i wish that i could make a post about first songs on albums. but i can't.

i really can't.

and that might, honestly, be the only thing that i had holding me here.

I've been carefully reading A Guide to the Ecology and Care of the Red Mangrove and thinking about that dream I had last night about being devoured by rats. I'm worried about starving to death, and if there'll ever be a day in my life where I wouldn't rather die than shovel any more food into my system. This morning the motorcycle was laying on its side in the parking lot, as if it'd just gotten tired. Like me. And gave up to lie in the snow, cold as it is, and wait for someone to set it up right. Again. I've been dreaming of Her in that beautiful white gown and wondering what her flowers will smell like in her dreams afterward. And wondering if the smell of coffee, now, might make you dream of me -- locked up in the pages of pulpy American fiction.

I'm off now. To think about you both. To send my love off into your far away worlds twisted somehow into these cold middle western winds. To wait in a line to renew a license to run away on the roads where I'm, still, too afraid to ride.

salt me you-ward!! not for slippery the feet go on the icy asphalt. crunch. smunch. and the tetter-tap. no, no. the salt goes. and me and you go. table sit. hmm. to the tongue dance and mash. me-nash the teeth food-ward and go icky in the tummy sack. glub glub. belly me up, pretty pleaseo. and mine pearlies munch on your itty bitty chin hairs. nibble mouselike on cheese. to squee your neck and palm knot your jumper. stripe me up. bed sheets and knee socks. go go go to purr the whirr and sleep me hard cold afternoons.

Hello. Can one of you find me a job, please? Preferably near you, so that we could get coffee or lunch or meet up at the pub fairly regularly. And we could make jokes about meeting on the Internet (but not when other people are around). And I could mooch off of you until I got on my feet.

'Cause that'd be great.

I'm not really qualified to do much of anything. But I'm fairly cute. And I can pass for smart, if I try hard enough. And soon I'll have an advanced degree (fingers crossed) specializing in twentieth-century American literature -- ethnic and working class fiction, violence, oppression, spatial theory, cultural and digital technology. I could even furnish a CV upon request, and relocation to another country is, well, no problem.

Thanks a million.

You can email any leads to: dog_gerel (at) hotmail.com

just made a post about discovering that my underpants are on inside out.

but then, i didn't.

but now, i think i may have.

oh dear.

for the sigh.


maybe i've figured it out. put the pin at the right spot and pushed hard enough until it hit. something. anything. a nerve. the bottom. the fact there is no bottom and that everything is infinite and those dreams i've been having about pete whispering to me spinoza are real. there's no passion. anymore. i don't argue with myself until words spill out into late night crap poetry. or emailed love letters. or strange drunken phone messages i always regretted. the fact that i might be buying into some neither/norism drives me insane. this one will stay. and that one will leave. and probably the pain won't feel worth it. because when you turn yourself into animals, there's always a little less character. left. i don't feel passionate about anything. or anyone. maybe it's just like sleep. i've already had my fill.

yesterday the world changed. and i've decided i'm not going to turn into a raving woman with bad hair and teeth and too many men on her mind. i'm going to take my boyfriend to middle eastern food and eat with my hands. and allow myself to feel happy.

here's something that i don't understand: why people were so crazy about the movie little miss sunshine. don't get me wrong. it isn't as though i failed to understand the film. i mean. i got it. proust. nietzsche. all the levels of dysfunction. the pageant. my work is to analyze and write about 20th century fiction. so, it's not as though i couldn't see what the film was doing. and i thought it was a fine movie. but it was clunky. it was like having a conversation with a name dropper. here's a big issue: blob: here's another one: blob. there just wasn't enough development of anything to make it very interesting, for me. maybe it was a bit confused about whether it wanted to be a comedy, or a black comedy, or a drama--making it not a very good attempt at any of those things. i'm sure everyone of you out there loved it. but i just don't understand the buzz. for me, the attention its receiving is like crash. no one can tell me that's a good film. it suffers from speaking from the same pathetic dominant perspective that it claims to be attempting to expose. maybe that's why so many people loved it. it's the narrative they like to tell themselves to feel better about their own complacency in the perpetuation and propagation of oppression and violence. there are better and more honest movies out there about these issues, but of course the country that i live in isn't that interested in honesty. (as the president continues to make clear.)

if you want to watch a good film about dysfunctional families and 'posing' and parenting that actually spends time with intricate plot development, watch the squid and the whale. it knows what it is. the acting is solid. it's funny and sad and warm. and there's a sub-plot to the whole thing that i really adore and that has strong roots in working in academia. the character who acts like he's a scholar in a subject when really he's just spouting off information he read off of a dust jacket or that he overheard someone saying in the hallway. brilliant.

my other suggestion is that you go out and watch the battle of algiers. then read the stranger. then watch the film cache. or maybe reverse the order. or something. where a movie like crash fails to present anything even remotely useful, cache considers personal and cultural guilt and shame in some of the most subtle and outstanding ways. and from an alarmingly non-dominant perspective, as well.

i just realized this morning that i only have about a month left to submit the final draft of my entire dissertation.

so, basically, i've got a lot of work to do.

my boyfriend just honked at me from the bike in the car park of our building. and i thought: damn. fuck. damn. it sure is nice to have a boyfriend. and a motorcycle.

trying to talk

today. just an email i wasn't even sure i wanted to send. to begin with. when i was trying to be in love with somebody else. who wasn't in love with me. until you just kept arriving like the sunday paper. until suddenly when i opened my eyes in the morning you were there. every day. and then you were here. and somehow it's been awhile since i had to stop and hold my breath and crimp my eyes and fists tight hoping you weren't just some kind of dream i might have to wake up from.

i love you.