too much reading all at once.

i feel like i could go mad. what is it? the quietness of the middle of the night, the slight buzzing in my ear, the sharp pain in my chest/stomach/and lower back, the empty coldness of my bedroom - no heater, double layers, alone? the long day of reading, reading, reading? reading into the night? the difficult stories i am reading, the heavy theory i am ingesting? what is it? the distance from tucson, arizona and all that i left there? i just have to pause and take a deep breath and tomorrow will come.

time for bed

i hate to say it, but i'd almost rather not skype
almost rather not hear your voice
think of your thoughts
keep track of your sleep schedule
because pretending that you aren't so far away is certainly much easier than realizing you are.

notice of fall 2010 admission

"Congratulations! You have been admitted to the MASTER OF ARTS - WOMEN AND GENDER STUDIES program which is among the most competitive in the California State University system."

happy day.

coffee

coffee against my lips
it's cold by now but i still drink it
and the mug tips,
a little bit
slips
out the side of my mouth as i sip,
eyes looking past the mug onto my feminist lit--
coffee tear drops drip
and stain the polemic.

no energy for hostility right now.

Rachel G**** giving books to prisoners is the most ridiculous cause ive ever seen. why don't we worry about the children that can't afford books before we worry about prisoners who have forfeited their rights. criminals chose their circumstances while did not.

Jordon Br********** im sorry i dont see a point to sending books to a prisoners. why are you so interested in this

may a tragedy r.i.p.

rest in peace connor redd. and i am struck by all of these photos of you on facebook. i go through them and i see you and i am brought instantly to roland barthes' philosophies in camera lucida:

"by giving me the absolute past of the pose (aorist), the photograph tells me death in the future. what pricks me is the discovery of this equivalence. in front of the photograph of my mother as a child, i tell myself: she is going to die: i shudder, like winnicott’s psychotic patient, over a catastrophe which has already occurred. whether or not the subject is already dead, every photograph is this catastrophe."

worn

feeling so
worn,
so worn down.
ragged, dry, heavy.