There's something cool about reconnecting with people you knew from years past. You meet up. You think you know them. You talk for a bit and realize you don't know them at all and never did. And this epiphany spurs your brain to reevaluate their face searching for something behind their eyes or something that you recognize. Because you KNOW you KNOW them. Right? Perhaps this is an instinct spurred by literature. Yeah, no it ain't there. And this gazing awkwardly at their face while they tell some banal story about the intervening years leads you to once again be able to evaluate their attractiveness from a completely blank slate. HAHAHA. Maybe this time around you get to be hot. Nah... well sometimes. First impressions only come twice.

1. All of The Remembrance of Things Past (... I have not read any of it yet - in my desert island world it is one volume)
2. The Glass Bead Game (Hesse's magnum opus and I never finished it, and Hesse is fucking awesome)
3. The Greek Interlinear Bible
4. Greek Lexicon ( I didn't even like studying Greek that much, but to decode this business about Jesus Christ being time I will make it my desert island life mission. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was God, and the Word was with God. Shit son, let me tell you about that sometime.)
5. I guess while I'm at it, I'll hit up a Hebrew grammar/ dictionary. I would be sad to see half the Bible taunting me with its secrets.

I will also answer the weird 5 movies on a desert island question:
1. The Science of Sleep
2. Casablanca
3. The City of Lost Children
4. City of God
5. Ah I dunno... The Dreamers? Memento?

I will come out of this desert island experience muttering in some combination of English, Ancient Greek, Hebrew, Spanish, Portuguese, and French. It will sound cooler than any intelligible thing you will ever say. I will also be sobbing.

Bought Death in Venice (Mann), The Book of Laughter and Forgetting (Kundera), Gertrude (Hesse), Blindness (Saramago), collection of plays by Aristophanes, and the basic works of Carl Jung. $25. Went to the library got me a card and got some Neruda and Borges in Spanish.
All refreshing palette cleansers after ancient Greek and Aristotle and that canon.
Went to a electronic house party the other night. Free mojitos and mushrooms. Kids from 15-40. Santa Fe is weird as shit, but I'm glad I found the ravers. Damn nice house, with an impressive DJing set up. If I can dance in this town I'll be fine.
I work three days a week in exchange for a place to stay, food, internet, laundry, and all other living sorts of arrangements. It's a nice gig. I know every bum in the city. The hostel is one of the only places where you can pay to take a shower - so the down and outs who live in their cars come in. The employees consist of some sort of dysfunctional family.
I'm in love with my bike, even though the train tracks took me out and I have a collection of gravel in my hand. I didn't break my wrist or middle finger, even though they gave me trouble. My knees are a collection of bruises. I feel alive or something dumb as shit like that. I guess life is dangerous when you don't live solely in books and dreams.

I had cancer. But cancer was a gaping wound on my left forearm that looked like a mouth with sharp teeth. When cancer spread it ate my arm and the mouth grew larger and larger. I wanted desperately to tell you about having cancer but I couldn't do it and we talked about nothing of consequence like we always do.
I went to class and my tutor told me in his British accent: "we missed you in class on Friday." It was accusatory, put in the nicest words possible. Nothing is insulting in a suave foreign accent. I laughed. He frowned and asked "what?" I said, "I have cancer." He got embarassed and said "Oh."

Something is eating at me, and you're the only person I wish that I could tell. You don't even have to work for the eating analogy. My subconscious has little faith in me.

I keep staring at the keyboard hoping to understand myself.

I sabotage all things that cut into my sitting around time. Many people try to keep themselves as busy as possible - forget how lonely they are or various reasons. And yet it seems I want to know exactly how lonely I really am. I want to feel the hurt good. I want to feel all parts of it. Be able to dream it into high hyperbole mode past the subtlety I get out of the real world. I sabotage relationships with people that cut into my privacy. Unless I need you first I don't want to be needed or counted on. I can't handle being smothered and a light pressure feels like smothering. I like that no one ever knocks on the door for me. I like that I can always ignore the door knocker, they will just come in anyway, and steal my roommate's things and I need not get up and open the door in between. Not to say that I don't like or need people but I tend to need only one person and everyone else is a backdrop. Pleasant backdrop with swimming colors. I like about three people intensely, and one I need. The rest are secondary characters for dreams. I've always been like that. I wrote something the other day and posted it on Everything2. I will repost it here for your viewing pleasure. I don't actually if anyone still takes pleasure in viewing these things...
 


yeah that is all... Write me back. Comment. Do something that feels like connection.

Jesus dude, my cell phone rang this morning at 930, looked and saw it was my brother. Ignored it, tried to go back to sleep. My room phone rings immediately after. Tried to ignore that. My cell phone rings again, and then my thought immediately became "ah shit, it's an emergency, I bet my brother crashed my car."
I pick up. My brother says "hi' I say "what's up?" he says "uh..." and passes the phone off to someone. Someone tells me he's a lifeguard helping my brother, wonders if I can get a hold of anyone who can come down. I ask where he's at and the dude says somewhere on Niguel. I say I'll try and get a hold of our parents. Dude tells me to hold on - the cops want to talk to me. I still have absolutely no idea what happened or if my brother is hurt or what. Cop asks me who I am and if he had permission to be using my car. I say yes. Cop hangs up. I call my mom, and ask if she's heard anything, I accidentally freak her out really bad and tell her I just spoke to a lifeguard and a cop and something about Quinn. She says she'll call me back.
Turns out the car kinda stalled since it was low on gas and he ran into a car behind him when it started to roll backwards. Apparently the woman who got hit didn't stop or ask for insurance info but left and called the cops.
Man, way to freak me out. Why did the guy feel the need to tell me he was a lifeguard if he wasn't like stopping some bleeding or perfoming CPR on my brother...
Fun way to wake up. Oh and 30 inches of snow, fun too.

Yesterday was a terrible day for a lunar eclipse. All clouds and nothing to see. I mean, not that there is supposed to be anything to see - eclipsed, yeah. Then today it snows again. I approve of none of this.
I can't sleep lately. This has always been my greatest talent sleeping and it has been taken away from me and I feel completely cheated. I want my talent back. I would tell you why but I barely want to admit to myself why. The two of you who read this is slightly more than myself. Keeping secrets from everyone may be slightly unhealthy, keeping secrets from yourself must be slightly moreso. I'll figure it out.
My birthday was on Tuesday. 20 years old and I got to write a six page lab paper about what heat is. I barely left my room. I hope to do better next year. Sadly this year was better than last. But my friends got me candles to blow out and cheese and crackers at midnight and then my mother sent me a 5lb box of chocolate. It wasn't all bad. But next year - 10lbs of chocolate. Work on that.
I want to get "INFP" tattooed onto my left wrist. Some nice large block script sort of font with I and P in black and and N and F in red. Black red red black. Most people get wrist tattoos across their wrist but I think I'd like mine to be read in the same direction as my other arm. Long ways with the I closest to my body and the P closest to my hand. The font can be larger then also. I don't have the money at the moment, but I can wait. It is better to wait for important things.
If you have no idea what I'm talking about : http://www.personalitypage.com/INFP.html
I watched the Dreamers last night, it's fucked up but I loved it a little bit. I wanted to see it in theaters but it was NC17 so no one was showing it.  Gotta keep the nudity and sex from the 16 year olds.  Very important
I need to sleep properly again.

everyone sounds so young when we talk about love. this isn't meant to be a poem i just wanted to point that out. even those with the experience of heartbreak don't seem to realize its implications. i'm not a pessimist by any means. love is damn good. but it doesn't stay the same throughout you know? the knowlegde is out there. it's probably something about expectations. i got to the edge. two years to the edge of a shift. i was about to discover the comfortable. but a relationship is all about the relational and if the other person isn't down well...
i don't know how i ended up here. i missed something inherent and vital but it all makes sense.
his question made me so sad -asking a 60 year old man if he has found anything lasting. how can you explain anything important to a 20 year old? i'm sure he wanted to desperately.
i don't want to be vulnerable. i don't want anyone to know me. that obviously isn't true but how can it not be true sometimes?
i can't remember how to talk to anyone. i sit in large groups and refuse to say a word. i talk sometimes i guess but nothing lives up to the one-on-one and so i don't try for a disappointing substitute. it's possible i'm crazy or dead. but not all the time.
you have any idea how hard it is to be young and foolish when you're sober all the time?

ah fuck, I want another tattoo...
but far less obvious this go round, we'll see, I'll think about it
in case you're wondering it would be equally nerdy as the first one