up a visit from Arkansas!

Let's see if in the next month or two I can wrack up visits from anywhere in Africa and more places in Asia and South America.


P.S. I realize my posts have been kind of boring of late. Many apologies to those of you who actually have some interest in this blog. I have been catching up on and trying to stay up on school, which basically entails reading, sleeping in the reading room, more reading, some last minute writing, more sleeping, and sometimes eating, interrupted by the occasional cigarette break... however, now that the weather has turned frigid and windy, I find myself making less of an effort to consume said poison. When I am not pretending to be studious, I am busy taking pictures of inanimate objects, my drunk friends, and my feet, which I will begin to post in about a week's time once I acquire the requisite piece of technology to transfer them from my camera to my computer. Thanks to all of you for your patience, and I remain befuddled by the fact that while I have been writing less, I have been receiving more hits per day.

Now, for your enjoyment:

rewards

So, it might not be news to many of you that smoking weed diminishes one's ability to recall dreams. Indeed, this is not news to me, either. However, this summer after I significantly cut back on smoking (for the first time in four or more years), I began to recognize that I gain much more through dreaming than getting stoned. I also accomplish much more in my waking life. Still, when school started again, I fell back into my old routine of smoking all day every day. This had negative repercussion both for my internal condition and my scholastic obligations. About a week to a week and a half ago, I voluntarily cut back on smoking. Okay, it was partially involuntary, since weed costs money and I can't afford it right now, but some of you can verify that I have started turning down offers to smoke with those who can, in fact, afford it. Anyway, the point is, my dreams are returning in their fullness. They usually come to me right before I wake in the morning, but sometimes they draw me out of my sleep in the dead of night.

encounter #2

Ah,

I see you glancing,

Out of the corner of your eye.

You
are
filling someone else's
space
while your eyes,
your eyes
trace my contours

Up, down,
up, down.

I see you.

I'm watching as well.

The trees, the trees! They are screaming! Do you hear? Do you hear?! Who will save them?

Well...

It has been a while since I've posted anything substantial, no?

As I mentioned in earlier posts, I had what can only be called a psychedelic/enlightening/transformative/world-altering experience. I didn't quite realize how deeply the effects lingered with me until last week when I finally gained enough perspective on the event to understand that I had been completely shattered by it. I was neglecting all my homework, grossly indulging my social inclinations, and shirking all personal responsibility not confined to basic hygeine. I really lost track of myself there for a number of weeks. Finally, last Thursday I suddenly, without prompting, emerged from my haze and recognized how seriously I had been jeopardizing myself in my obligations to school and others.

Today was the first day since that experience I managed to finish my homework for class. I am miserably behind in two of my four courses (a total of seven overdue reading responses and one overdue project proposal... yeah. No good). However, it is too late for could have, should have, would have. I am thankful that despite myself I have recognized the issue in time before it deteriorated further, and is still manageable. I am now in the process of playing catch up and pulling the loose threads back together. However, in no way do I regret the experience or the timing of it. Surely it was inconvenient as regards my academic life, but as regards my spiritual health it could not have been more beneficial. I still profess that I am no longer the same person I felt myself to be going into it. Change is neither simple nor without consequence.

catalog of recent visitors

In the past week or two many new dots have appeared on my map, including, at the most distant, Beijing; following with closer vicinities to NY are (what generally appear to be, after consulting a political map of North America) Salt Lake City, UT; Saskatoon, Saskatchewan; Birmingham, AL; Washington, D.C.; Seattle, WA; somewhere in Nebraska; somewhere in Missouri; and it appears that what used to be a dot on Tasmania has relocated to Melbourne, Australia. Greetings to all new visitors!

dreams

have been occuring only in snapshots

i had one where i had a kitten i couldn't take care of.

i had one where my friend pissed me off so much i punch a door to pieces, and inside of it was another door.

and i dreamt i went to church but i left because it was boring.

There, there

There is always an island sailing you to shipwreck.

... ... ...

Just 'cause you feel it doesn't mean it's there.

stream of consciousness

I feel my affections so fleetingly. They are like eclipses, only rarely actually encompassing the celestial body they relate to. Blue, green, brown, yellow, green, blue, pink, black, black, blue, yellow, brown, red, purple. Men, handsome men, around every bend, across ever way, intersecting at every intersection. Casting glances, silently whispering lascivious wishes while pretending to pour over a publication. Pen poised for note notating. The careless art of seduction, so selfish. To please is my pleasure, and I expect as much. As they say, give and ye shall receive... kisses and cascading caresses. Your fire is just as futile and fleeting as any. I barely broke a sweat. Fuel your flame and tend to the fire hot enough to ignite these passions. Whichever way you endeavor, I am still the victor.

"I will rise up"

I get it. There were some things I didn't like about you, either.

Sorry to have been so absent these past couple weeks. Here is the bullet point rundown of what I've been up to.

• School started
• Inundated with homework
• Social life
• Psychedelic-induced cosmic adventuring and consciousness expansion
• Sex life
• Sleep life
• Coffee
• Cigarettes
  

That's about as basic as it gets. I am working on some pieces which are full of witty literary devices and metaphor. I would say I'll have them up soon, but now that my days are full of half-fulfilled obligations, I don't want to get your hopes up. Use your imagination to read between the bulleted lines.

It is not so much a secret that I thrive on transience.

briefly

Sorry for the radio silence the past week or so. School started up again and I've been very busy with that as well as rediscovering what it's like to have a regular social life. Also, I had an incredibly profound experience this past Saturday that I am still processing and it will take a little while longer before I'll have it sorted out. Some of you who are my close friends already know what I'm talking about. As a result, I've been drawing almost nonstop (for instance, I skipped class today to work on a drawing) so look forward to more of my artwork being posted in the near future.

On a different note, I hope you all of you New Yorkers/East Coasters are enjoying the transition to Fall. I know I am. It is my favorite season, and there is little I love more than the crisp smell of leaves and the chill of a cool breeze stroking my cheeks.

See you all soon, before the trees are bare of leaves.

sitting on the bottom of the pool

After I went back to sleep, I had another dream. This time I was swimming in a pool. According to DreamMoods.com, swimming

"...suggests that you are exploring aspects of your unconscious mind and emotions. The dream may be a sign that you are seeking some sort of emotional support... . To dream that you are swimming underwater, suggests that you are completely submerged in your own feelings. You are forcing yourself to deal with your emotional difficulties."

Departure/Arrival

For the third time this week I dreamt I was flying. The first time, I was flying freely in my own form. The second time, I was flying up, then flying down; later I was flying in one plane and then transferred to another. This last time, I was again flying in a plane and transferring from one to another. This recurrence of the same theme is very positive and reassuring, indicative of liberation and being lead down new, unforseen paths to the realization of personal freedom.

wallow

Something mysterious and strange hangs in the air tonight. A thick electricity of chaotic potential. At any moment it might erupt in brilliant violence. The moon is new and the world is new. I am weighted with a directionless longing. Because I want nothing, I want to want something. This longing is lodged in my belly, waiting to be turned on its head, shaken loose. I need to be shaken, stirred, my fires stoked, unshackled from the familiar and routine. The city is alive with possibility, seeping forth like gas from volcanic vents, struggling against the density of the whole ocean.

My dreams have become more real than my waking life. My emotions are more fully alive where reason cannot reach them. I linger between contempt and affection, love and hate, hope and despair. I do not know what gnaws at my heart, only that it is unfulfilled, hungering. Unsated, it feeds on itself, growing stronger, all consuming. Anxiety shivers down my spine, anticipating the day when this thing is satisfied, consuming itself with cancerous abandon. My heart is ever broken.

There is no peace in my mind, no respite from this nagging need for the mystery that eludes me. I cannot find what I do not know how to seek. I cannot find what I seek until my searching ceases. And still I sense this enigma beyond my grasp, and find myself pursuing it to all ends in the hope of turning up some clue. Yet, nothing. I am met by a mile high wall, erect and defiant. A plaque on its face reads, "You have not reached a wall. There is no wall where you stand. Go forth." It mocks my futile pursuit of a shadow of a dream. When will the shadow take form?

I send myself to bed hungry, a furnace roaring in my gut and bitterness on my tongue.

Conversations with DJ, the Text Message Edition

310******* I'm bored what are you doing?
317******* Sodomizing dead babies. It's all the rage in ny.
310******* Them babies ain't gonna rape themselves
317******* I know it.
310******* I have been boning my new gf indiscriminately. i boned her 8 times the other day!
317******* You stud.
310******* I know. My balls hurt.
317******* They're sapped.
310******* They've colored the walls
317******* Ew
310******* Offwhite, that is
317******* I got that
310******* It was glorious. Like the fountains at the bellagio.
317******* How does Riry* feel about all this?
310******* She likes to watch. She gets in the way.
317******* She's jealous.
310******* Jearous.
317******* I'm gonna blog this when I get home tonight.

*Riry: DJ's dog, Lily.

Hollow

I was awoken tonight from a disturbing dream by a text message. I should have known better than to leave my ringer on before going to bed but if the alert on my phone hadn't done it, the dream very well might have. Like most of my upsetting dreams, it started out without any particularly disturbing images. I was revisiting old dwelling space, though there were new dwellers in my old space... inevitable and yet saddening. Somehow, I was transport from there to a remote village in Brazil. A woman was telling me how she and a lover had been caught together by a local renegade militia and he had been murdered. Apparently the group of sadistic soldiers had been terrorizing the countryside, murdering for the thrill and thriving off the terror of their victims. They had been growing in number, collecting a brutal army. Finally they attacked the village where I was, and chaos broke loose. No one would be spared if they were caught by the enemy. I did not know who I was, only that I was somehow embodied and was running for my life. I ran past a rape treatment center, and leprosy hospital, and other indications of the miserable lives of the villagers. Though I was an alien in my settings, I was no less at risk. It was like hell's minions were descending upon us all, indiscriminate and blood thirsty. I ran through the village, from one house to the next. Eventually I came upon a man armed with a sword. He appeared to be white, presumably American, and when I encountered him he said something that I took to be a quote from a kung-fu movie. Then he paused and said "All I can think is how hollow those words sound in the face of my own death." Then he told me to follow him and we ran out of the house, nearly running over another armed man, I think he had a semi-automatic rifle. The three of us crouched along the wall of a house across the way, and waited, for what I'm not sure. It might have been to fight our way out of the village alone, it might have been for other armed villagers to band together and challenge the militia. I can't say exactly, because it was just at that moment that my phone roused me from the dream.

Salutations

I got hits from what looks to be Munich and Helsinki yesterday. I'd been hoping for some new diverse visitors, so it is my pleasure to see these dots appear.

Belated Travel Diaries--Indianapolis to Helsinki (Installment 1)

Last week I returned from a 5 day vacation in LA where I visited my oldest brother. The last time I had flown out of New York to a city besides Indianapolis was two years ago when I traveled to Scandinavia for 12 days with my grandmother. The trip was a reward for making Dean's List both semesters my second (and last) year at Hofstra University of Long Island. It was my last year because I had applied to transfer to Eugene Lang College in the city. At the time of our departure in late June, I had yet to receive any word from Lang about my acceptance, though I was certain it was in the bag. However, the uncertainty was in the back of my mind as my grandmother and I flew from Indianapolis to JFK for our connecting flight to Helsinki. Also on my mind was the fact that my grandmother had booked the trip through a tour group organization and consequently I would be the youngest in the bunch by, oh, say, 30 or 40 years. I really didn't know what to expect.

Since I returned from LA, I've been thinking about my past travels. I dug out the journal that I kept during the time of the trip and began rereading my entries. I had only written one thing in the blank, black, leather-bound book before leaving Indianapolis. I may have written it while I was packing, but I don't remember.

"I measure my travels by the soles I've worn thin. Under my bed, hidden in boxes, are souvenirs of those places whose streets I've tread. In time I'm sure I'll let them go, but until I have other rubber thin and smooth from wear, I'll keep them with me. Unlike other articles from my past, these still fit no matter how much I grow. From day to day to day."

June 21, 2006
I am currently in the air over Massachusetts or Connecticut. Already I am suffering separation anxiety. Not for Indianapolis, of course, but rather for New York. I didn't so much as step foot in Manhattan, but catching glimpses of the skyline from the Airtrain and during takeoff exhilarated and devastated me. I joked with Grandma that she could just leave me in New York and pick me up on the way home. Sitting in the plane, looking out across the tarmac at the skyline, I couldn't help but think, "This is the city that I love." When we flew over Long Island, I tried looking for Hofstra, but I think I was on the wrong side of the plane. I'm always on the wrong side.

This whole experience doesn't feel real yet, though I've been traveling all day. As soon as we landed in New York I began to feel like myself again. I could not be more grateful or relieved to have escaped the Midwest for the time being. An oppressive weight has been lifted from my spirit. I expect this will be one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life thus far. I imagine the reality of it won't sink in for a few more days. I wasn't even totally acclimated to Indianapolis when we left. But I do enjoy not being tied down to any one particularly spot.

[For those of you who've read some of my other entries, you'll recognize this theme of not wanting to be tied down. My frequent moves in Manhattan and Brooklyn, the utter despair that descends like a fog when I end up in some city or town where I can't get around on foot and end up stranded and restless, forfeiting my self-reliance to whomever takes it upon his or herself to chauffeur me around. What misery.]

June 24, 2006
5:05 AM
We arrived yesterday to our hotel in Helsinki, around 11 or 12 in the afternoon. Grandma and I took a walk around the streets surrounding the hotel. There was an abundance of hair salons, and we found an optometrist where I could finally have the arm screwed back onto my glasses. While we waited, we explored the Kaampi Center, which is simply a multilevel mall on top of a bus station. While I was there I was excited to hear "One Hit" by the Knife playing in one of the stores. Afterwards we returned to the hotel to nap before dinner, despite our tour leader's suggestion to avoid naps in order to adjust to the time difference. Dinner came after a "welcome drink" where everyone had to introduce themselves to the group. Consistent with my expectations, everyone save for myself was of the AARP crowd.

After dinner we returned to our room where I promptly fell asleep, only to awake at 2AM. Despite all efforts I could not fall back asleep. Grandma also woke up, and thought turning on the TV was a good idea. I chose to read, making it through 50 or so pages of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. After a couple of hours I tried sleeping again, but because Grandma insisted on leaving the TV on so she could sleep, it was a pointless effort; noise and light are keeping me awake.

Today we had breakfast at 7, an information briefing at 8:30, then left for a bus tour of the city at 9:45. We rode through the city down to the Gulf of the Baltic Sea then stopped at an old Lutheran Church built out of a natural granite structure. There was a beautiful organ and humid interior was filled with the smell of wet stone. I took a lot of photos and bought some postcards for those friends I promised to write.

After we boarded the bus again, we drove around, cruising past more sights, stopped for 10 minutes to see a monument erected to Finland's most famous composer (named _________) then we found ourselves passing by the Olympic Stadium. We stopped one last time for a photo-op of a beautiful and elaborate Lutheran Church in Senate Square, in the center of which was erected a statue of Czar Alexander. Finally we were dropped off at Market Square to browse the stalls for 45 or so minutes until it closed at 1pm. We walked from there to the Esplanande and window shopped all the boutiques which comprise the design district. As the afternoon waned, I successfully navigated me and Grandma back to the hotel despite her second-guessing every move I made.

Because today was Midsummer's Eve, which is a big holiday here in Helsinki, everything was closed except McDonald's, so we had a late lunch there. Because of the currency exchange rate, not only was it the worst McDonald's I've ever eaten, it was likewise the most expensive, with a value meal costing 12-15 USD. After our meal I napped off my stomach ache for a few hours before we left for the Midsummer's Eve Bonfire Festival on the island of Seursari. We spent a couple hours meandering around, ate some peculiar items such as a potato dog, which was essentially a hot dog wrapped in has browns, and also meatballs and little potato balls. None of it was particularly good but in the spirit of new experiences I tried it. I spent most of my time taking pictures, and have already started on my second roll of film.

Tomorrow morning we are on our own, then in the afternoon we leave by plane for Copenhagen. While Helsinki has been different, it has not been particularly exciting, perhaps because it has been a holiday weekend the whole time we've spent here. I am looking forward to the next stop, and I'm glad we only spend a couple days in each place.

I LOVE DANCING!!!

Man, I had a lot of fun tonight.

Secret Faggot was bangin-- best queer dance party/show in Brooklyn!

in my own words

tension headache

I weary of this disdain, this exhausting frustration. The specters of past failures drift as I drift, through tunnels and alleyways, empty hallways, this empty bed. I mourn these ghosts as half-heartedly as I cared for them while they lived. First, frustration sprung from this desperate impotence; next, a passionate anger, rage where there was once, even briefly, tenderness; finally, indifference, an unfortunate casting away of all vestiges of the potential for a life unlived. It is foolish to cling to hypotheticals, foolish to linger in the shadow of ambivalence. And yet... and yet... ?

obviously

I always get a laugh out of people dressing dogs like babies.

when i awoke i was struck with awe that there was a new day

I am moving on Thursday. I found a new apartment in a different neighborhood. I have lived in many different neighborhoods in this city. I have moved eight times, perhaps. It is not easy or cheap, and doing it by yourself is miserable. Fortunately, I have had help, and though I've lived in shitty places, I've lived in very unique and diverse places. There is no end to where anyone may end up in this city, let alone the world.

The word "entropy" is derived from the Greek εντροπία "a turning toward" (εν- "in" + τροπή "a turning"), and is symbolized by S in physics.?-wikipedia memorized this term in AP Chemistry my senior year of high school, and I have been fascinated by it ever since. It had a profound impact on my system of belief. Chemical theory was always very fascinating to me. I'm also really fascinated by cosmology. The mere fact that at any given moment, the whole universe is out there happening at the very same time. Add to that the possibility of other dimensions. Endlessness infinitude. O. I'm taking a course next semester on science and religion. It is being taught "in tandem" by two professors. David Morgan, Physics; Michael Pettinger, comparative literature and languages. I go to a pretty small private school in the middle of Greenwich Village. I'm getting a really interesting education but I don't really know if it will get me a "real" job. My education makes me not want a "real" job. I've given some thought to non-profit. That seems to be the default sector of the alumni from my school.

Do you ever challenge cars when you cross the street? Sometimes I do. I am a very aggressive pedestrian. Sometimes I do it very smoothly and skillfully, but some days I'm not 100 percent and I end up bumping into people, cutting them off, bumping into stuff, tripping, dropping stuff... generally klutzing it up. It's on those days I feel like my timing is off, like I'm moving at a different pace than the rest of the world and it makes it difficult for me to harmonize with my environment. However, there are some days when everything is so unified it's like the whole day was orchestrated to work in my favor. One day I was sitting in a cafe on University eating a late breakfast and reading a novel. I use a queen of spades I found somewhere as a bookmark. When the waiter brought me my food, he remarked that it is supposedly an unlucky card. My reply was, "I don't believe in bad luck." I really like the look of the card, and it makes a sturdy bookmark.

I'm pretty sure my family is convinced I am a total whack job. Or, maybe I'm convinced they're convinced because I'm convinced. I have definitely said things before that could be used against me in the event my loved ones tried to have me committed. However, the fact that they haven't yet is a good indication they never will. Unless I get more whacked out... which isn't impossible. (And you have yet another example of something that could be used to discredit my sanity when I'm committed.) I just like pointing out the different ways there are of interpreting one thing. I am particularly fond of turning ambiguous phrasing into inuendo. Especially by tagging on, "That's what she said." I have a very juvenile sense of humor.

I am currently reading "Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman by theoretical physicist Richard P. Feynman. It is about his adventures in life learning, teaching, working on the Manhattan Project, winning the Nobel Prize, and making lots of mischief. It's a very straightforward story, heartfelt, honest account of Feyman's adventures. I'm about 4/5 done, and I don't know anything about him besides what I've read, so I'm anticipating finishing it. I will let you know how it goes. I haven't decided what to read next but I have a lot of books and plenty of time to read before I go back to school. I don't really have much going on.

I have been having a really good time of life lately, having adventures of body, mind, and spirit. Not many adventures of heart, though; there just isn't time, yet. I'm in no hurry.

I hate apartment hunting

Details to come.

more visitors from abroad

I've received a visitor from Tazmania! I can say with certainty that I do not know anyone in Tazmania. Cool!

That nifty little map thing

It appears that yesterday I was fortunate enough to have a visit from somewhere in the vicinity Bosnia Herzegovina or Serbia and Montenegro. Due to the nature of the map it is nearly impossible to pinpoint the exact location of the visitor, but again I think I know of at least one individual who is currently traveling in both these countries so it is not as random a visit as my initial instinct would have me believe. It is nice to see some diversity popping up on my map, though. Today Europe, tomorrow the world (or maybe just Australia or Asia?).

Dogs a' Barkin'

MY FEET HURT. I bought new shoes and I am paying for it dearly. I have been on my feet more in the past week than any time in the last 4 years. I haven't had a full time job in so long I forgot what it was like. And I'm considering taking on an unpaid internship for 6 hours a week on my days off. It's a spirituality and lifestyle bookstore across the street from my school and around the corner from my job. At the very least it could help me get a job at a different bookstore, if not that one. I'm only going to keep my job until the end of the summer, but I would not mind doing something part-time once school resumes, preferably somewhere where I would not be chastised for reading at work. I've mentioned in at least one previous post that I have difficulty staying in one place for too long. That sentiment applies both the jobs and domiciles.

There is a drooling cat sitting on my belly, purring like a little generator. She reminds me of Roslyn, my friend Sarah's cat. I was with Sarah when she got Roslyn, and I held the 3 week old kitten in my palms in the car as Sarah drove back to her apartment. Roslyn was my god kitten. I miss lil' Rozzie. But I do have Penelope for the time being. She is watching the screen as I write this. There is a tiny droplet of drool hanging off of her lip.

3 more things

#1
I rode the J to Gates Ave tonight. I have a new appreciation for the crowd on the J. Very colorful.

#2
According to the news, there has been a right occurrence of stabbings in the SW'burg area. Watch yourselves. Some of the attackers carry machetes. The Man thinks it might be part of gang initiations.


(#3
I saw a dream walker on the 2 train. He was African, layers and layers of charmed dangling around his neck, playing a drum. Beside him he had a sack full of wood walking sticks, carved with patterns, and one had a skull carved into top of the stick. Just below the skull there was painted a band of red. For one brief moment he looked up from his drums and we exchanged a knowing glance. I can't pinpoint what exactly it was we were both knowing at that moment, but it was perfectly understood.)

ennumeration

Here I am, returning yet again to spit my thoughts into this little box for your consideration. I have been busying myself lately. I work full time at a counter job that bores me to death, buying and selling used books, dining as a party of 1, and otherwise going places and seeing faces.

I have settled on a firm concept for my next tattoo piece, one which I am one week later still excited about. This has not been the case for any tattoo idea I've had since I finished my first piece almost 4 years ago. For years I have been enthralled by the Commedia Divina of Dante Alighieri. Infierno in particular holds a certain fascination for me. As a religious studies concentrator with a specialization in religion and literature, it is no surprise that I would write my senior thesis on this piece of literature. In commemoration of the feat of writing my senior work, which I won't begin for another 6 months, I will be getting select illustrations of scenes from Infierno on my right leg from knee to ankle. I bought an illustrated copy of The Divine Comedy translated by Lawrence G White, illustrated by Gustav Dore. His is by far the best series of illustrations I have seen. Here is a sample of what I'm considering.

Canto V: Paolo & Francesca

Harpies in the Forest of Suicides

Lucifer, King of Hell




Still, there are a few obstacles I must overcome before I can succeed in realizing this desire. For starters, I need to find a tattoo artist who is affordable and still competent enough to execute my idea in exactly the way I want. It is only on this point that I can say I wish I were in Indianapolis. Trevor at Metamorphosis is the only person who has ever tattooed me, so it is hard to imagine anyone else sticking it to me. So the second obstacle is the time it will take to find the right artist for this project. I spoke to one guy at Addicted NYC but his portfolio failed to excite, so I absolutely want to see what else is out there. But it will be so totally worth it. I can almost feel it already.

I'm only human.

I came home drunk at 4am. Picked up my laundry on the way.

Hungry, I dug into my roommate's ice cream without permission.

Fuck it. I love life.

I'm want to quit my job.

Seven Eleven Oh Eight

My head is reeling

I savor pomegranate kisses
From Hades mounted
Rearing and riding forth
From the mouth of a shadow land

These days I hardly recognize myself.

Startling moments of clarity that feel like

waking into someone else's life

And yet
Each day I awake
In my own skin
Brimming with hollow memories
Of a person transforming

Recollections of someone I'll never be again

I nearly missed my stop.


(As I walked home from the train, in one hand I held a cigarette, and with the other I scribbled on my left arm, wallowing in joy

"I thank the universe I'm alive".)

Autechre & Double Adaptor

When I was checking out Semiconductor's other videos, this one stood out for me.

Semiconductor 200 Nanowebbers from Semiconductor on Vimeo.
(You can follow the link to their Vimeo profile for more info on their videos.)

The reason was because of the conceptual similarity it shares with this video (Gantz Graf by Autechre)

Gantz Graf music video for Autechre from lostinspace on Vimeo.

Semiconductor Films

I watched this while listening to Sigur Ros, it was eerily beautiful and fitting. However, the film has its own sound effects, which are likewise eerie. Either way, it's stunning. Check it out.

Brilliant Noise from Semiconductor on Vimeo.

Brilliant

Ad for funeral services
Berlin
(click for full-sized image)

4 snapshots

1
I descend
A thick cloud of balmy dirt rises to engulf me
Sweat rains from my temples
Running off into the niche where my earlobe licks my jaw
Rivulets of several days accumulated filth
Sediment carving canals along the length of my throat

2
A passing train stirs up a ripple of cool air
Particles of pollution gather on my brow
I cannot escape the immediacy of
My physical experience
In such extremes
The pressure of the sun will not relent
Even with the fall of darkness

3
I attempt to knit together half-finished thoughts
To no avail
I unravel
I bind my psyche together with haphazard knots
Never meant to hold in the first place
I am slipping
Through my own fingers

4
Into this fold of fetid summer air
My complexion grows ruddy
Stained by loose dirt and debris

Can't Sleep

Shouldn't have had that Sparks.

[Repost] When I read this in class I cried because I am a big baby.

At least I got an A.

I grew up with a lot of ambivalence towards my religious traditions, especially Judaism. My family participated in holiday rituals for Christmas, Easter, Passover, and Hanukkah, but we never attended services. As a result, I was educated in the cultural dimensions of Judaism and Roman Catholicism with none of the faith. I was never baptized and I was never a bat mitzvah. There were times when I attended Mass or synagogue with my respective grandparents but I was never required to absorb any of it, so I never tried. The stuffy, crowded confines of those houses of worship and vague references to “the Holy Father” and “Adonai” failed to arouse my imagination as a fidgety, anxious little girl.

I learned more about Jewish tradition every Seder than I ever learned about either Judaism or Christianity in all my visits to church or synagogue. The private and personalized ritual of Passover just felt more accessible than formal worship. I was included in a way that I never was in a congregation of initiates. As the youngest member of my father’s extended family, it was required that I read from the Haggadah every year. The reading was always lead by my Uncle Joe, my father’s younger brother and the only member of our secular Jewish family who could still read any Hebrew. The whole ritual was very lighthearted and humorous. Joe, famous for his appetite, would present the so-called abridged version of Exodus, with a refrain of “ya-da ya-da, etcetera, etcetera” until it was finally time to eat. It was the humor and the theatrical (as well as the culinary) experience that made Passover memorable for me. It was the feeling of inclusion that leant the ritual recitation meaning for me, a feeling which I never felt during Christmas with my mother’s family.

I grew up identifying myself as half-Catholic, half-Jewish, as testament to my mixed heritage. But when I entered middle school, for the first time I experienced the phenomenon of rejection by other Jews. Many of my religious Jewish classmates were approaching the magical age of thirteen and the big mitzvah pay off, literal and figurative, of all their hard work in Hebrew school. As “real Jews”, they felt some cliquish need to distinguish themselves from the corrupted likes of me. If I self-identified as “half-Jewish” in their presence, I was almost always met with one of two responses: “You can’t be half-Jewish,” or, “Which half?” Since my mother wasn’t a Jew, then I couldn’t be. Never mind my Hebrew last name or my great-grandparents’ loyal involvement in the Jewish community. I didn’t go to Hebrew school or synagogue and I would never be a bat mitzvah. Lighting Hanukkah candles or eating matzo and latkes didn’t cut it. Time after time they declared their verdict: guilty of goy.

Needless to say, I was turned off. I had had enough traumatic experience with the ruthless world of adolescent socializing to accept my role as misfit with a faint sense of relief. At the same time, like most teenagers, I felt like an alien at home. Holidays became little more than meaningless routines I ambivalently complied with. I didn’t recognize myself in my family, I didn’t recognize myself in God, I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. I found meaning in music and sought acceptance in subculture.

For most of middle and high school, music was my only religion. It was the only thing I felt I could safely invest my faith in. I passed in and out of my school’s various subculture cliques, which I identified with more through common musical tastes than any ideological impulse to subvert norms. But the pressure to conform to group expectations was not exclusive to the popular cliques, and it always left a sour taste in my mouth. For me it was about music and expression, not fashion or rebellion for its own sake. As I proceeded through high school I alternately rejected and was rejected by scene after scene, from punks and alt-rock kids to metal heads, hardcore thrashers, or straight-edgers. I never found the kind of curious acceptance the Riot Grrl movement gave to Jennifer Bleyer, but I never stopped believing in a supportive community.

It was around this time I developed an interest in Wicca. In part inspired by exaggerated media portrayals, I browsed local bookstores for information. What I found was a religion with just as much history and tradition as any monotheistic one, without any of the formal constraints. It appealed to me for much the same reason it appealed to Ryiah Lilith. I could be a solitary practitioner, communing with the divine elements of nature beyond the scrutiny of a community. I finally had a name for that feeling of calm that swept over me when I sought solitude in nature. I recalled numerous occasions sitting awash in moonlight by my window in the middle of the night, or listening to the rustling of leaves by the breeze in a park. There were also single memories of watching the sun set over the Pacific from a shiny black perch of prehistoric lava flow in Oregon, and the cool smoothness of river rocks beneath my feet and the swirl of water around my ankles in the Smoky Mountains. Wherever I traveled, near or far, that feeling stayed with me. There was a harmony to nature, and Wicca awakened my spirit to its place in it.

Unfortunately, the distractions and pressures of the social and academic spheres won in the competition for my fickle teenage attention, and I abandoned Wicca as a way of life by the age of sixteen. I sometimes regained the feeling of unity I experienced in nature, but I stopped relating it to spirit. Not until my second year of college on Long Island did a profound longing for meaning return. I was struggling through the mire of apathy and self-loathing that my social life seemed to thrive on. Many of my friends sought to numb their feelings with alcohol and other drugs, and for a while I did, too. But the gnawing dissatisfaction in my gut gradually forced me to reevaluate my lifestyle. Experimentation with psychedelic substances in the past had, on more than one occasion, sparked moments of profound self-realization. Psychedelic experiences had inspired me to make positive change for myself in the past and change was what I needed more than anything. I longed for a confrontation with the uncomfortable reality of my unhappiness, its sources, and its solutions, so when the opportunity presented itself, I embraced it. My catalyst was psychedelic mushrooms, and for eight hours I wrestled with the ugliness of an inner darkness that threatened to engulf me and the beauty of outer lightness my unveiled eyes revealed. When I finally sobered it was with the conviction that the heart of divinity resides within. In myself I had discovered the ultimate spiritual authority.

That revelation of spiritual autonomy has been the single most dynamic event of my entire life. Without it I never would have left Long Island, and it is the foundation from which I have gained the strength to assert my social, intellectual, and sexual autonomy, as well. To a large degree I have my cultural Jewish heritage to thank for planting the seeds of that autonomy, without which I am certain my experiments would have been fruitless. And like Billie Michele Mandel, my grandmother was very influential to my development. She has lived a long, challenging, exciting life. She married at a young age, leaving college after her first year to have three kids, and worked as a kindergarten teacher. In the early 70s she divorced and went back to college part time. After her children were grown, she traveled around the world, finished her degree, worked as a biofeedback engineer and yoga instructor, and retired in the 80s. But what I consider the biggest testament to her strength of character and devotion to her family was when she accepted responsibility for me and my older brother, raising us in her home when neither of our parents was emotionally or financially capable. Because of her constant nagging and reinforcement, it was simply a given that I would attend college. She never set a limit on what I could achieve and always pushed me to live up to my potential. Though she never explicitly stated it, I knew very well that the pressure she put on me to choose whatever life for myself I wanted directly reflected her lack of choice as a young woman. And as much as I resisted her pressuring at the time, without it I would not be the fiercely independent individual I am. But my grandmother is not a feminist in the conventional sense. Her cause is not women’s rights, but her family. It was through Jewish traditions such as Passover, and to a lesser degree Hanukkah, that I first came to understand the importance of family and my responsibility to strengthening its bond. I feel fortunate to have grown up without any formal religious training. I may not believe in God, but thanks to the values I inherited from my family, I believe in myself.

Today is a special day

Happy 5[0]th Birthday Mom!

(I will call you at a reasonable hour during the day.)

Why New Jersey is, in fact, inferior to the rest of the country

from Gothamist

Do Not Drink the Tiki Torch Oil!

Five NJ residents have been hospitalized and one has died after drinking oil used to light tiki torches. Apparently the victims from Burlington and Bergen Counties, many believed they were drinking apple juice, but it's actually a kerosene-like substance (one victim was an 8-year-old girl who now has permanent lung damage; another person "person mistook the oil for bottled water and tried to make coffee, but didn't get sick"). The NJ Poison Information and Education System executive director Steve Marcus says, "During my 40 years in medicine, you get an occasional kid who ingests kerosene, but I have never seen this kind of cluster." The product is Tiki Torch Fuel from Lamplight Farms Inc."

waking nightmare

perhaps it was precipitated by reading my old journal before bed. entries about how much i resented the people i once went to college with for their failures to acknowledge my potential and their own. is that why i dreamt of them as heartless, cruel, violent predators? ready to cut my eyes out to spite my face, to cut my arms off to spite my body.

"you need knew eyes" she said in a low, raspy tone, sharp with malice and hatred.

"uh, maybe later, i'm going to bed now."

in the dream i closed my eyes, only for the thought to occur to me i hope she doesn't do anything to me in my sleep. and armless from an earlier attack of the familiar, how would i defend myself from another? i opened them again, and she lingered over me, a vile smile on her sharp face, her yellow eyes thirsty for my pain. that was when i awoke, shaken. the near-attack was as real as any near-attack could have been. the fear of being brutally assaulted in my sleep. the heartlessness and cruelty suddenly painted on a familiar face, for no reason, with no warning, like a person possessed by a demon, disfigured, somehow changed and yet for all appearances still the same.

i rested in bed for a few brief minutes, feeling the darkness closing in on me. i was chilly, so i drew a blanket across my shoulders. it was too heavy. the darkness was too heavy, weighing on me, the nightmare too immanent. i was not yet ready to resubmerge in the pool of subconsciousness. i was rattled, so i rose, leaving my new room and my new bed and the cache of new dreams that have been flooding in from behind the veil these past few days.

i sit down before this computer. there is a message from one of those disappointing friends whom i had recently ceased communicating with, one with whom i had a long, disappointing affair. the time stamp reveals that the message was sent at the very time i was reading about our long, disappointing affair. strange how these synchronicities arise.

"soph, quick question."
but he never asked.

i will return to bed soon, and will perhaps take comfort in a fiction before i let the fog of sleep settle across my eyelids. i have things to do this coming day. a job interview, a friend's farewell, cementing my own travel plans. this was an unfortunate night for these demons to haunt me. is there anything worse than to wish for the immersion of sleep only to fear one's own powerless against the illusions that await one there? the terror of helplessness? all waiting in the comfort of a cool pillow, a soft mattress.

Writing with Rain Water

Today I photographed the clouds as the storm rolled in from the west. Deep greys with streaks of lighting and growling thunder. The city was just a foggy silhoutte in the distance. A few raindrops suggest the impending downpour. There is something about the rain that welcomes isolation. Within the last two weeks I have found myself deliberately going outside before the storm, somewhat aggravatedly getting drenched, but savoring the wetness, the exposure to the elements. The wind throwing stinging raindrops in my eyes, against my cheeks. I greet it with a smile, shutting my eyes against the assault. The water cools the fire that the city stokes in my veins. The passion for more, for less, to be rid of the oppression of identity, to embrace my ghostly anonymity. The struggle against reason, to succumb to every capricious whim. The roof is my solitary island, the width of the sky affording room for all my expansive thoughts. When I am alone there, I am content in my solitude. The lightning excites me, the thunder answers my silence. My sighs, otherwise deafening in the confines of walls, windows, and doors, are stolen away by the wind. They are not trapped inside, amplifying and choking me in my dreams. They are small, fleeting things, and I am free to let them go. Then the rain comes, and washes me clean.

The irony is not lost on me!

Judge Rejects 'Obscene' Name Change

By DEBORAH BAKER,

AP

Posted: 2008-06-28 16:04:59

Filed Under: Law News, Nation News, Weird News

SANTA FE, N.M. (June 28) - A New Mexico appeals court on Friday ruled against a Los Alamos man who wanted to change his name to a phrase containing a popular four-letter obscenity.

The man appealed after a state district judge in Bernalillo County refused his request to change his name to "F--- Censorship!"

Judge Nan Nash ruled that the proposed name change was "obscene, offensive and would not comport with common decency."

woo, visitors!

Thanks to my nifty little map feature, I can roughly guess just who has been visiting this blog. Fascinating! Except in New York where there are simply too many variables. I'm just going to go ahead and assume that in the last week since I actually started posting regularly, everyone I know in New York has started reading it. It's easier that way, for my brain and my self-esteem....

P.S. My biceps are screaming.

a vice is a vice is a vice is a vice

There was a scattering of people in our company outside. A light blanket of rain fell on us as we smoked. It was nothing compared to the downpour I had been caught in earlier, so I shrugged it off.

“There’s nothing better than smoking cigarettes in the city,” I said as I exhaled, smoke escaping from my lips into the moist night air. I watched the red-hot end of my cigarette burn down the white paper, and wondered how I could gain so much satisfaction from knowingly consuming something poisonous.

“Especially when drinking,” Sarah added, flicking the ash from the end of her cigarette.

I was silent for a moment, continuing to contemplate my vice. I shook my head, redirecting my attention on the present. “Natasha often tells me I’m a consumer, and she’s completely right. I love smoking, drinking, eating, shopping, all of it.” I paused and took a deep drag. “And the city is entirely based around consumption and the need to serve and be served. To stake your claim. I think that’s why I feel so at ease here. I feel so much more in my element, with all the resources I could ever need to fulfill my desires at my very fingertips.”

Sarah merely nodded and crushed out her cigarette under her foot.

“I wonder if they’re still doing these three dollar Buds,” I think aloud, gesturing at the chalkboard next to me.

“Let’s hope, because there’s no way in hell I’m paying another ten bucks for a drink.”

S.A.D. (2006)
(Yes, those really are my initials.)

RIP

I am dead. From moving. And getting caught in the rain. See you on the other side.

moving day

Today marks my sixth move in a year and a half.

Packing to move always involves taking stock of where I've been, where I'm going, and what I'm taking with me. Every time I move, I end up with less than I started with. Yet, as few possessions as I feel like I have, it is always startling to see just how much it adds up to when it's all stacked up together. The bulk of it is books, bedding, and clothes. As far as kitchenware, all I have is one plate, two mugs, a bowl, three plastic cups, and two french presses. My electronics are limited to a printer, an alarm clock, and a laptop. I'm leaving all my furniture, which is only a small end table, one old lamp without a shade, and a set of drawers. The loft bed is staying too, but it was already there when I moved in. I don't need my mattress, either.

I'm subletting a room in an apartment for the month of July until my roommate-to-be returns from California in August. Truthfully, I'm looking forward to the quick turn around. I get restless when I live in one place for too long. When I was a kid, my family moved about every three years, so I never really had one neighborhood I belonged to. Before I moved into this apartment, I was moving every 3-4 months, which was terrible in New York without a car or friends with cars to help. You have to experience it to really fathom it. Try paying $60 in cab fare to transport your life, with a cabbie who does as little to help you as he possibly can. And that's if you're lucky enough to be moving somewhere in the same borough as you lived before. Try moving from Manhattan to Brooklyn or Queens or from Downtown to Uptown. Of course, there's always U-haul, but try driving one of those things in Manhattan, I dare you. But I am lucky this time. My good friend is driving all the way down from Westchester to move me. I have to pay her for the gas, but we'll also be hanging out afterwards, so it will be all right.

Anyway, the situation being what it is, I'm going to leave most of my stuff in boxes while I'm there, so repacking will be minimal. I suppose I've paid some of my dues as a New Yorker, because not only is one of my friends work for Rapid Realty and hooking me up when Andy and I have to apartment hunt, but there is a chance my family will roadtrip to the city at the end of July for my brother's birthday, so I very well might get moved for free with extra man power. Today it will be just me and Allie, hauling it all up four flights into a stranger's apartment. I've yet to have an apartment that was fully mine. I've lived in dorms, sublets, and I've filled a vacancy in a friend's apartment. All of them were already furnished, already decorated, and I had to accomodate my needs to my roommates'. All I have to do is put in my time for one more month and I will finally have the blank slate I've been longing for.

Chambers

The moon is full tonight and my eyes sparkle with silent tears. I am waiting on a platform with other fools for a train headed the wrong way. This is the moment I am always waiting for. Neon lights flicker overhead. It is humid and dirt gathers with perspiration on my cheeks and forehead. My ears are ringing with graveyard songs. I hide in the open from blind eyes. Sweat gathers in the hollows beneath my eyelids. The odor of old garbage mingles with that of moist bodies and frustration. I am waiting to go home to a place that doesn't exist and never did. I am covered in the dust of so many unburied bones. We are all lost, we are all searching. Our only purpose is to keep moving. I miss the constellations, my guardians. The stars only emerge in my dreams anymore. I think I'm dying.

more nuggets of wisdom from DJ

DJ (6:51:58 PM): there's a dali museum near tampa

DJ (6:52:00 PM): it is pretty badass

DJ (6:52:11 PM): too bad it is in tampa

bibliophile (6:53:04 PM): yeah, the persistence of memory was on loan to them for a while but now it's back at the moma for this new exhibit

DJ (6:54:55 PM): dude

DJ (6:55:00 PM): the clocks

DJ (6:55:03 PM): they're fucking melted

DJ (6:55:20 PM): his art is what i imagine it would be like to be on peyote

bibliophile (6:55:31 PM): yeah, and most of the time he was completely sober

DJ (6:55:33 PM): they all look like they're out in the desert

DJ (6:55:49 PM): i associate peyote with the desert for some reason

DJ (6:55:58 PM): like it needs to be enjoyed in arizona, or maybe eastern nevada

bibliophile (6:56:58 PM): well, i associate peyote with the desert because it's a cactus

bibliophile (6:57:19 PM): http://www.moma.org/exhibitions/exhibitions.php?id=5633

DJ (6:59:26 PM): dude my grandpa has like infinity of those in his garage

bibliophile (6:59:54 PM): cacti?

DJ (7:00:10 PM): paintings of cacti

bibliophile (7:00:16 PM): oh, haha

DJ (7:00:18 PM): do you know what the hbi is

bibliophile (7:02:04 PM): HeBrewIs?

DJ (7:02:14 PM): hmm, no

DJ (7:02:19 PM): it stands for Hot Beef Injection

bibliophile (7:02:23 PM): haha

DJ (7:03:05 PM): anyway we taught it to my uptight friend allison

bibliophile (7:03:28 PM): mhmm

DJ (7:04:19 PM): and every week or so, either me or george will leave a cryptic message on her wall

DJ (7:04:36 PM): DJ wrote
at 8:11pm on May 29th, 2008
Have bebeh inya?

DJ (7:04:44 PM): DJ wrote
at 11:59pm on June 11th, 2008
any new HobBIes?

DJ (7:04:53 PM): but i am proud of my most recent opus

DJ (7:05:02 PM): DJ wrote
at 6:59pm
Hey! Boy, I have big issues here, but I have boldly insisted he buy it. How 'bout it?

DJ (7:05:08 PM): the best part is, she is probably flipping out

Conversations with DJ, the first installment

Although the subject is new, we usually talk about equally irrelevant topic as you are about to read, and often they are offensive to anyone with delicate sensibilities.

DJ (4:55:51 PM): bong

bibliophile (4:56:00 PM): bing

---

Auto Response from DJ (4:56:00 PM): sleepx0rz

---

DJ (4:56:04 PM): bang

bibliophile (4:56:48 PM): beng

DJ (4:57:01 PM): i dont think that is a word

DJ (4:57:05 PM): simons 5, dayan 0

bibliophile (4:57:27 PM): it wasn't supposed to be, so i'm taking that point back

DJ (4:57:35 PM): fine with me

DJ (4:57:38 PM): simons 5, dayan -1

bibliophile (4:57:38 PM): but it probably is a word in some crazy foreign language

DJ (4:57:47 PM): it sounds vietnamese to me

bibliophile (4:58:45 PM): i feel if it were vietnamese it would be spelled bengh

bibliophile (4:58:53 PM): because there are hella h's in their language

DJ (4:59:06 PM): oh yeah

DJ (4:59:10 PM): theyre all named pham

DJ (4:59:19 PM): although phnom penh is in cambodia

DJ (4:59:32 PM): the h in phnos isnt even pronounced

DJ (4:59:39 PM): it isnt "fnom" it's "p'nom"

DJ (4:59:50 PM): h is the most useless fucking letter

DJ (5:00:09 PM): it barely ever makes a sound and when it does it sounds like a really old dog trying to jump on the couch

bibliophile (5:02:33 PM): haha

bibliophile (5:03:06 PM): i don't like h when it begins a word, like historical, because if you have to use "an" instead of "a"

bibliophile (5:03:15 PM): i'm like, uh, i don't think so, h is not a vowel

DJ (5:03:45 PM): yeah, it just feels vaguely, yet inexplicably guilty, like i did when i could see that preschool from the shower

DJ (5:04:27 PM): i remember in my 6th grade history class, there was a poster of george bush sr. and the word to a speech he had given, and it contained "an historic" and i remember decideing then and there that i hated him

bibliophile (5:04:44 PM): haha

bibliophile (5:04:50 PM): awesome

DJ (5:05:23 PM): H kind of is a vowel though

DJ (5:05:30 PM): it's definitely the vowelliest of the consonants

DJ (5:05:37 PM): except for maybe W

DJ (5:05:49 PM): W is quite light in the loafers

DJ (5:05:56 PM): W is the sean hayes of consonants

bibliophile (5:06:03 PM): hahaha

DJ (5:06:03 PM): and H is the tom cruise

DJ (5:06:57 PM): and X is the morgan freeman

DJ (5:07:22 PM): because even though few words begin with X, those that do usually get pronounced like "exavier"

bibliophile (5:08:05 PM): hm

bibliophile (5:08:10 PM): what letter is samuel l jackson?

DJ (5:08:23 PM): R

DJ (5:08:29 PM): i think we both know why.

DJ (5:08:44 PM): or maybe K

bibliophile (5:10:27 PM): i'm not satisfied with either of those

DJ (5:10:48 PM): hmmmm

DJ (5:10:57 PM): i was trying to allude to a gigantic wiener

DJ (5:11:05 PM): those the the only letters with danglies

bibliophile (5:11:13 PM): what about J

DJ (5:11:16 PM): hmmmm

bibliophile (5:11:18 PM): it's all dangly

DJ (5:11:24 PM): nah hits too close to home, it's half my name

bibliophile (5:11:39 PM): what's your middle name?

DJ (5:12:12 PM): jacob

DJ (5:12:26 PM): i was named after my frenchie grandpa, jacques

DJ (5:12:32 PM): who was actually dutch

DJ (5:12:40 PM): but he was still a frenchie

DJ (5:12:57 PM): the daniel came from the dan in rocky raccoon

bibliophile (5:13:10 PM): seriously?

DJ (5:13:28 PM): yep

DJ(5:13:35 PM): my dad thought it sounded badass

DJ (5:13:39 PM): and he was partially right