it seems increasingly to me that the route to any goal, the path to any end, is simply in the passage of time. clearly, one must sustain oneself in the moment, but recognizing the moment seems synonymous with recognizing the passage of time, and for me, it is concurrent with a running consciousness of my personal growth.

that said, halloween found me knocked up (false) and dancing my ass off (genuine).



i am young and fierce and unnecessary.
it is a good night.

velvet

this dog is one of my best friends in the history of best friends. it's amazing what kind of allegiance i can get just by scratching somebody's butt every time i go for a run.

i like the way she sticks on film maybe even more than chris, maybe more than kipp.

seriously, though, i can't afford this hobby.

outer space

chris and i are having a standoff with a vending machine. it is staring at us like an astronaut freshly touched down on the planet earth. we have one dollar and twenty five cents between the two of us. one dollar and twenty five cents can get you one orange package of recess pieces that contains three individual candies.

"we can split it," i say, "because we are diplomatic."
"i can have the bigger half," he replies, "because i am a man."
"i can have the bigger half," i say, "because i am menstruating."

it is like the most unnecessary beheading scene in a b-level movie. he leans against the astronaut for support. it purrs lovingly at him. i get the bigger half.

"this is for your vagina," he says.

all our heads fall off.

i am going to go broke taking half-assed photos of everyday household objects.

last night, i dreamed i had dinner with experimental embryos. a girl at the southeast corner of the table had a hard time articulating her thoughts; the scientist some seats to the north hypothesized that this difficulty could be attributed to how the girl's mother had been starved during the earlier embryonic stages.

"i have an i.q. of 174," i said. "my mother ate a lot."

it was supposed to be funny, and all i got were piteous daggers from the girl at the southeast corner.

i think i'm in love with my car

the laundromat is next door to the video rental place. i rent all four disks of the second season of the l-word. this choice is not made on account of my self-respect, my need to fill spare time, or my riotously large daily budget. it's a mediocre show full of fantastic sex scenes. and that is cue enough for me. even though i can't necessarily afford it.

everything is money. loses money, gets money, is somebody else's money. (exhibit a: the christian kid's free food table on mondays at 11am.)

time is money. laundry is time, and money. i hold off doing laundry for much longer than an all-american daddy's girl should. i bide my time. i am an all-american daddy's stinky son. i do my laundry. i spend my money.

money is time. my time is underfunded, overpaid. i wish my students practiced more. i want to say, you are like buying stocks. you could be a waste of money. you could be one hell of a brilliant, mortgage-paying machine of an investment. you could make the news.

money is news, news is money. all the newspapers talk about money. money is written down everywhere but it's not moving.

i, for one, am having a hard time keeping my spare change in my pocket. in may, i will starve, oh, in may, i shall starve. like a dried up pen.

my downstairs neighbor
is slamming poetry onto the ceiling
like flapjacks

we are alone
in identical bedrooms

the rain sounds
like leaves whispering
like children in a theatre