is. in. chester county.
that is sorta a lie.
the other thing I want, I'm scared of.
mumblemumbleriding the T. mumblemublelet me wear your jacket. mumble.
I am pretty fucking far from okay.
I have decided, after some consideration and a couple of disappointing conversations, that if you use the n word, you may be trying to show how you don't buy into social conventions or are too postmodern to allow words to have power over you, but in reality, you're just... kind of an asshole.
kinda thought this was a forgone conclusion, but okay, maybe not.
you can be politically liberal, hold a liberal arts degree, even, have college educated parents, live in a college town, and still be a racist, sexist, classist fucktard. stop acting like your mommy and daddy paid 100 grand for college to buy you the privilege of being offensive, because you're apparently now "above" "political correctness" (read: any kind of deferment to anyone non-white, non-male, about their experience of the world).
ya'll ain't on my mind. I'm thinking about being a Ph goddamn D.
by which I might mean you,
moved across the country twice,
completed twenty four graduate credits,
started what will probably become my dissertation,
been drugged(?) and assaulted,
had consentual sex with ten other people, including two straight girls,
drunk both of our weights in margaritas,
been tied up by a fundamentalist christian,
panicked over two separate aids tests and a pregnancy scare,
made out with a girl in the middle of a country bar in texas,
left villanelles on that girl's doorstep,
discussed crazy women with my father,
put my grandmothers ashes in the ocean,
totaled my car, almost died,
walked away from gradschool to close the achievement gap,
been as devoted to someone as I was to you -- though at least I get paid for it --
won the hearts of gay boys and straight girls alike,
developed, and employed, better judgement,
coerced my brother into moving in with me (maybe),
written about three hundred pages,
read til I approached legal blindness,
made out with, then verbally abused, a "political bisexual" whom I won with my knowledge of linux,
almost had sex in an ally -- twice -- with a straight girl,
got a tattoo I doubt you will ever see.
so when the fuck will I stop missing you?
1. it is October
2. I am drinking coffee out of a Sicky Face Mug
3. my brother is God.
4. I can go back to graduate school at A&M if I can strongarm some funding out of the department
5. found the math quizzes I thought were lost
6. Daimen can pass for this quarter
7. don't think about anything else
8. foudn the story I'm working on
9. I can always write
10. so I know I"m not dead yet.
nothing against the closing of the achievement gap, those states north of the mason-dixon line, or the world outside the ivory tower (or hideous big blocky building).
but if A&M will have me back, come June, I'm so done with you, Boston.
lotsa love, though.
is it so wrong if I write about whitman being a woman rather than closing the achievement gap?
it's not the phallus I'm lacking, baby.
it's all you.
damn, do I miss eat n' park.