Torn (for the moment)

So much potential lies in a brand new journal. It's that squeaky clean kind of potential that makes you feel pretty clean inside too. Like the freshly squeegee'd chalkboards at school on the first day of class after the summer. As if what was to be written on it first would be utterly effortless to memorize because of how crisply the chalk lines stand out from the green slate. 

As I saw when I went back and read that rant I cranked out yesterday, I don't have much trouble just letting my mind open up to spill out what's inside. However, today I am terribly torn by the urge to put down about 8 different things, and I'd be damned if I could just decide what to put down first. 

I have been wanting so badly to finally just get these things in my head written down before they fade out and I don't have as much to say since I've forgotten all the really relevant details. I want to tell the story of the museum docent I had sex with or about the gymnast boy, or what I thought of that French movie, or about the boy whose ear I licked clean at TML last week.  Okay, this will be the note to myself to write about those things - but what is really weighing on me is the need to relate the process of coming here, and first thinking I had a place to stay here, and the awful 51 hour bus ride, and the trust fund thing.  Just to illustrate what has put me in position for this final approach. It feels like everything I'll write from then on will make more sense.   Mmmph I can't stop picking my nail polish off as I sit and think of what to write next. The little flakes are all over my legs now and are getting in the cracks of the keyboard, it's annoying.

I re-read what I typed yesterday, and I don't think I sound like a very fun person to get to know and get inside of (take that however you so feel).  I wouldn't do me, that's for sure. If I met me at a dance place like First Ave or Transmission (forgot what that German place is called) I would probably hit on me and buy me some drinks at first, but as soon as I heard how gloomy I sound, I would make an excuse to leave and be thankful I didn't have to share that post-sex awkwardness with such a BarBitchuate. (stuff THAT one in your lexicon and smoke it) Once that uppity grind hump hump excitement is gone, you either think of a whole lot of things to say to pass the time until morning (now that the veil of biological obligation is lifted), or you pay the price for bedding a total stranger in terms of personality as well as in terms of the more literal lack of prior familiarity. 

I'm a pretty old-fashioned girl. About as old-fashioned as they come. You and I and everyone are nothing more than clumps of energized matter. No I don't hold hands in the park or attend Ice cream socials, or blush when my date pins on the corsage. That's all just a garnish for those who feel obliged to polish the silver of inherited moral tea sets and flatware engraved with the monograms of duty and reputation.

 Older than THAT is the code of the animals who flock together to reproduce, primarily, and to  mark their territory and survive droughts and such. I'm certainly surviving alright on my own now, and I certainly don't feel the desire to share my space with a genetic replica of mine either. (It is debatable however, that I will be guilty of marking my territory a little bit each time I tell a story in the blog.) 

Before even the animals, what was there? - The Universe. Planetary bodies have always collided, and merged, and repelled just as I do when I go out on the dance floor to shake my asterisms in hopes of attracting a heavenly body or two into my orbit. Does it ever cross your mind to question Gravity on any level? My black hole is the very birthplace of Gravity - not even the enlightened can escape.  Inner-space and outer-space don't always have so little in common.  Some days I crave a Leo, other days - a Virgo. Gemini if I'm really lucky and Cancer if I'm not. I chase a little comet tail and if it's written in the stars that night, I might just get sprayed with a little stardust.  Collision just happens to be in my immediate timeline so I'm just trying to get as much rotation out of this epoch as I possibly can. So if you happen to cross my path any time soon, feel free to orbit and join the revolution or just burn up in my atmosphere.  

(This always happens when I put on the NASA channel as background noise)

I feel like I should be a speaker for classes of elementary school aged girls - to teach them about the dangers of Philosophy. How a Philosophy major can ruin your life, and classes on 19th century literature can only serve as a gateway to it. 

"Listen kids - after you graduate, IF you graduate, when it's time to look for a job; what if all you could do was ask yourself 'what IS a job, anyway?' And say you took a class on Semantics somewhere along the line? Next you might ask yourself, 'what is 'Is'? And THEN when you're already vulnerable and confused, someone pressures you to take a seminar on Dada and Absurdism in 20th Century Theater with them - you might end up short-circuiting your own brain andyou could end up in the ER or the Morgue when you ask yourself 'Is what is bleep what zoink?' "

"Stay in school, kids - but don't believe what they say about a Philosophy Major. Sure it might be all glamor and cash for a little while, but it always ends up with a world of pain and separation from your family. Thank you for listening."

TEACHER: "Ok class now let's thank Ms. Nygme for talking with us today. Can we give her a big round of applause?"

Well this is the second night in a row I have turned my back on responsible sleeping, but I've never been known for responsibility anyway. However during all this musing, I managed to decide that I'll just do an entry or two more on my back-story and on coming here before I get to all the T&A and stories about dance nights and drink specials. So, I guess it's time to brew up another espresso and let my fingers do the talking.