you're a beautiful son.

the canterbury tales is another favorite of mine, just three tales & one prologue in. last week, joao sent a colorful drawing of me through campus mail. i am wearing a hat and my nickname is the charlie angel. i laughed for at least one minute before i tucked it away. sophomore year is fine and mellow. cameron healy is now across the country in san francisco. we have untouchable dialogue and i ain't never met anyone besides he who likes puns as much as i do. san fran is an open invitation, he says, but. but i am saving all my money to go to sweden or oxford.

apollonius and appogiaturas tugging at my ear. BYE.

&&





my two favorite boys.

i'm in love.

semen stains the mountaintop, semen stains the mountaintop.

god, paper, holy water, boy. tell me something good.

goddamn, son. smell the glove.

carrot cake & aristotle & bad penis jokes are so good. i am attempting to be a good little aristoltiliean and being at work, staying myself. school is fine & mellow, lots of snark & pascal & plato. and oh! i'm going to chicago this spring break with my best friend. two whole weeks in slothwurm city. i detect goofy adventures & strangers with candy. possibly a little gretch the leech action, if we can find each other. tally ho, chief!



i'm into rounds & plainsongs these days. total chill blade skating down my spine. when we remember thee, remember thee O zion.

me: stella, stella was a diver & she's always down.
greg: Why does that sound familiar?
me: interpol.
greg: Ack.
greg: I hate it when I say things that reveal my lurking familiarity with art fagginess.

in other news. i've got german, red wooden cherries & a copy of aeschylus's oresteia. the cackling from curb your enthusiasm & strangers with candy with one ambivalent & suspiciously attractive m. leblanc, until recently; i wish to hold out for you, dear boy, someday. to remember: hollywood mike cut his hair, vanilla ice-style. also, Christmas is every month from now on; an excuse for cheap beer& awkward gropings. ain't having none of that. there are fancy cigarettes, euclid, dubliners & theophrastus insanity. also, suicide club, sailboats and colourful, outrageous youths imbeded with anti-straussian beliefs, shitdang! fuck elitism & pretentious left right wing broken wings. drinkin' grape juice, sitting in the sun& reading all day, i am. occassionally, a pretty/fascinating boy or girl will come my way & i become seduced by our quickly fading youth. random things. holding on to it. college feels so good.

alison is cross examining her pizza while andy makes like a platypus and tries to eat kaitlin. note the perturbed look on kaitling's face.

kaitlin in peaces, while i glower at the camera & pete contemplates the mystery of the holy trinity.

YOUTH in ASIA. when do fish sleep? i'm going to the library to-day. i still think i'm totally awesome & you should, too. jerks.

things not posted here:

cutthroat blues & hiding out, really. innately creepy myspace madness & reluctant college contact. luke & kaitlin as the best people ever. extended envelopes & scrambled letters. bought red glasses, shortcake, cheap blackberry wine. library bits, cynical pomes. an oral history of chernobyl right by my bedside. and to-morrow, fashion show hooplah & dino frenzy. pictures pending.

these old& sunny days. we drove to my omi last weekend, cheap martha's vineyard souveniers and delicious com chien abound. rapid fire viet & chinese that no longer goes over my head...this time round, i actually try to understand it all. it's important to know & remember where you came from. i myself flitted between southern comfort & awkward asian as a child, sans southern accent & lots of californian valley girl. i used to say hella a lot, oh to be that thirteen & impressionable, never again. these days, we laugh at suburban gangsters and carefully made up blondes, suspicious scenesters and awkward goth kids. it's strange. to dismiss all indie & teenybop culture is so easy, willing victims dressed in fake vintage & pre requisite iPod, flannel, bling, black lace, et cetera. all that motherfucking subgenre mumbo jumbo, edge & validated supremacy. though i can't help but empathise; it's important to know where you belong, after all. to be an individual is to be nameless. in the end, you come back somewhere, deep inside, where you know you'll feel appropriate & appreciated. we all try to manipulate others into our own personal theatre. it's only natural; we all get wrinkles. we all get lonely. the old idiopathic snobbery in me, right, where is my humility. some things just can't be helped.

CALS & bookshelving (oh, those lovely 800s), blackberry tea, excessive reading, KAITLIN! SAM! BARRY TAPES!, distant-night letter writing, the slow fade of love & red silk bathrobes. apparently i have a pretty smile. america is ultra maximum wild weird homely, though superlatives are hard to access in this messy river of one way streets & false prices. clogged resources & all that. swim kid swim.

amber jackson you are beautiful, quit yr whining!

so it's friday night on the north avenue. the lights blur something spectacular but please, just shut up about literary theory & deconstruction; please, just shut up about other people's sex lives. only desire is fancy cigarettes & a russian gangster to teach me cyrillic & sexy swear words. european explatives are hard to come by in southern comfort, although i find consolation in language books & witty companions. dip me in degeneration, regale me with stories about those damned art kids & crayola adventures. we'll never be this young again.

does it make me an awful person when i keep HOPING that every single secret enemy i may run into will turn out to be FAT? my goal in Life: read great books, write great stories, do lots of humanitarian work & reduce shitty, cocksure men to weeping goddamned women after i take all their money & run. Life studies, shitdang.

!! well the high school kids they're all fucked up; touching each other, oh my god. yeah, 40 ounces was never enough, we wanna pass out in your yard, we wanna pass out dressing in drag, your best friends clothes while boys kiss boys in hotel rooms. oh and just when we thought we were no longer lost, they kicked us out into the dirty streets of atlantaaaaah !!

i feel so alive. and i want to fuck it up.

dead. un-add me if you want.

87069347589374052

warum kann ich nicht (gute) schreiben? was soll ich jetzt tun?

it is terrible to know that we as a collective people refuse to understand or think about the importance of humility. you know, kokoro. the heart of things, the heart of tomoko in her bath.

morning came, and i tried not to notice.

my face is ugly, but rum makes it all better.

sixth story berlin apartment, bars, sekt, cheap russian beer. my feet get tired but i'm good.

S E X ! S E X ! S E X ! S E X ! S E X !

now that i've gotten your attention,

If you read this,

Even if I don't speak to you often,

You must post a memory of me.

It can be anything you want, it can be good or bad,

Just so long as it happened.

Then post this to your journal. See what people remember about you.

comment to be added.

( geh zur hölle! )

CONGRATULATIONS, JOHNREBECCA&LITTLESOPHIAVIOLET!

post anything you want about me anonymously.
a confession/story/fear/whatever you want.
you can even confess your burning hatred/undying love for me.

and i'll try to guess who you are.

i'm not looking forward to köln in januar. do i really want to surround myself with a bunch of self-serving, ego-tripping schlampes und arschloche who talk so much shit they should have gotten tapeworm long, long ago? ne, i say. ne. machen fett, bitches.

speaking of schlampes. people, i have to know. do i have a slutty face? 'it's not really a slutty face. you just look like the kind of person who could seduce men & take all their money.' echt?

there was a package of white bread on the stairs when i walked in my host house to-night. lights turned out, television on the edge of monotone slumber. i think real loaves of bread are truly poetic.

the point is, my host mother & i once woke up at two AM to see a real, german bakery in action. i took pictures and lusted after little bread-feet. i wore my bitch shoes and slipped around the flour dusts. the workers were very friendly but i was afraid of being burned. we left at four & i collapsed into bed and went to paris seventy-two hours later.

okay. the point is, i have never had the guts to write anything significant or important. i am too wrapped up in jealousy and literary devices to make a poignent move. i need to write letters, but i am just a deadbeat father showing up when my guilt complex becomes too overwhelming or when i want to wheedle my way out of child support. the latter is an accurate analogy. i hate being poor.

a glaucoma night. there was thick fog and a walk along streets devoid of understanding. fights with myself and my melancholy. i smell like chinese food and loneliness. i will bathe vigorously to-morrow.

the point is. i am scared of cliches and distance and teenaged angst and being poor in germany. i gave twenty euros & bought chapstick & taschen tissue to linda to-night because she has absolut kein geld in her bank account. i wish my mother were not so uptight about money.

i feel really bad right now. i hate being asian here. that's the point.

no czech republik this weekend. maybe later.

last night:
saw a boy get jostled by a tram last night. after, white russian deliciousness &chinese food. made men giggle with my slight polite smile. linda flipped off a bunch of drunk german girls & then almost got hit by an incoming tram. apertifs & rice over a discussion of (what i think is) my schlampfe face. linda claims it's only an air of seductiveness, but either way, it is not helping me get any. not that i want some. ice hockey game excitement & laughing at a cute army boy (oh, the berets) jerk his head (so to speak) back and forth to really bad techno. written all over his bag were such Life-affirming maxims as, 'techno rulez!' and 'MOTHER FOCHING TECHNO' (or something equally laughable). i love germany.

& hey! fifty euros to & from amsterdam. i hope this all works out, oh bitte bitte. my Life is a series of strange mishaps & desperate grovelling.

i am so unbelievably angry right now. but that's not the point. the point is, i had a wonderful weekend, & made men giggle like schoolgirls. which made me angry. among other things.

shut up.

the season's ill & my mind is not right. trying to figure out the sum of all things, you know, but, well. always mix the numbers up or align the formulas incorrectly. induce deficit self-spending. i've lost many good parts of my demeanour; the expunging of humility, i guess. cigarettes shake out nerves, dusts the body with calm. sauber machen. klar, klar.

i didn't have to 'write' a test to-day in physik so i am hiding in a library. after, i will parliament my way through the train ride & attempt at lost girl lese.

simon's ex-girlfriend gave me a dirty look this morning. i didn't know she was his ex until two hours later. first impressions aren't everything--i was only wanting to know if he&she wanted to go to amsterdam with us in january. why are pretty girls so mean? incidentally, he asked me again what i am doing this weekend. perhaps i will go to arm this friday after all. maybe. probably not.

achtung: it is hard not to be embarassing when you are an ausländerin, especially in germany. i am getting lamer&lamer everyday, & felt bright red and terribly ugly this afternoon. i got kicked out of the computer lab because i was unaware of a class being held there before it was too late. sometimes i wonder why i still go to school, but then i remember, as supersarah once ganz richtige wrote, that even the germans need something to laugh at. though i loaned simon my portishead cds this morning which makes me feel good, and christina might come to amsterdam with me&linda, which makes me feel even better. german leute sind nicht so schlimm, manchmal.

to-night we are drinking glühwine & watching german 'big brother.' glühwine is rum&fruit juice aged to-gether, and consumed only during the holiday season. my host mother also baked the most delicious cookies i have ever eaten in my Life, and there will be a plate of that also. i cannot keep my hands off them, but i can't care about weighty matters when it comes to sensational sensations. i'm ready to do battle with the lipids, bitches.