Frangulation

Sink humping

was discussed this evening

my fault: as the pub ladies inspired

a bit of sharing about my expertise.

The female orgasm is always a topic piquant et parfait.

Et maintenant en francais:
Ce soir comme d'habitude

les mecs francais avec ses penis francais ses mots francais

ses visages et jugements vachement francais...

ce soir j'ai me senti jeune et vielle aux meme temps:

parfait.

Comme un dessert, parfait. C'est ca.

Et la je te dis

que toi tu seras jamais l'homme

qui j'adore toujours l'homme qui m'ennui

comme la plupart des hommes

bah, comme d'habitude.

J'suis honnete. Ma pet.

So so now that franglais has entered

the flow what will you do ma petite

chou-chou

that's what the sleazy older guy kept

calling the teen with her teeny legs

all tan, squeaky clean.

I will tell you that men

and mecs sont partis dans le monde

de mes reves ou cauchemars

ou on va se voir,

meme si je ne veux pas.

Meme si je ne veux pas.

power trips and paninis

Hello Paris. You are a sparkling majestic damsel of a city that always lives in my heart and charms me into sighing at your never-waning,

at your never waning.

You are perfect and blue and dark dark like night when

your brasseries beam and your falafel joints wink

turkish, eurasian, african, subsumed under versace

and versailles.

Paris.

You pull me into your rich arms and taunt me,

a reckless lover, never another

as full of luxurious svelte

melt me, dear city of de-lights

open up your beggar's palms and cathedral calls

take me under the bridge,

curve me up the thighs of your boats,

swallow me into your jazzy caverns

and crevices creeping with people

little ants in the fantasy maze.

I crawl to you and propose

have me.

connect and disconnect

I hate scripts. Social scripts that we follow: what is ok to say now, what isn't. 

Step 1: Ask her out to dinner.

Step 2: Ask her to your home.

Step 3: Kissing followed by sex? Dinner followed by intimacy? Love as a consummation of stipulated, presupposed social processes? Or just, just that I feel too disconnected from the whole process to connect to it any more? Or just, that I am still in love with someone else or someone in my head or, or, my heart where the hell is my heart?

I want to jump out of an airplane, I want my parachute to cruise me over the flowing, cold, windy beauty of the world. I want to be unencumbered of presupposed body and self.

Place labels on the woman, she is supposed to enjoy them: beautiful, smart, beautiful, cute, very cute. Beautiful. Bonita. Belle. Krasavitsa.

I want to laugh, laugh past the social ramifications, I want to laugh like a child free of the rules of sociality, playing, enjoying, imagining. That's what I look for in a man. 

My heart is still so crushed, like that island of stilled lava. Tiri Tiri Matangi. Black shards of surreality, that is my heart. Betwixt the lava rock exotic growths are sprouting, reaching for the sky. My heart is an island in transition. 

On Nuclear Families/Wars

What is family? The nuclear family is too tight-knit for relationships to work unless you all happen to get along. Unless your personalities cosmically match up. Lucky bastards.

I decided to go skiing with my family for a weekend, it was supposed to be a break from my stressful, overly intense grad school life in which I get too much and too little done and meet too few and too many people and feel too lazy, inadequate yet somehow sharp and creative at the same time. An ongoing struggle. I always just want people to "get" me. So my attempts to hone language and to create unusual, vivid metaphor since early childhood have probably been my ongoing cry for understanding. There is the hope that if the words are piercing and unique and human and strong enough, that we will connect, that you will get closer to my consciousness. That this alone-ness will lose some of the alone as we connect in a closer understanding of the other. 

Get me? 

I did have a good time the first two days. Then my mother had to lose it and be unbelievably rude and insensitive. This callousness of hers has always been the pitfall of our relationship. I have never and will never be able to put up with it. I just don't put up. That's not how I function. I get incredibly upset with her laziness in controlling her own words, not that my control has ever been perfect, but then again she is usually feeling justified in her rude outpourings, during and after. 

You cannot teach your mom new tricks. You cannot teach yourself new ways to feel. Sometimes, the sad truth is that you are stuck in painful repetition. Sometimes progress just doesn't happen. I am always dying to bring more empathy into her brain, to get those mirror neurons working harder, creating my reality and pain in her brain. It just doesn't work. I've been trying to since I was a little kid. I felt this inability of hers to be a proper mirror as incredibly painful, and injust. But maybe it's because she just can't do it, not that she doesn't want to, but that she can't. There can be a painful separation between people, when the walls between our separate consciousnesses seem impossibly thick. 

I always want to bring consciousnesses together, but this fusion of reality is hard to forge. What do we want? Who are we? Do you want to be me and do I want to be you and are we? I was in love and felt inseparable. In love was a chance for me to fuse realities in the way I guess I am always kind of trying to do. Become me, become you. 

I guess I hate being misconstrued and caricatured...there is so much projection here. 

Labeled, ugh. The labels, the mean power dynamics within family, not my bag, baby.

Competition starts within the family when parents pit their children against each other in a battle of compliments and ridicule. The family in this sense can be a constant war, a constant modern competition to prove yourself again and again, sans end. Forget those warm, loving images in which family is supposed to be cuddly love and good times. Encouragement, fun and games...the family is also where some of the most painful modern struggles occur. 

Yes, I love mine and find them in many ways to be impressive and wonderful. I am not saying that all I see is the struggle and pain that can be caused. I'm just having a so-so night, I am hurt by bullshit...too easily, but that's beside the point, I just am. 

Salut from the Regenstein

I'm happy in the library. Does that sound like an unlikely sentence? I don't really care. I am. 

Not only in the library, but in my apartment (which incidentally has many practical issues that I have neglected, it is time to call my lovely Croatian maintenance mafia again,) in Hyde Park, Chicago, the University of Chicago, here, today, now hello. Happy. 

I'm working on a midterm paper, the topic is Ebonics. Language, identity, nationalism, culture, self issues - questions that interest me. 

Reading over my last entry, it was soaked with Michael Silversteinian linguistic anthropology language(I mentioned deixis which is a linguistic term for locatability in time and space)...whew, last quarter was tough but I have come out smarter. Now I have to keep getting smarter, sharper, full of the intellectual tools that will allow me to probe the questions that stir souls. That may sound corny, but like the Mexican spoken word artist I saw tonight, I don't care. It's like Hogwarts but much more intense. Magical, powerful forces, spells, modern witchcraft that self-reflects. I used to secretly dream of knowing every language, of knowing everything really, of stirring the world with insight, it's like this super nerdy idea of paradise where knowledge penetrates, validates, harmonizes and connects everything. My paradise is knowing and learning. Understanding.

Omniscience is not possible, if it were, if there were some knowable limit, then it would all be so much less exciting. It's limitless, and that's fun. There is no end, there is an end to a human life but there is no end to the learnable, the knowable. There is an endless drive that connects us. Maybe this was part of that connection, that transnational, all-encompassing pantheism-like feeling, that I've had at times, the way I imagined it, my sense of spirituality.

Yep, I'm in a super corny, humanity-loving mood, and it's all good. Be a Jesus, an Anne Frank, be nice people, it does go around.

movement and stoppage

Hyde Park is stifling and liberating. Colorado is sunny. I will use simple, or somewhat simple adjectives to index my life here and now. Let's talk about deixis. Mine is free-flowing and ever marked by airplanes, tickets, airports, houses, apartments, locales, hermit holes, mountains, beaches. Languages, people, thoughts, moi.
I am cloudy, expanding, imploding, revolting.
Spaces are my hands, these walls, that doorway, the face with which I am speaking, the thoughts that I am segmenting into community-defined confinements a.k.a. words which you understand at least somewhat.
I pour my imperfect self into books, thoughts, attempts at metacognition, metalevel analysis of this ephemeral biological chance.
Happy holidays citizens of Abraham land. May you sleep well, eat well, think well. May your biology compliment your evolution as a self-aware entity. L'chaim.

The tradition of mid night attrition

I left dear Manhattan.
Manhattan was a lovely busybody man.
He was beautiful but he stressed me out a bit
and he never cleaned up after himself.

I then had a sweet honeymoon with northern California.
She was pretty and sweet tempered.
I had lunch at Google, yes you Google who designed this blog interface
and I drank lots of Napa wine and looked at pretty bridges and paintings
and whimsical things.

2 days until blast off - Fort Collins seems to be an appropriate military launching pad.
Chicago awaits. I'm coming, dear sir.