i am in his top 8!

they're still doing leech therapy. they advise it be done when there is 'vascular congestion' much like what he had on his bloated buttocks that force him to lay only on his stomach. his wife, equipped with black latex gloves, pocked at the writhing bodies on ice with scissors telling me to pick out the dead ones. 'sometimes, they get as big as your thumb,' she tells me. he maintains good humor despite the revolving door of alien bodies curious to see the hungry blackness feeding on his blood like he was a performance to be admired. he says that he should charge everyone $5 but what is it like to have a body that everyone wants to marvel in disgust at. who wants to fuck 'vascular congestion'?

the fall season.

i'm cumming all over my pants. en octubre, voy a estar un 'harlequin.' yo.

the re-ingratiation of self into the familiar academic rhythm

i feel good about this semester. i am not feeling that same oppressive weight on my heads and shoulders that i always do when i neglect reading about nursing bedside skills in order to read books about sexuality (though now my leisurely interest has now turned to linguistics and instinctual human communication networks.) i am craving hallucinogenic nights where i have my regular sightings of webs and systems and i feel fear and have meaningful conversations with inanimate objects. this should be in my near-future.

they're telling me that our numbers are falling. that they have been falling since seattle. there have been hopes that st. paul 2008 would be akin to seattle. fear and dehumanization are their real tools and it is working a little bit on me but i can't say i feel hopeless. i just know that i want to keep fighting.

and as i do this, i will continue perusing for ridiculous looking shoes to adorn my feet and ruffles on coats in preparation for the biting cold that will greet me in a month or two.

resocialization of self away from the computer screen.

broken laptop// smashed software and now all i have is a blue screen that talks to me about memory dumps and i just wonder about my photographs. trying to occupy my mind with things that do not have phallases and live six hours away and don't call me. things like public health and mothers having babies and the neuroimaging of human aesthetics and that freshmen year paper i scrambily wrote about the biological basis of human emotion - this was conducted back when i believed in the false gender dichotomy and wanted to validate my rollercoaster emotions by attributing it to something as elitist as 'science.' kompakt record label and my sick love for micro-house and wondering if i flowered a decade or so too late. it's hard for me to believe that one could not crave intimacy the way i do and it's equally as difficult for me to accept this because all i care about are my relationships with people, substances, my body, communities.

why i cannot deny this love of the interweb

i've always been horrid with being up-to-date in internetland. speaking of all things horrid, my pool of of english vocabulary words, cliches, and idioms that i regularly pull from has markedly decreased as my skill in the spanish language has increased. my perfect track record of spelling all words correctly is starting to show some blemishes. i'd like to think that my personal cerebral area that governs languages would have say ... infinite space, but it does not seem so.

my relationship with internetland is cautious at best. i have made some beautiful writings that i had posted back when livejournal was more alive than it is now that i am quite proud of. as i packed my bags this summer to oaxaca, i made the off-hand comment that maybe i could start blogging about my experience. i recieved a 'tsk' response. within my motley crew of anti capitalists, one can only authentically impart their wisdom through paper then send it circulating through the hands of friends to friends-of-friends. then the real badge of honor will come when the zine is displayed in some local infoshop.

as someone who has experienced the full extent of alienation and isolation (and am aware of the cop out 'i am only a product of my socialization waah waah waah and that what is important is to first, realize this, before setting about to resocialize myself) and someone who had JUST become comfortable walking into my own local infoshop, the internet was my free literature. now that my comfort threshold has reestablished itself, and i have been happily introduced to a whole host of literature and information that i can't wait to gobble up, i just want to give tribute to those who do put the time and effort to post writings on the internet. it may be seen as less authentic but it may reach other people who were like me in their young'un dayz.

spring break 2008

fly out saturday. march 8, 2008 @ noon
guatemala here i come! poot!

my heart just turned into a fuzzy lil bunny.