11.26.01    abject recreational reality
nothing is new here... the cold has finally descended. amazing how desolate a university of thousands may feel. out of all those kinds of people, you got a face with a view.
back in the grind i recover. and it worries me so, because this is not what i fought for. this comfort in conservative hell is not what i wanted. nothing to fight for feels like a trap. and i know i am not happy, but here i am not sad either. as though the town has been shielded over with an invisible forcefield of emotional-dampening. it would make sense. the stress here is immense. to be this apathetic gives a sense of wrongness. but there is nothing that can be done short of melodrama.
nothing of the sort, really. feeling kenderlike. that's a lie.
feeling serious, responsible. how despicable on my part.
feeling inarticulate, or at least not as wordy as usual.
missing the old glacial park excursions intensely.
where's my anton? my lady tatyana? my ready-to-eat kool-aid now?
where's my cloak? and where the hell is my sense of adventure?
what is this descension into invisibility?
just how, may it be asked, have i gotten so good at invisibility
that i am sad, and in fear of being discovered different once again?
in a forgotten time, there was no hiding
and creativity was forced from failing to discover the skill
of making oneself invisible to one's peers.
it feels not like maturity, nor like wisdom
so much as the paranoia which occasionally weaves
into the psyche of aging souls.
02.21.02    earlier in metropolis
pained, painstaking portraiture
do we misportray your predisposition
to ambiguity? how, en masse, the belief
holds that you are the closed calyx/corolla
of petals; gesture open to the vast world
yet withholding self, self unknown?
mysterious how, en masse, could be wrong
or you, so hiddenly veiled, know not yourself.
02.21.02    window-looker's master
life full fledged, fooled fledgling rests
remains, recalls certainty terse temptation
dew-dreft, dawning depths; printemps discovered
uncovered creeps anew, creation feld-askew
crouched crocus almost-opens alongside
his street; well worn beast treads, sidewalk
shares her scents, attentive brindle-ears (window-looker)
granting his peace, bestowed in placid placebo-paternity
shadowy uncertainty, tumbles, imperceptably
nebulous, niched-under; naught wonder escap`ed,
fraught-fell undisclosed e'en enrapt self-aware
conditionals; `itched, scr`atched, c`onsciousness
slipped; never-knowing-more nestling kindred
as they- submerged, swelling, swollen, shed splinters-
from beneath flesh, withdrawn soul; no longer impart.
[painful... forgive incompletion. working on it.]
04.01.02    le jour de l'imbécile
i hate words.
not only can i not write the right words,
i've apparently lost my ability to mind-read.
i hate feeling around the darkness for what the establishment wants of me.
i really shouldn't be flailing around in a 200 level class...
but i am.
i am consoled merely by the existence of good grades in upper level english courses.
some minds, i suppose are walled off from me...
i wish i didn't enjoy and respect my history professor so much
because it's so much easier to blame things on people you dislike.
i wish i weren't trying so hard to do well in this class
trying so hard to understand what she wants of me
because it's so much easier to pass yourself off when you're just being lazy.
now, i'm pretty fond of humble pie on occasion,
can swallow it down (acquired taste, like tofu or veat or raw spinach)
when it's good for me...
but this is just Feeling Stupid
and i have a severe distaste for Feeling Stupid, i've discovered.
04.12.02    woo hallucination
i sit on my couch writing my paper
artificially kept awake by a popular canned caffeine/B-complex/taurine concoction...
the upstairs neighbors are watching television.
not loud enough to make it out, but loud enough to hear _some_ sound.
it reverberates through my head like the atari tones of demon attack.
even after i recognise the source of the sound.
soon, i will sleep. soon.
06.17.02    je pense, &there4 (donc) je suis
cogito ergo sum.
descartes was a cute little wig-wearing idiot.
his arguments are (and i quote) "a bunch of hooter".
i like learning why that is from a man with a babbling pedantry problem and a full cream coloured beard.
j'adore mes classes d'été.
elles sont très rapides, ces classes, mais j'aime leur puissance.
j'ai commencé à parler en français dans ma pauvre tête chaque jour.
c'est un peu trop.
d'autre part... j'apprends un certain nombre des entités de
*less than impressed*
peut-être je peux écrire les poésies françaises à l'anglais un jour.
07.08.02    i just thought
i'd attempt to make a contribution before ameritech shuts off my service.
why are we aware/conscious?
we are beginning to discover how we are conscious (neuroscience)
but there still remains the question of why.
what reason can be given for our consciousness?
is there a use for subjective experience?
one may have empirical knowledge of almost anything,
but there remains a higher, inexplicable level of experience and awareness.
why are we able to experience things which do not exist?
why are we able to experience things which we are not directly or currently sensing?
why are we aware of a concept like time (and its passage)?
the "imagination" (descartes) has the ability to visualise void,
even when the body itself is being bombarded by external stimuli.
in fact, sometimes that is a defense mechanism.
the puzzle of conscious experience
gotta. stop. thinking.