another cranky day. L's awesome, she just gave a lecture on body as an expressive medium. started out with a naked picture of loren cameron, ftm photographer. mixed in tammy faye baker, bill cosby circa 1970, heather matarazzo, hickeys, tattoo's, and her giant face. (piercings) she's making me want to see "bend it like beckham," girl soccer. i can't get enough of the girl eye candy at the library as it is. they get all spruced up to talk on their cellies in the stairwells in between studying and checking their email and printing off thier chem homework. i think i stare too much. i know i stare too much. anyway, ah, i've been dreaming about s again, all because of last night's late night conversation with e, who was incredulous that i compared her to m gyllenhaal (who's more innocent) from "secretary." same round face and cheekbones and sloped shoulders, tho. the cheekbones like planets with their own orbiting moons. where did i steal that from? anyway. you ever see new waterford girl? moony pottie aka liane balaban. same effect. the heart shaped face. woo, secretary was necessary. yes, good foreplay. and the cutting was true. but i was disappointed by the masturbation scene & the end, i mean she ends up a wife and there is no real exploration or growth of character for spader, or exploration of the s/m roles...the roles are not pushed, explored enough. still, i could own that movie. isn't spader the guy from crash, that movie everyone hated, and sex lies and videotape? he does a lot of sex films doesn't he.. reminds me of my oh so richly developed fantasy life which is like a tiger under heavy sedation in a tiny cage in a megamall. my imagination misses it. a good whipping.

i'm wearing all little boy clothes today, a five year old's polo, but when it got cold i had to wear one of my warm sweaters and that's what people complimented. it's black. i'm sick of wearing black. people are sending emails saying i need a cigarette. omg i'm so not into this. i wish i was. who's gonna kick my ass but me? why can't i do it any more, why do i want to sleep all the time? why is it so hard to be around people in my program? because they are so into it. everyone thinks i hate them, when really i'm just so fed up with myself. i hate being myself. i wish i didn't have to be myself. why. why be so serious?

sometimes i believe gertrude stein's credo, "begin again," is my life. here's a positive take on it: we, every story, has the same end. we're all going to die. but the story isn't the ending. it's what we do on the way there. and beginning again takes a lot of courage and hope. besides, it's not like you can truly erase all that's come before.

friend d from ny might come to visit me! yay! and i'm going to nyc. finally. i have so much to do before then. will i get it done? do i care any more? why do people keep asking me what i'm going to do this summer? and why do two boys seem to be flirting with me all of a sudden, because of my new feminine look, i even got asked for a hand job yesterday, my letting my hair curl sneaker wearing less intimidating more passive quiet solitude? what am i, winona?

as for being in the moment. today during seminar the conversation veered toward a boy who graduated last year and didn't show any written work at all or show up for class, which is not required. the tone of the guy who was telling this story really bothered me, and then one of my least favorite people, who i was sitting next to or near enough to make the room seem to be crumbling down on me, confirmed it by asking, well, why did he come here, anyway, if he was going to be like that. i was like, um, why are any of us here, we are all so different, he probably had good reasons why he didn't want to share (ahem, like me) and those reasons are just as valid as your hungry i-wanna-suck-up-every-ounce-of-how-to-be-a-successful-career-poet and it's so easy for you because you follow the rules and people like you because you're cute dammit, quiet passive and cute and hetero and ug just nauseating and awful too the way you make fun of people like me and make me feel like swine. anyway. this is why i feel, in class, like i am going to erupt like a volcano, like all of my insides are going to come out of my forehead, veins pulsing, blood boiling, so angry and speechless and embarassed. why. why why can't i speak my mind. in wkshp it is the worst. mostly becuase i don't hate anybody nor do i dislike them, i just feel squeezed and wrung out and made to feel stupid, inadequate, and also like these people are such goddamn snobs. yknow, that's it. they're all snot. and i got butt. i haven't read bataille or kierkegaard or hegel and why should i without it in front of me to understand the work we discuss. i don't want to share my work with these creeps. they do have decent things to say, things that are intellectual and helpful and everything, but all the same, they make me feel indecent. wasted. like, why am i here if i can't get along and get my act together and enjoy it? why? fuck. if i had an answer....all i know is that i have to trust my feeling, and right now that is the strongest one. preseve and protect. entertain notions of privacy. isolate. awkward and uncomfortable, difficult, almost impossible. struggle. to be in the moment with such people requires skillful use of negative capability. in other words, knowing how to change the topic when it gets too personal, revealing, for no one seems to get personal here at all. cowards.