Sigh

Everyone is in my kitchen baking a cake. I'm leaving the country in two days. I dropped all of my classes. I'm 21. My turtle kind of likes me now. How come the only thing I want to do is park on a dark street and sleep in the back of my van? 

I Hate Writing About Things That Matter!!!!!

PROPAGANDA MODEL!
PROPAGANDA MODEL!
PROPAGANDA MODEL!

Just rambling

I've been thinking about something Gioconda Belli said at the panel discussion on exiles and outsiders. Mary Gaitskill said something about how everyone by nature has a place in the world because they are, by the plain fact of their existence, a part of it. And then Gioconda refuted her by saying that we come into this world alone (despite our mothers) and die alone, because everything we feel is internal. We can never wholly share the same experience. No matter how surrounded by people we are, we're always alone. Sex, she said, was the only way we can transcend that inherent loneliness. 

Then I think about Kundera's "The Hitchhiking Game."  

"She would repeat to herself that at birth every human being received one out of the millions of available bodies, as one would receive an alloted room out of the millions of rooms in an enormous hotel; that consequently the body was fortuitous and impersonal, only a ready-made, borrowed thing. She would repeat this to herself in different ways, but she could never manage to feel it. This mind-body dualism was alien to her. She was too much at one with her body; that is why she always felt such anxiety about it.

 

"She experienced this same anxiety even in her relations with the young man, whom she had known for a year and with whom she was happy, perhaps because he never separated her body from her soul, and she could live with him wholly."

So the way I see it most people are living contently alone in their impersonal hotel rooms, and then, somewhere in a corner, there's a sentimental broom closet. One ill-equipped broom closet, completely run out of Simple Green, but still necessary to clean up the waste of 303,824,639 filthy rooms. 

Family Portrait, or How to Get Rid of Your Shoddy Boyfriend

Have him for dinner. 

There Were Acorns

      

            There were fresh acorns lying in the grass. There were acorns somewhere in the grass on a campus covered in only ficus trees, and they were acorns so sweet and savory that I could smell them even though I hadn’t seen them yet; even though the air was full of roasted coffee drinks and Cup-O-Noodles being consumed by a stiff-necked student resembling my taxidermied cousin Timothy. There was the memory of Timothy, who mistook gunmanwithcoonhat for godhead Jerome, and believed our overseer had come to wash him of his sins and guide him through the illuminated tunnels into Rodentia; there were Cup-O-Noodles in all flavors, but still the sweet smell of acorn overwhelmed me. There were acorns so polished and flawless that when I scurried up my tree trunk, one of the nuts met with the divine shining acorn in the sky and reflected back at me, nearly rendering me blind. There was I in stumbling aw, and were it not for the agility of my fierce, clenching claws there would have been me tumbling from my tree. There was freedom in these claws. There was freedom to penetrate whatever bark, be it tree or dog, that tried proving itself an obstacle.

            There was I! There was only I! and the acorns! and I!

             There was me channeling every ounce of stealth given me by my flying cousins into my forearms and hind legs. There was excitement arousing my aerodynamic tail, ready to detach and propel itself into the ether. There was I: thousands of years of evolution compressed into a petit package. There was I with the might of compavara!

            There was a crow.

            There was a crow perched atop the science building. There was a crow eyeing my sweet acorns! There was one, then two and three and four!

            There was me dashing from my tree and stashing the acorns in my cheeks. There was laughter of triumph! There were my praises and sweet thanks to Jerome, and the joy of basking in his divine cascading light.

            There was a black cloud swarming over the light.

            There were motherfucking crows!

            There were four crows, and there were ten crows, and there were fifteen crows in all!

            There were only three nuts. There was one squirrel.

            There were feathers and claws and beaks like flying machetes. There were students covering their heads with books to dodge droppings and sharp beaks. There was plumage and brown fir in a swirling torrent. There was blood.

            Finally, there was only I again. There was the sun again.

            But there were no nuts.

            There were no nuts.

            There were no motherfucking nuts. 

I'm going

Oh darling, oh darling.