BOS-JFK

here's a poor decision i recently made. caught up in amazement over jetblue's $55 one-ways from boston to new york, i rashly purchased one for monday afternoon. when i called my father to tell him i was flying down, he said "flying? i mean that's fine, but why didn't you just take the bus?" hmm. good question for which i don't really have an answer. in addition, the flight got in to far-away JFK rather than close and clean LGA. however, i will not make the same mistake again this year, as i am now saving every possible penny for my upcoming postgrad jaunts through asia and africa.
after rushing in a cab to the airport, i was confronted with long lines and bullshit. lacking a government-issued ID, i was subject to someone writing "no gov't id" on my boarding pass and a very thorough patdown. i made it onto the plane and we took off. the plane was surprisingly empty and i spent the flight watching direct-tv.
after touching down in new york i took the much-maligned air-train to the E. upon getting off the air-train i was surprised by a five-dollar fee. paying at the end of a ride always feels so wrong. anyway i hopped onto the subway and took the horribly long 1.5-hr ride back to morningside heights. that'll be the last time i fly boston-ny on my own dollar.

the end.

Tatsuya Ishida - notes from THE RESISTANCE

"Back when I was a kid I could never figure out why my stomach hurt, not realizing that it was the jalapeno cheese nachos I had the day before. My attention span just wasn't developed enough to put those two things together. The peppers didn't even figure into my thinking--I mean, geez, it was yesterday, that's like forever ago, and as far as I knew the stomach ache was a brand new, completely separate development, a mysterious phenomenon that sprang spontaneously into being. It had the character of divine intervention, the pain taking on epic proportions, without beginning or end, and accordingly I'd get all moral about it. I thought I was being punished by some higher power for being bad. I'd be on the toilet doubled over in agony, apologizing to God for some unidentified transgression. I'd be there blubbering to myself, 'Sorry, I won't do it again. Whatever it was I'm so sorry...' Now, decades later, having blossomed into a mature and magnificent powerhouse of rationality, when I get stomach aches, I'm like Sherlock Holmes, man. I break the shit down. What did I eat? Was it those falafels? Was the meat bad? Am I allergic to meat? Did the waiter spit in my food? Was he a terrorist unleashing a biological attack on my person? I'm like those forensic fuckers on CSI. Very methodical. Very analytical. Shit, now when I have religious experiences I immediately retrace my steps, try to track down what series of events led me to this euphoric spiritual illumination. I investigate, gather information, and hypothesize, in a cool and detached manner. It was probably those blueberry waffles. They were heavenly."

Beau Sia - The Color of Scarves

your lyrics make it hard
to hear folk songs.

I am haunted by
what I remember of your hugs.

my hand misses
the bottom of your back,
where your ass begins.

who breaks up
with their soulmate?

we are in a movie.
we see the same moon
from different cities.

our emails are a tragedy-
they reveal our pride too well.

I can't escape
avoiding the places
you disapprove of.

I'm as lost as that last line.

you infect my poetry readings.
no one is allowed to have a crush on me.

I want to let go of you,
but the problem is
I already have.

quotes from the underground

"i want to write, but more than that, i want to bring out all kinds of things that lie buried deep in my heart."

- anne frank

the world is melting

i swear, i am losing my mind. i was in the shower when i saw adrian's orange bar of soap slip sideways off the holder, so i shot my hand out to catch it. i blinked and saw that it had not actually moved. the same thing happened in the gym with patrick's nalgene of water and in the dining hall with a shaker of salt.

i must be going crazy.

a classic

dream

i had a weird dream. i returned to spain after a five-year absence to find it incredibly military. a stadium that had been nearing completion when i last visited was still nearing completion. the sky was blue and cloudless, and we walked in military fatigues across the street from a barren andalucia desert to a hilly green field much like centennial park or tufts.

the coup

"There are two selves: the one who acts, and the 'I' who experiences. This latter is passive even in a whirlwind of the former's making, passive and guitless and astonished. The historical performer bearing the name of Ellelloû was no less mysterious to me than to the American press wherein he was never presented save snidely and wherein his fall was celebrated with a veritable minstrelsy of anti-Negro, anti-Arab cartoons; in the same spirit the beer-crazed mob of American boobs cheers on any autumnal Saturday or Sunday the crunched leg of the unhome-team left tackle as he is stretchered off the field. Ellelloû's body and career carried me here, there, and I never knew why, but submitted."

glory

the coup

"She was right, it is hard for a man to believe that his sexual power over a woman, however abused in its exercise, has diminished: as if we imagine that these our mysterious attractions travel in a frictionless ether, forever, instead of as they do, upon the rocky and obstructed ground of other human lives."