We’re all just fumbling in the dark — for a heart of hearts
November 2009
The Archives
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11.30.09dame más
friendly reminder
that self-described romantics
are lying to youa walk on campus
smell his brand of cigarettes
six years is so longfailwhale white on blue
I refresh, refresh, refresh
twitter still is downit’s ten fifty-eight
my paper is still not done
must stop writing these -
11.30.09wow. just—wow.
I just finished Ballard’s Cocaine Nights. Hands down one of the best books I’ve read in years.
I should have been doing a thousand other things, mainly studying for the Spanish test tonight that I surely will not pass. Just not enough hours in the day.
Was feeling lazy, so I walked down to the football field and jogged a half-mile on the track. I felt like going farther, but my iPod died. Due to my family (who thinks it’s a wonderful idea to move other people’s stuff without telling them), somebody hung my coat up in the hall closet when I was at my aunt’s house. My iPod Nano is still in the pocket of that jacket. So I have to use my hella old iPod that barely works (the battery lasts maybe three hours, and it will barely sync, I think there’s a bunch of bad sectors on the hard drive). I miss my Nano, it can be almost dead and still last through an entire workout.
I don’t know what I’m doing today. I feel this wall of apathy that I can’t break through. I still only have written two pages of the four that I’m supposed to write about that poem. Also, I’m supposed to have a zero draft. I plan to write some dada masterpiece to pass off as my zero draft, but I doubt I’ll have time.
Ah, my roomate just got home. It’s beginning to get dark.
Walking to class this morning was like taking a 20-minute cold shower each way. It’s the worst feeling getting out of the elevator and realizing that you don’t have enough time to go back up to your room and get an umbrella. Class was so-so, I mostly wrote haikus about how much I disliked the class. 2-3 people actually did their homework. We’re not even pretending any more. Whereas before I felt alienated because I liked the short stories, now we’re doing all this medieval poetry and it is boring as shit. Let me compare thee to a summer’s day? Let me compare thee to a Summer’s Eve. I just don’t know how to write pages and pages about a poem that’s 14 lines. How much is there to say about a poem like We Real Cool? That poem has become a running joke in the class.
I should go down to the language lab and study. I should do a lot of things. Pay off my credit cards. Unsubscribe from the UO email list. Donate to the ACLU and the EFF again. Write a calm e-mail explaining that I was incredibly insulted by what he did although I still have feelings for him. Stop waiting for torches to burn out. Stop reading TechCrunch and Gizmodo, stop spending hours on Reddit.
I feel trapped by the impending shitty weather. Summer feels free, a bountiful harvest of possibilities. Winter feels like a wet, dark tomb.
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11.29.09haiku assignment
I’m supposed to write some haikus for my English class. Since I’m only two pages into my four-page poetry opus, I thought I would take a break and write some. They are supposed to focus on sensory imagery, but I’m not in the sunniest of moods this weekend.
glazed ceramic cat
she sent to me in winter
stares with painted eyesfeel the warm dark breath
grinding, metal on metal
“Next stop, Bedford Ave.”Amy Hempel writes
short stories with such brevity
they could be haikus[the rest of these written while flipping through d.o.c. (nsfw)]
crossed the creek undressed
clutching a handful of hair
furious rammingtwo boys adrift on
an ocean of anonymous sex
possibilitieswet perineum
straining to get to the best
hour of happinessman in the next booth
prettiest guy of the day
the wall between us -
11.29.09it finds you wherever you are
I decided on a poem to write my paper on. It’s The City by Cavafy.
You said: “I’ll go to another country, go to another shore,
find another city better than this one.
Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong
and my heart lies buried as though it were something dead.
How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?
Wherever I turn, wherever I happen to look,
I see the black ruins of my life, here,
where I’ve spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally.”You won’t find a new country, won’t find another shore.
This city will always pursue you. You will walk
the same streets, grow old in the same neighborhoods,
will turn gray in these same houses.
You will always end up in this city. Don’t hope for things elsewhere:
there is no ship for you, there is no road.
As you’ve wasted your life here, in this small corner,
you’ve destroyed it everywhere else in the world.Reminds you of a few people, doesn’t it?
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11.28.09thanksgiving in new jersey [in hd]
Alexis kind of takes control of the camera a quarter of the way through. She loves to make videos.
We had fun today playing World of Goo and Crayon Physics with my Magic Mouse. Yesterday, Nick, Alexis and I played cops and robbers out in the yard for dayz.
In Marshall’s today, Alexis and I were playing in the giant displays of rugs. It’s like my second childhood, lol.
My fun is short-lived though. I have a ton of work that’s piled up and waiting for me back at the house. A four-page paper for English and a ton of stuff for the magazine. Trying not to think about it until the morning though.
Also, this is the funniest thing I’ve seen in weeks. Remember Cuil?
