Having reason to cry every time I'm home makes me feel less at home. I am not capable of what they're asking. No one is.

I am not obligated...
(or at least that's what I keep telling myself). Longing for providence.


from my first mini black book:

Seeing her disappointed enlightens me, perhaps in a less than inspirational sense. More so I understand why. I want to protect her from days like this, moments she can't control. How primitive a notion; how modern a recognition. I simply want to embrace and reassure her with a pleasant, satisfied grin that she is a wonderful person, an excellent human being.

Fighting emotion and rationality. Am I really fighting?


The walls change, but my surroundings don't--friends above, below and beside. How humbled, I was, packing the contents of my empirical being into a blue van. Everything important enough to me to make the trip from New Hall 4, Woods 109, Woods 503 and Chateau fits above, below or beside a stained, probably torn, blue seat. It took two people less than fifteen minutes to empty my blue van, each carrying a box or stuffed animal above, below or beside their waist. To the powers that be, whether above, below or beside me, thanks. And should those powers happen to live with me--or if man is an end in himself--I shan't be blue.


Recent reports are wrong; I'm not dead. Despite a valiant effort from those who wish otherwise, I am neither currently nor have I ever been deceased. My extended vacation was due, in large part, to my inability--perhaps "lack of motivation" works better--to finish a research paper. (Regardless, the professor deemed my procrastinated work worthy of a 95 percent.) Be warned, avid readers; I am once again ready to present you with my nonsensical run-on paragraphs, vague stream-of-consciousness reflections and general office-chair-philosophy.


A Faulknerian Analysis: Part 3 of 10

A case study in sensitivity, you are unassuming and unabashed, conflicting, but not contradictory, traits that make seem rather timid--yet few note your sincerity dangling playfully from your sleeve--or, perhaps, afraid, but you are neither fearful nor brave since both require something you have yet to learn (not that you're unwilling or unable) or even understand: both require the same motivation, the same willingness to suspend belief in a reality based on the rational and the same intrapersonal response.