it's like so rare that i talk on the phone to anyone for more than two minutes. probably my difficulty with talking on the phone with certain people is well-documented but it's still hard to see the words kind of floating in space and then having to muster them into proper sentences with inflections and a linear model of rationality with grammatical bounds and yeah whatever, i just have a hard time talking on the phone at night kind of thing. :^) but it's like good to hear a voice especially a voice like lisa's, one which is engagingly critical and will rent the gaps in my logic to the highest bidder. aggh sentence mustering. but hmm...cibo matto in new york this saturday? not to mention, poughkeepsie on thursday? and poughkeepsie on saturday afterwards? and seoul? have to remember to make that fax...make sure that this experience is a free ride [through helllll]. but anyway i have this french paper due as always. quick - so the gap and the pendulum. question of trust which i think i lack to a sorry heartbreaking degree. just spreading the pain thin throughout your reseau...there are such such better options but i think i gave up. once knowing that, though; once having written that, i move up and on.

if you list enough things of your day it is a fairly representative mosaic. the question is, who looks at mosaics? but okay see look...
the last thing i really ate: cheeseburger at kcehbbq
the last movie i saw: requiem for a dream/trainspotting (because resnet likes themes)
the last show i went to: g. lovin! and the princes of babylon whooo
the last amazing event: dave catching g's harmonica
the last homoerotic massage partners: unnecessary right?
the last thing i said: byee

meanwhile though i'm glad i'll never have quite this much chance to mess everything up again. or worse, to watch myself mess things up again. to watch myself watch myself pretend to be doing homework while things get messed up. mess. very vayg but...i'm sure...there'll be another time when my freshman year story will becomes full fashionedly the song of a thousand already heard sorrows and joys. got your e-mail on my wall.

whoo just came back from opim 402 for the very last time and i'm psyched because i love taking naps in my 15 person class and i love the prospect of writing an english paper for a wharton class. library...books...no index cards...but fun... or just an annoyance. or maybe even retrofitted plagiarism. it all depends. so just have to apply this kind of freshfaced enthusiasm for the other weird shit (tests. other papers) i have to write. divert the shining path like i seem to be wanting to doish. either towards or away from me. you see the path diverge in the wood with the tree marked with your initials where you came 'round the first time. but by now you don't even remember how you carved them in. nor where you went afterwards. just practice smiling and remember the very seriously important way that everyone thinks of summer. recommended listens which are more or less obvious:

dashboard confessional age six racer
the sundays summertime
pushstars any little town
better than ezra at the stars
chad and jeremy a summer song

i want to make the effort and succeed just for once. went gymbiking today and now my knees are cold insistent stones of pain. the ones you see in gardens. one of the streamers above my desk has a kink in it. two of them. makes them look very 80s. it's hot outside and everyone metamorphoses. i just feel this incredible sense [right now] of startledness. fight or flight but actually, i'm just looking around. trying to see what might actually be happening.

wonder why or how people pretend to misunderstand. maybe what distracts and disgusts me most is this human tendance against instinct...reason.

just so i don't lose it again...this is for late nights.

i'm feeling pretty cavalier towards sleep right now, because i'm more caught up on it and because it's fling weekend. so i'm taking a thought-break from the everpresent architecture essay i'm writing, which is right about here:

"The terraced effect serves to physically extend the staircase further out towards the Parkway and in breaking up the continuity of steps, the dividing walls introduce a more obvious verticality to the stairway. The same is true for the smaller stairway leading directly to the museum’s portico, where again, larger ‘steps’ border the stairway proper. I think that the terracing and the vertical lines of the dividing walls renders the entire structure more inviting, and to highlight the movement of the stairway upwards towards the museum. At the same time, the terracing emphasizes the multiple vistas afforded by the museum’s elevation." crap yah!


opim 402 was actually fantastic today. professor katsenelinboigen stopped being irrelevant bless his pate and started just talking to us and luckily we all like to talk about aesthetics. the phenomenological approach. his definition of beauty is "that which contains a predisposition to future development"; i interpreted that as that which inspires further creation, or future thought or analysis. beauty being entirely subjective. marcel duchamp. the impressionists. still thinking 1) skill 2) the artist as interlocuter 3) creative spark. and how i'm losing english exponentially along w/ won b/c we dun read anymore-ah. but soon we'll all be waaaaasted maaaaan.

and like i missed dave eggers today and would probably have missed him on any other day just like i missed arab strap and magnetic fields. DEFINitely cibo matto though. [crossing fingers]. i'm not doing enough. but i get it. hanseul's coming tomorrow post-ben harper. mmmmhm!

a simple outline of superlative events, starting backwards me-mento.
eat lots of pre-frosh pizza, talk with chris for a humbling and articulate amount of time, go to pma w/ v to take pictures of the stairway and end up looking at everything including a teahouse bathed in the most daylike light ever, find a surprising concert in perelman quad as well as meat on bread, play beautiful music with the cassatt quartet's violinist, clare, and josh (being pleasantly surprised by haydn is one of the best surprises ever. and time-warping through shostakovich 7...mmm.) fall asleep in some classes. learn about villas, the best form of building ever. think a lot about expected value and its expected value in my expected life. will my work have more to do with E(V) or with swirl raisin bread?

relevant conversation topics: always always ethnicity and the mona connect.
i'm so tired and i wish i could show someone the way. but marshalling my forces for the last battle. i want to go home...

yes. sleep...which makes me, at least temporarily, a better and more intelligent person. the sleep jiawei and i indulge in at these rare hours in the week must be good because we keep doing it! usually one of us collapses clothes first into bed after some really crusty day's and night's events (reinstalling alll computer software...not getting sleep for nights and nights) and then maybe the other will gratefully follow. one of the reasons why it's cool that we sleep all L-shaped, other than the instant sectional sofa feel. but meanwhile it drives you to do work. as i am now driven to do work. of the productive kind. [yawning and crackling neck unattractively]. yes. in the lounge, where my pb and j are. check out new pictures to see how interesting i look now! because i can't think of any other way to tell a story these days.

i feel gross, let's try sleeping this one off.

murakami haruki and raymond carver, wow!

what's the movie where the boy tells the girl "we're not a mistake!"
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i just thought of it, which is good b/c i'm sure no one else has seen this terrible movie: music from another room, starring jude law and meg tilly and gretchen mol and blah blah blah. pretty bad movie but good moment. and jude does the best against unsurmountable odds.

my throat is all coated with nestea cool sucrose syrup and i feel strangely hungry. for. yeah. eep!

one of my best and most resounding memories is of cori[ander] nylund-southern, the girl counselor at summer scholars '99 (bard, social psychology) telling alexis and me that she HAD been going out with andrew, the male counselor, that whole time. she wrote it on the back of my jude law poster. in this new world where people don't think i'm smart it's good to hang onto the small things. :^) as if they were all that mattered. to a midget. in a small world. doh! meanwhile, my hair's pretty/much/very/short but in a creme puff way which belies chic sleekness in favor of a more airy, fattening look. i should've brought my waxes and unguents from home, but in the meantime i think the hair will stay fluffy out of necessity. if i slick it up and out it looks very hedgehoggy which can be satisfying when i'm already in a good mood. and what else?

if you're in the philly area, come to the penn chamber music society's april 12th spring recital! it will include works by ravel, brahms, schubert, and turina. i think veronica, katy and i will be dressed smashingly. but meanwhile, i don't really have anyone to go to see arab strap or the magnetic fields with. which makes me sad. my friends are for once not the people with whom i share deep-seated...music tastes. teehee. so if i don't go alone, then maybe i should go home, instead, this weekend. then aGAIN it's easter. and who wants to go to church on...oh man. this is leading down a bad road. i'll just list my proposed schedule for next sem:

french 211 (french for professions)
finance 100 (corporate finance)
marketing 101 (introduction to marketing)
accounting 101 (principles of accounting)
classical studies 365 (homer and joyce)

so, what? the reader may say, peering through sleep-weary eyes at the glow of the computer screen. i don't know. i could've taken another wharton class if i knew what i were planning to concentrate in. i could've taken a fine arts class if i knew what i were planning to concentrate in. i could've taken another college class if i knew what i were going to minor in. clearly, a lack of vision (muahahaha) hinders my step. and as stephen crane would say had he gone to wharton, "fuck it, i'm gonna go eat some more frozen yogurt".

weekendly leitmotifs (number of discrete references): fresh and minty (3). ani difranco (4). p.g. wodehouse (3).

seemingly, now, it's always this time at night, with just vignettes of warmth and daylight to mark it off. today i saw the video for rem's song "imitation of life" and it's like an archetypal rem song so good and to stand up for. i think that yes, a haircut is due. not just any haircut. a rebirth haircut. a phoenix haircut :^) to remind me of what i need to remember about myself and why i don't have any hair. also b/c it's gotten really warm out and beautiful and i want to look like the next oilily catalog superstar. the things that i worry about are like those cake windows. spinning and spinning, luminous and whipped icings and something new to fixate on from just afar. something you know you'll take a big bite out of, soon. at the same time you know how to bake, and wonder whether something better could be arranged. which reminds me, pcms bake sale tomorrow!

italicized fonts and the faked intimacy therein. i would read a paper about the use of italics in english literature and the typographic impli/explications. leaning in for the kill. i'm so impatient and i'm so discrete and i'm so not quite coagulated just yet. just waiting...and that's the worst. i'm on the bitchery slope right now. full of dead glare and supercilion. internal revulsion. teeth sucking. crraaaaaaaap yo. you know what it's like. from me, that is. "i wish i shared your enthusiasm" kinda thing. and mum's right, i do have an allergy to stress.

i realized that i picked my aim screenname because of a random comment my father once made about jil sander. arab strap's coming here on the 10th. if you're reading this, you've probably visited my room [P(x>=room visited 1) = 0.56] so um when i start not talking... well whatever. it can't be me that's doing something wrong...i think from now on, my new domain is the back table at eh library. that's me trying to be blunt about all the wrong things. this personality that i borrowed. or that people threw at me when i looked up from the paper.

i have a ppmt midterm tomorrow which, for my ego's sake but more importantly the sake of my transcript and many future transcripts, i must ACE. that's the GOAL i'm setting for myself. shooting for the stars and landing on the moon. there IS no I in ppmt. tomorrow, gig at the ICA for which i will miss the two classes that are relevant in my schedule. oops. but money. and money = ? oh damn. oh crazy will, your buddha's delight has inspired me. if i were buddha i'd skip mad classes and be in the kitchen. a lot. oh yeah. new beautiful boy that smiled profusely at me at the sundance meeting. um. i hate being in love with "half of u penn". blunt about all the wrong things.
* * *
can you run away from school? if your name's not...

excerpt from this! i mean i know, but yeah.
The thing is, I really like saying yes. I like new things, projects, plans, getting people together and doing something, trying something, even when it's corny or stupid. I am not good at saying no. And I do not get along with people who say no. When you die, and it really could be this afternoon, under the same bus wheels I'll stick my head if need be, you will not be happy about having said no. You will be kicking your ass about all the no's you've said. No to that opportunity, or no to that trip to Nova Scotia or no to that night out, or no to that project or no to that person who wants to be naked with you but you worry about what your friends will say.

No is for wimps. No is for pussies. No is to live small and embittered, cherishing the opportunities you missed because they might have sent the wrong message.

There is a point in one's life when one cares about selling out and not selling out. One worries whether or not wearing a certain shirt means that they are behind the curve or ahead of it, or that having certain music in one's collection means that they are impressive, or unimpressive.

Thankfully, for some, this all passes. I am here to tell you that I have, a few years ago, found my way out of that thicket of comparison and relentless suspicion and judgment. And it is a nice feeling. Because, in the end, no one will ever give a shit who has kept shit 'real' except the two or three people, sitting in their apartments, bitter and self-devouring, who take it upon themselves to wonder about such things. The keeping real of shit matters to some people, but it does not matter to me. It's fashion, and I don't like fashion, because fashion does not matter.

What matters is that you do good work. What matters is that you produce things that are true and will stand. What matters is that the Flaming Lips's new album is ravishing and I've listened to it a thousand times already, sometimes for days on end, and it enriches me and makes me want to save people. What matters is that it will stand forever, long after any narrow-hearted curmudgeons have forgotten their appearance on goddamn 90210. What matters is not the perception, nor the fashion, not who's up and who's down, but what someone has done and if they meant it. What matters is that you want to see and make and do, on as grand a scale as you want, regardless of what the tiny voices of tiny people say. Do not be critics, you people, I beg you. I was a critic and I wish I could take it all back because it came from a smelly and ignorant place in me, and spoke with a voice that was all rage and envy. Do not dismiss a book until you have written one, and do not dismiss a movie until you have made one, and do not dismiss a person until you have met them. It is a fuckload of work to be open-minded and generous and understanding and forgiving and accepting, but Christ, that is what matters. What matters is saying yes.

I say yes, and Wayne Coyne says yes, and if that makes us the enemy, then good, good, good. We are evil people because we want to live and do things. We are on the wrong side because we should be home, calculating which move would be the least damaging to our downtown reputations. But I say yes because I am curious. I want to see things. I say yes when my high school friend tells me to come out because he's hanging with Puffy. A real story, that. I say yes when Hollywood says they'll give me enough money to publish a hundred different books, or send twenty kids through college. Saying no is so fucking boring.

And if anyone wants to hurt me for that, or dismiss me for that, for saying yes, I say Oh do it, do it you motherfuckers, finally, finally, finally.

it's late minus one hour. today was veiuhd because i saw a girl hit by a car, sprawled out on chestnut street who screamed when the medics put her on a backboard. i have this french paper i'm writing. everyone came back from d.c. today. i had a ppmt problem set due. nishad is a very poor ursine ventriloquist. i still have this french paper to write. but somehow...i'm seeing what my friends do.

something might have started the second day of my second year at CTY, when the rounds 3 girls trooped into the writing 2b classroom and there was alissa nelson, wearing a g. love and special sauce tank top. and maybe it will come to an end when i go to the show in a month. or maybe it will just be part 2 in a 9 part series. we were laughing yesterday because it's ivy week; but for the younger patrons, it's the time for students like my brother to begin crafting and tweaking their cadre of summers. in preparation for such a week. we remember CTY, we remember simon's rock college at bard. the armand hammer world colleges. telluride. all spent, now. anand said he wishes he'd spent a summer playing baseball. we can always pretend. as i sit here, indentured to the idea of staying home and doing work in the aloof mindspace, instead of going to the sakura festival. of course, regret. of course...i should go pick up my package now, i think. i'll get dressed.
* * *
you can find my page on google by ignobly typing in "sex young boy pictures". thanks guys. you might know me from such hours as "the hour to feel awake --> go smoke on the kc3 balcony, then drink a 16 oz of coffee, and feel terribly sick and go to bed for two hours". or the "dream about kimchi and wake up hour." man. the french essay that i will hew and plane lovingly for the next day is already freshly timbered. and it's lying on my HEAD.
"shit talking, shit talking" -member of bonito madrid's rat army, re petra arkanian, ender's game
"what do you want from me?!" -jennifer love hewitt, i know what you did last summer trailer/movie
ecclesiastes guys, it's old test don't worry.