and here i’d thought we had a patent on that in w2…

outside the blustery rain dies down for a bit, leaving just the swish of tires across the slick roads, then a few sudden flashes, a crack of thunder, hail starts pounding on the street, in the trees, against the house, at my windows. deafeningly loud for just a moment, it’s all i hear… then it all dies down, back to the silent night with the echo of tires and the occasional rumble in the distance.

it’s nights like these that the solitary nature of my life hits me full force. withdrawn from those both near and far, down in my hole, buried in books. worse, i should still be studying, not contemplating these things. but it’s been so long since i’ve written for myself. i’ve written plenty in the last year, could start a rag from the last week alone. contructing and deconstructing and analyzing until it’s anal. how many times can one use words like hegemon, development,  comparative advantage and minimum efficient scale before they just get… old, cold.  i feel… institutionalized.  i need  some creative adjectives and ridiculous prose…

don’t get me wrong, i love it, i really do. but it’s nights like these… i need something else. i need to not. i need, i need, i need. i need a positive sum interaction. mierda.

i need someone, who is far away, to give me a kiss
and tell me to keep studying for my test tomorrow.

which makes me wonder, what to do with someone so far away, if i can wait that long and still feel the same… if maybe i don’t need someone here, or if i shouldn’t just be there, if it’s really all that important. if there’s really anyone anywhere… if all this isn’t just a derailment into the lonely abyss, as i learn more and more the solitary arts of a solitary life, divorced of family, friends, lovers, all human contact…

tu me manque, amour, et je sais pas si je peut faire beaucoup plus de ça…
pas avec les nuits comme ça…

just watched barton fink…

and thinking writing aint shit if you aint got a plot.

otherwise… i’m getting by… and have no clue wtf it is i’m doing…

in other words: nothing new

i’m out of focus

there is a smell wafting up from an apartment below – vanilla, apples, cinnamon, spice – and the sounds of someone putting their all into a late spring cleaning. at first it was pleasant, the smell, but it becomes more sickeningly sweet as it saturates the air in every nook and cranny of the house.

and someone, some mysterious stranger, lest i get my hopes up, has been perusing my blog like it’s about to go off air. damn stats show exponential hits, in jagged climbing spikes, without a clue as to who-what-when-where-why… and my imagination, in it’s vulnerable state, plays tricks on me, lost in hope, desire and speculation. curiousity done killed the cat.

all that aside… santiago – i’m in santiago de compostela now, a shock, i’m sure, as i’ve been so regular in updating this thing the last year… – santiago has sent me back into the infinite depths of existential crisis, as once again i find i doubt all my plans, aspirations, relations… all in all, pretty much every damn thing i thought i’d figured out, resolved, or otherwise put behind me. ghosts haunt me, and what i thought was sure seems shaky at best. as usual, i find i feel i’ve made all the wrong decisions, want all the things i cant have and none that i do…

but what’s new? meh.

je pense que peut-etre j’aurais rester au paris…

qu’est-ce que je fais… je suis bete.

boh. dio canne.

and thus the tables turn:  as i sit in a room of random internationals set down to prove their prowess in a foreign tongue… diocanne.

like my favorite trouble child, i’m not entirely sure there is any point to giving me paper and pencil… i can tell you right now just exactly what group i’m in… can you say retard?

well, perhaps he isnt that bad… but i certainly am.

on a side note: on arriving in santiago last night i was randomly treated to a distantly minuscule (and thus free) performance by bruce springsteen. like the mona lisa, i can now check this off some list somewhere, though i wasnt really aware it had been on there in the first place. c’est la vie – been there, done that, all the same.

besides correcting my gi-normous grammatical & vocabulary related defficiencies, sometime in the next 7 week there’s a 25 page analytical paper to be researched and written… in english…. while dating in french and shopping in spanish.

¿como se dice ‘fuck me with a stick’?

but hey, he’s a good kid… maybe i am too?

for the first month or two here, at night i could feel his body in its absence. my body could feel in the blanks, remembered just where his shoulder should be under my head, his arm curled around my side, how we curled together just so. a soft voice whispering sweetly in my ear from thousands of miles away and i’d drift to sleep in his embrace.

after a while, the visceral feeling faded, from forgetfulness perhaps, or necessity. i’d still walk down streets imagining the things he’d enjoy here, what i’d love to show and share, how nice to have his company, longing to hold his hand while wandering along, feel his heat next to mine on cold nights. but the urgency of it dulled over time, superimposed with day to day worries, time drawn long, attention span drawn short. his face in my mind, but the sense of his touch not so vividly present.

but lately, as the months pass and mere weeks, days, remain… twenty to be precise, until i step off a plane at charles de gualle and search for his face in the crowd… as time draws short, the last six months seem like a flash compared to the three weeks ahead, three weeks stretching out with the same unbelievable length six months once held… but as i can feel time draw short, the anticipation builds, i stare off mid sentence, no matter how pressing the thesis i’m working on, walk with purpose and a dreamy distant smile… he is as distracting as a sunny day…

and at night i can feel his body next to mine again… soon.

it ’s raining outside, the soft patter, the swoosh of tires on wet road.

i sit and think of my life, rising up in a sworl, evolving before my very eyes, falling apart and coming together all at once… i realize finally the flow and the flux of it all… that it never stops, it is never sure, never certain, never staid.

for the first time in my life, i find myself planning years in advance, thinking about where i want to be, with who, and what i want to be doing, adapting to the ever changing circumstances, pondering life, love, happiness along with the practical details… realizing that i can’t keep straddling the line, waiting to see what might be an option next, but must make concrete decisions that take me down unknown paths…

it’s, maybe, just a little freaky.