I want to sleep in your lungs and breathe your blood

Well, well, well. It appears I suddenly have infinite amounts of time to kill for the first time in forever. This will be nice for a day or so, and then I will escape to Iowa before the boredom sets in. Every time I get on an airplane I feel like it's a movie or short film or something. I find myself wanting to know everybody's backstories. Perhaps listening to mournful music is partly to blame for these daydreams. I certainly don't want to talk to them to find out about them, I just want to already know about them, or maybe read it somewhere. Most of the time a good portion of them do not appear to be people I want to associate with. Especially the ones next to me, like tonight's specimen. A nervous wreck of a young girl, desperate looking. Prissy and panicky and might have been almost attractive if she didn't look so sad and stupid. My large headphones didn't completely protect me because she employed the strategy of poking me in the arm from time to time, which signaled that I was supposed to listen to her. Badly dyed hair, ridiculous shoes whose designers seemed to have forgotten about those pesky things called toes, fur-hooded coat. Do other people notice people like this? Do I exist in somebody's blog somewhere, my every quality deconstructed, and rash assumptions attributed? I hope so.

For some reason, I am reminded of a snippet of poetry from that book that Peter brought to band years ago:

Groin, grin, carnal sin, pretty city, grandma's titty...

I don't even want one copy of Timecop

I have a feeling these posts, if they come, are going to get more frantic, bizarre, and desperate this week until the school is done and the Triad has converged. Does anybody besides me realize that "Girls Singing" by Mates of State is THE most infectious piece of music ever written? Jesus. I'm going to have to listen to some good ol' Celine Dion so that I can write in distractionless peace. It's blood, it's a flood. Anyone for tennis? Did I have a purpose when I began this post other than to not do what I'm supposed to? I can't remember. Hey, I like Maya Rudolph. She suggests that you respect the vagina in a recent issue of Esquire. How true. So here's my favorite moment of the week. We have just crossed the threshhold of PLU's illustrious Diversity Center when a member of our group says: "Hey did you guys see how ghetto that Santa Claus was? He was fucking Filipino or something!"

On the list of things I should be doing, # 4 bazillion

I post this in memory of me...back to writing about prostitutes.

http://www.brainbank.org/HtmNew/Memories/EricJamesThompson.html

A General Announcement

So, do you guys remember in High School when we talked about writing letters to the editor anonymously to better express ourselves to the general Forest City populus? Barely? I think it was probably something we talked about during track/xc to fill that void left by not running, so maybe eric was never in on it.

Anyway, it seems that if we so desire we have something of an inverse opportunity. Because of our numerous remaining FCHS connections we've been cleared to offer perspectives from "anonymous college students" in the Warwhoop. The format that Laura and I discussed briefly would be something like question & response.

Laura and others would come up with a topic or a question that was being discussed, and we would write an opinion piece (serious or otherwise) to address this from a post-graduate perspective. I think the idea has a fair amount of potential, and wondered what you fellas thought of it.

Anyway, we'll discuss it face to face soon enough...