After all, what is natural?

I was busy writing my Republic of Cascadia research paper and I decided I wanted candy.

When I entered the lobby of 20th street, I also entered a conversation about healthy living. A small girl that I've never heard speak was a well-oiled vegan machine. The security guard on duty, Cansino, must have asked.

"If you want energy, real energy, I wholly recommend cacao. Just pure, natural chocolate. It's rather bitter, so you can mix it with some [something] or brown sugar, whatever you like. I personally like to mix it with gogi berries, a real superfood. The Chinese have it listed in most of their remedies. It has 18 of 22 amino acids, more vitamin A than carrots and more iron than spinach. It has cancer-fighting [words] and you'll never get sick!... Well anyways, I think cacao is too bitter on its own, so I mix it with gogi; it's like a sweet treat. Dave Wolfe eats cacao every day and I see him as one of the best, one of my natural health living idols, but that seems..."

She breathed.

"and Daniel Vitalis has a plan for everything, how to be efficient on a plane, indoors, outdoors, exercise... If you watch his videos on youtube, it will change your life."
(I thought, like New Slang?)

She continued to speak, it was becoming more fluid, less robotic. I thought to myself that I should really know what she's talking about. Health religions are started in Oregon, aren't they? I'm from there. I need to be in on this.

"...And cancer can be cured. What if I told if you take 300 grams of Lyceum and it will stop your cancer dead in its tracks? David Wolfe knows this. It's cutting-edge stuff."

And by that point, I agreed with her. You're right. AIDS was a conspiracy. I can live to be 200. There is nothing in my way. I need to start eating only raw foods and foraging in Central Park. If I do this, then my yin will balance with my yang and I Can't POSSIBLY eat anything that isn't made of pure vegetables and Western medicine is rather suspect and I will understand...
Oh right,
This is the kind of person that's attracted to The New School.
I smiled. She thought it was intrigue, but it was closer to amusement.

"We'll talk again sometime later," she said, now directed at me, as if she wasn't in a conversation in the first place. "I know I talk really fast and it's a lot to remember."

I nodded and, wanting to be standing in the fresh rain with the cement smell, left.

I ended up buying a candy bar.

I give a B- to Reviews

They are doing more than the minimum, reviews, but still so much more could be done. Without a reasonable replacement, reviews and review systems are our best option for qualifying art, thought, and process But your test grades in eighth grade math still get a higher score than reviews as a whole.
I feel and I am not alone in feeling that when I read a review I am left with opinions that are not mine and guide me only as far as was intended and that length is a B-.
Shape up, reviews.

I read pitchfork.com's reviews of music, sometimes. It just makes me mad.
Here is link that makes me laugh instead. Look how digital the internest is.

I've been dying to write something, anything. My fingers are steadying, hardening and splintering from atrophy. I haven't written anything REAL (FEEL IT!) in too long.
And by real I mean fiction. I haven't written fiction in too long.

I started using sleeping pills.
I also stopped using sleeping pills. I just wanted some regulation. Those hours were out of control, with their big money spending and their ignorance of the common man,
oh, no wait, that's Big Business.
I couldn't sleep.
With every sleeping pill, I felt closer to celebrity, but then I gave up the habit, only to stare at the red marks on my ruddy face in the mirror. Oh Hardship, you bother me so!

Sidney and Joï (roommates) were listening to a poor cover of "Use Somebody" and I made them watch (made is a strong word; I coerced them, I rose my fist, yeah) into watching Jake Shimabukuro play "Dragon" and Andy McKee play "Drifting." Some of those tabs that I've left open in the window of my mind. Joï sang "Telephone" by Lady Gaga over both melodies.

You can lead a horse to water, and he'll eat for a day.
But you can't teach an old horse new tricks, not even when you beat it dead.

I keep reading philosophical material that makes my troubles seem trivial. I want or need or cannot but dedicate my life to something. I want to dream the future, yes. Walter Benjamin said that.

"Every epoch, in fact, not only dreams the one to follow but, in dreaming, precipitates its awakening."

So college is telling me to be a revolutionary and that writing silly satiric pieces can get me only so far.

Positive note: "Right to be Lazy" by Paul LaFargue is HILARIOUS.
That's not really positive.
Duane Reade is open at all hours.
No, not positive.

No, okay. I'm settled.

When I dreamt I was an electron in a bar, I still ordered milk and (is) the bartender (here) asked me if I wanted anything else.

"No, I'm fine."
And as an afterthought,
"Thanks."

Can you name the people that made you cool? (and how sometimes blogs are less cool in retrospect)

I'm a sensationalist. I pretend that I'm not, visually, mostly, but I can't help but rouse and rabble.
Rabble on, I heard once.
Lead Zeppeling, or something. I'm not big into the "music" community, so I wouldn't know.

But more, Blue Scholars, the best Filipino/Iranian rap group from Seattle (The only Filipino/Iranian rap group from Seattle), recently made a new HIT downloadable on their blog.
Those Northwest rappers, they're definitely funny.
It's one of the bands Ben turned me onto when Ben and I were friends.
That was before he went to Mexico.
Those were the days, downhill since.


I've been wanting, asking for inspiration and reasons to be, lately.
I ran to the East River, the other side of Manhattan where I was told I would likely get stabbed. I didn't get stabbed. A mere graze.

It was beautiful. It was like Portland. I'll send you the picture if you want. I really will. If you have my phone number, I'll send it to you, if you want.

I thought about reading about Cascadia but instead went to Chelsea Market for the first time/ It's on 9th avenue, and that's usually too far for me. That's an avenue that doesn't have my school on it, so I have no reason to be there.
Well I'll tell you, it was like what I imagine Christmas in Disneyland to be. Plastic perfection. It was pure food. It was all stuff grown in the area. It was a breath of fresh air, to say in the least.
I bought SO MUCH produce. I'm on a health kick now after going to Philadelphia. When I'm with family, I just eat. Nothing else, just eat.
"You're too thin!" No, I'm not. Stop hiding candy for me, Grandma.

I'm not as much worried, today. I'm looking for inspiration. And when you want something, prophetic, it's there. Right in front of you.
(When I say prophetic, I don't mean like the time I was at Happy Day Christian Daycare and the employees, or the other daycared, I don't remember, told me that praying was about asking for a sign and it being presented. I waited a full hour on the metal monkey bars watching traffic as mostly trucks passed. I thought that was the sign from God and that was when I started thinking religion was lame. Not like that)

"I'm thinking of transferring mostly because I don't think this school will prepare me for a career," I said entering the elevator.
"Well, it won't. This school will just make you a fucking amazing person."
Thanks Matt.
I guess I'll rethink my next couple years.

Monkey Wrench

I can do Whatever I what.

I worry and I worry and I worry and I get emotional.

I'm so close to womanhood. If it wasn't for my mane of a beard, I would go beyond empathy.

I massively and royally screwed up the interview. I was emotional during a rational portion of the group process and I sucked the big one. Not really, just counterintuitive world.

And I was nervous in my birthday suit.

(I was in a regular suit. It was my birthday. That's the relation there.)

I was nervous. My age and inexperience showed.

But thanks to El Presidente y su administracíon, I can take out as much money as I want. I can go anywhere and spend all sorts of fake cash and it's Fine!

There's loan forgiveness for people that want to serve the world or nation.

I mean, that's beautiful.

I'll figure something out. I'm going to visit Georgetown. I'm going to do whatever. We'll see.

Sometimes the way is pointed, sometimes Not.

UGH! Look at the above! So informational. Mark it well. All is not blandblandbland,

blandblandblandblandblandblandblandbland.

There's television on, for instance.

As a thinker, I want to not default onto the answers of yesterday.

I have to ignore Zarathushtra and Buddha. Narratives of yesterday!

There was no flying car for the prophets to make decadent.

We have rock music. We need new ideology.

Everything is Black and White! Listen to the forecasts! Panic!

I do. I panic. I do the panic. It's a dance crazy like the stanky leg or the jitterbug
(it just plumb evaded me).

I jump to conclusions. That's an easy way to figure yerself in a hole. Keep jumping blindly and you're bound to find yerself in a hole, straight on, that's the Truth, I say.

The results came in today.
It turns out I'm 19 and not 37.
I don't have all of the answers or all of the experience.
I get nervous; I get passionate. That's the spirit, I thought. Keep giving the morals!

They LOVE morals!

Some people want reason over morals.
And that's where my age showed.


I'm told that I am an old soul. Astrology tells me that I have been through eleven cycles already, at least. Psychics tell me that I'm meant to be a prophet,

but I can still fail. We can all fail.
Every life (I believe it!) we have to learn another set of lessons.
They all seem the same after a couple cycles.

I may not leave New York. We'll see. The world hasn't ended yet.
Counting down from two years, though.


On a specific note, not some crap rambly note
(as if anyone even reads!;
especially on the useless internet!)

I am tired of reading Terrible names on youtube.
Funnyman4321 has not striking quality. It makes me doubt your humor,
you sad sap. You fake.
That's not that bad, in truth. He might be hysterical.
He's not, though. I know him.

A real bad name is linkrulessonicsux.
That's a horrid, bad name.
I'm watching his rerecording of Dude Where's My Car.
His sunglasses tell me he's thirteen, but his voicelowerthanmine
Just makes me angry.

And I hate him.
I hate him so much.

Oh! It's Ashton Kutcher's voice.
Hmmm.

There's the reason I was looking for.
I just to have to wait. Everything becomes clear

I want to hang out with you, Henry David Thoreau

I get tired of theory. There is a broken tapedeck in the back of my mind that whines on and on about the state of the world, how dreary are the buildings I choose to see daily

(I could walk a different way),
but man, does HDT get under my skin. Mmmmm.

Those that go through heroin withdrawals feel something under their skin in the same way I love to see my derma bubble and pop with ideas of perfect isolation.

I got rejected from being an Resident Advisor today. I was really banking on that job to stay in New York, but in my interviewing, it was decided I wasn't wanted as much as others. The New School is too expensive for what I'd be learning, what I could use. I could be a liberal, theory junkie that hates the system and Freud.
That's not my dream.

It was never my dream to live in New York City. I don't need the professional contacts I've made here. I can't work for the United Nations until I'm a graduate student.

I had a back-up plan. I have the ability to transfer. I have it and I will use it. I truly hope I write fiction all my life and my experiences in New York are represented. I trueally hope.

So, where to?