while you are reading this, you are not the same person you were before reading this

yes... i keep changing my posts... seems that whatever i am thinking in the mornings is always different from where i find myself in the evenings... night time has strange way of shifting form and shape, patterns move until the quintessential shadow is only visible in total darkness. there's something about the handicap of sight that illuminates everything. besides i like not having set 'absolute articles' (which like ART is such a pillar-ed capital ISM word). i hate all derivatives of Absolute Art. what an inflexible notion, a totality of finality, an embodiment of human ugliness... especially when there's no such thing as pillars of thought...when all we write about is really just words and ideas caught in transit... shadows moving in a perpetual stream of consciousness, hesitantly and briefly caught in lighted fragments on white paper...

tonight i went to the jonathan safran foer book reading/signing. nice guy. but pete hamill didn't shut up about the dodgers... guess nostalgia is really just an endless mental run-on...and once started the listener is stuck on an awkward treadmill of misplaced memory. still despite my lack of interest i attempt to respect the age of old eyes, and sit still quietly, flowing with my directionless thoughts and shadows, making small doodled maps all over my marble legs.

besides for my observations on subconscious flirting- i think of my recent exciting news (5pm to be exact). finally, my education research project has been approved by The Panel. i am relieved...i won't bore myself or you with details, but there's a chance, if successful, for APA publication and landing a position in a good Ph.D program. thrilling news for a research geek... a research geek who celebrates paper with more paper. but right now its hard to move or get too excited with the notion of more paper in my papered life when i am occupied with making neat little rows of desks on my calf.

in this apparent happiness of what should be considered a very monumental moment [and i am being told to be happy]... I am shrouded in the quiet, the drone of Pete Hamill's monotone exulting the F train and the hum of a 1950 treadmill running in the distance to some unknown direction.... I alone spin the spoon of my soggy luke-warm tomato soup, creating a vortex with a curious solar system from bits of green peppers and plastic onions. With effort the metal hits the bottom of my ceramic mug echoing a taste of acute hollowness.

"I thought about life, about my life, the embarrassments, the little coincidences, the shadows of alarm clocks on bedside tables. I thought about my small victories and everything I'd seen destroyed, I'd swum through mink coats on my parents' bed while they hosted downstairs, I'd lost the only person I could have spent my only life with, I'd left behind a thousand tons of marble, I could have released sculptures, I could have released myself from the marble of myself. I'd experienced joy, but not nearly enough, could there be enough? The end of suffering does not justify the suffering, and so there is no end to suffering, what a mess I am, I thought, what a fool, how foolish, how narrow, how worthless, how pinched and pathetic, how helpless."

-from Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close