Closer to home: going in circles but seeing straight.

“We've been waiting all our lives / For things we've always had…”

I woke up this morning someplace new. The sun was shining. I reached for my glasses. The right side was broken; it had broken sometime last night.

“…But have no eyes to see…”

A beautiful woman appeared before me, telling me how I got here and what had happened; and apologizing for how she couldn’t stay and how she had things she needed to go do now.

“…Something new is going to happen / The most natural thing / But nothing we'd expect…”

There was a note above me:
“Obama is President.
(Feel free to sleep here)”

“…All these buildings and mountains…”

[Feed the starving pollworkers! Anyone willing to bring food to Glenridge Elementary can earn serious awesome points.]

No one even has a pro-McCain argument any more. The best they can do is anti-Obama.

The tragedy of this campaign is how greatest strengths are greatest weaknesses.
The salvation of this election is how greatest weaknesses are greatest strengths.

“Yes we can…”

Rachel Getting Married is a paean to Stoicism.

I called non-emergency police about kid, gave Calypso fresh water/food/litter, sent an e-mail that A[] will think I'm crazy for, and am getting breakfast with you in the morning. I think that's a good a place as any to call it a night.

It’s been a long night.
It’s going to be a long November.

Of Thee I Sing: 148 lamb chops, a bridge joke, and the best darned corn muffins you ever ate. Really, that’s all I need.

I’m a Stoic/I’m not a Stoic
Didn’t find what I needed/Got what I wanted
Carried away should be/Never get carried away should be

Pirates vs. Caesar, the Republic in the balance. Go over a bridge, through a wall, from fire to ice, turn neither left nor right, out the passenger door in the left turn lane, say hello, say goodbye, explain tomorrow, live for the chaos wherever/wear-ever/we’re ever chance might take.

“And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding…”

The annoying thing about translating Greek poetry is that it has too many nouns whose nuance is struggled to be found until the professor reveals that, actually, it’s a name, so that you hate that person for having a stupid name, but with them already being so dead that you're translating their funerary epigraph, what can you do.

The dreams of happiness? The dreams of sweet?
The dreams of some creature named Felix.

You have a Voice. I like that.
Easiest assignment ever- took zero time. Woke up, printed xanga entry, handed in.
It's weird just how much of English class is teachers trying to drum voice out of you. Then you get to the real world and discover that the trick is to find yourself.

1st: italics
2nd: bold
3rd: quoted

My voice doesn’t say whom.

Anti-Turing Test
Whether a computer can correctly determine whether a message has been automatically generated by a computer or composed by a human.

You are a great writer, even if google does think you're a robot.

The problem with shopping at Target is that they have many of what one wants but little of what one is looking for.

Ob’ession

I am very good at writing very bad poetry.

Blue daffodils of silence in a field of crimson drear’,
Virgil, attest to
Nothing
And turn to mine lonely voided plate, 'pon which lay
A thought
Of
The salmon roll, with ricelets hung dropped from seaweed sheath
Askew in throat, wherein the missing plaint,
“O Featherbottom! Hamilton! Virgil! Four!”
Ricochet back down my trachea-“Sir Piddlesworth Uppington Smythe, please pass the wasabi.”

Facebook RSVPing is a protocol dependent on interpersonal relationships as much as on projected attendance.

Breakfast: cereal
Lunch: bagel, yogurt
Dinner: eggs, toast, fruit
Midnight: bacon

“Can never have too much bacon.”

“Millennium…”

It’s amazing how little and how much of the world can change from one glimpse to the next.
(The best I’ve found is Paris Hilton.)

“…We all enjoy the madness ‘cause we know we're gonna fade away…”

She has mastered the fine art of jumping into boxes she cannot jump out of.

Unemerging.

Jump is an overstatement. More like, climb onto the chair next to, and fall down from. It’s adorably awkward in a what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you kind of way.

Searching for meaning in an Oliver Stone movie about George W. Bush should only be done for the sake of rampant overanalysis. The film has a focus-losing hodgepodge that it more amusing for the real-life moments it recalls than for what is actually presented on screen. The film seems to lack any other artistic or thematic purpose until perhaps the final scene, revealing that George W. Bush isn’t a tragic figure at all. For, while the film does explore the myriad of options, he lacks a tragic flaw; thus, it’s instead a farce.

Everyone needs to do something crazyspontaneous over Fall Break at least once.
Everyone needs to sleep through their flight departure at least once.

I’m going to be horizontal now.

There is no problem with delving into illogic and abandoning whatever point was actually supposed to be argued, if there is the opportunity to establish something tangential more aesthetic, be it an admission of the acceptability of lying, or simply an ironic statement regarding the divine.

When the urge to *run* without regard to destination is felt, there are 3 kinds of places to flee to:
1) To a generic location.
2) To a foreign culture.
3) As far away as possible.

Essentially: Columbus, Madrid, New Zealand.

[This list could include the base case: 0) Out of sight, which corresponds to Inside.]