Nowhere (Indiana)

Maybe it's because I've spent the past 3 hours reading David Foster Wallace or maybe it's because I've spent the past 2 hours on a Megabus surrounded by Nothing (Indiana) and my thoughts but I have a strong inclination to self indulge on a serious stream-of-consciousness-binge...or does this count as a purge?

Second to that, I've also been concerned with morbid + anal retentive thoughts mostly because there are 3x4 in. yellow caution stickers taped to the back of every individual chair commanding the dear rider to "Fasten seatbelt" in 3 different languages (English, Fr., Spanish, in that order, in descending font size). Of which I have chosen to disobey, prompting Final Destination 5 visions and considerations of what people will think of me when they claim my things in rm 609B1 of Fenn Tower, Shithole (Cleveland), and realize I didn't clean my room or fold my laundry or make my bed before leaving for work that morning, before leaving for Chicago that afternoon, before a weekend trip to see my boyfriend of anywhere from 5-7 mos.-- v. unbecoming for a 20 yr old girl-young lady-woman.

After that, just prior to putting down DFW and picking up my unlined journal-planner-notebook, I spent >= 15 minutes looking out at cornfields, telling myself that I have Drive again, and that tomorrow I'll wake up and won't be jaded, which then immediately prompted my thought-purge, binge-write, self-indulgent stream-of-consciousness in my unlined journal-planner-notebook. Two months ago, I was fast approaching a three year stint of pure apathy. Today I've endured 3+ years of pure apathy. Although my scattered journal entries may tell you otherwise, chalkful of ambition--spoonfed, regurgitated, then spoonfed again--mostly by my own hand--with a tone of forced hopefulness that rings with This Time Will Be Different.

Unfortunately, This Time Will Be Different is standing in a used parking lot, wearing a plaid suit, underneath a trench coat that he/she is holding open to one side exposing knock-off Dreams and Aspirations he/she is trying to pass off as the real deal for the blow out price of $19.99 (tax inc.).

But.

This time will be different. Because I have drive again.
Tomorrow, I will wake up. And I won't be jaded.

Casual Love Poem

Having a Coke with You

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them

I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse

it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it

Frank O'Hara

Deferring Life

I don't remember how to write prose anymore. 

Styrofoam Cup Crisis

I came to college to study philosophy and ended up pursuing economics with a minor in English—except sub-in “Creative Writing” for “English” to make up for the grammar I inherited from immigrant parents.

I came to college to study philosophy, am studying economics instead, and while here, learned that Mormons can’t drink coffee. Mormons can’t drink coffee; even if the sadistic fuck in me wants to be extremely satisfied that I can be more efficient than a Mormon, I can’t help but cherry-pick all the Mormons cut from paper, in God's image, who are more efficient than I, by sheer force of will, aided only by the power of prayer.

I came to college to study philosophy but now I spend my time thinking about how much time elapsed since I last thought about God. Wasted time is the equivalent of empty space that even well-designed furniture can’t fill.

These tremors of misplaced thought and insecurity match the way my foot twitches while holding hands with a cup of coffee gone cold, pulling my weight for the Mormons of the world, harbingers of mid-college breakdowns and quarter life crises. Now, sub-in “vodka” for “coffee” as I witness the mass of my twenties being carved into a painful facsimile of the suburban nightmare.

It is precisely this nightmare that I tried to run away from, but have slowed down my pace since I bought four-inch stilettos. Now, I’m an overconfident jay-walker, who’s convinced that cars don’t hit college students. Looking both ways is an ineffective use of time, and moving forward is only a lasso threatening empty space.

Empty space painted over by a palette of picket fence white and overwatered lawn green, repainted with monochrome city—feeble rendering of blank slate, only to find that the color wheel is a prism of monotony; my college years are suspended in lime-flavored jello shots that harden in the same shade of lawn and mold in the same shade of fence, spoiling in the sun after my expected graduation.

Palliative Parables

A Tale of Two Farmers 
Peter Schiff

Farmer Chang only grows oranges. Farmer Jones only grows apples. Each grows only the fruit that he produces most efficiently, trading the surplus for the fruit grown by the other. Both farmers benefit from comparative advantage and free trade. The sole reason that Farmer Chang "exports" oranges is to "import" apples, and vise-versa. 

Suppose that one year a frost wipes out farmer Jones' apple crop. Not having any fruit to trade, but hungry nevertheless, he proposes to trade apple IOUs for farmer Chang's oranges. Since Farmer Chang cannot eat all of the oranges he grew anyway, and since farmer Jones' IOUs will pay 10% interest (in extra apples of course) he agrees. 

Farmer Chang only accepts farmer Jones' offer because of the apples that Farmer Jones' IOUs promise to pay. By themselves, the IOUs have no intrinsic value. Farmer Chang cannot eat them. It is only the promise to pay apples that gives them value. 

Now suppose that the following year farmer Jones' crop is again destroyed, this time by a flood. He and Farmer Chang once again make the same deal, with Farmer Jones getting more of Farmer Chang's oranges, and Farmer Chang accepting more of Farmer Jones' IOUs. 

Further suppose that similar natural disasters continue to besiege Farmer Jones for several more years, with Farmer Chang continuing to accept Farmer Jones' interest-bearing apple IOUs in exchange for his oranges. Eventually it dawns on Farmer Jones that he is eating pretty well, without actually farming. He therefore decides to turn his apple orchard into a golf course, and simply play golf all day while enjoying Farmer Chang's oranges. In other words, Farmer Jones now operates a "service economy." 

Farmer Chang on the other hand is so busy growing all those oranges that he never gets a chance to play Farmer Jones' course. In fact, he has been accepting farmer Jones's IOUs for so long that he no longer remembers his original reason for doing so. He forgot about his original desire to actually eat the real apples Farmer Jones had promised to deliver. Instead, he now counts his wealth based solely on his accumulation of apple IOUs. In fact, Farmer Jones had such a good reputation within the farming community that Farmer Chang was actually able to trade some of Farmer Jones' IOUs for goods and services provided by other farmers and local merchants. Apparently no one bothered to notice that Farmer Jones' apple orchard had become a golf course, and that his IOUs were therefore worthless, as he no longer possessed the ability to redeem them with actual apples. 

Some might argue that the entire community now depends on Farmer Jones and his worthless IOUs and that everyone will accept them indifferently rather than acknowledging the reality of their folly. Of course, were these revelations to occur, any unfortunate holders of Farmer Jones' IOUs would officially be forced to realize their losses. However, their true financial situations would improve, as any further accumulation of worthless IOUs would end. As for Farmer Chang, he would literally once again enjoy all of the fruits of his labor. 

The real loser of course would be Farmer Jones, for without a viable apple orchard or the ability to buy oranges on credit, he would starve. It would take years to transform his golf course back into an orchard, regain his lost knowledge of farming, and replace his obsolete or dilapidated farming equipment (provided he hadn't already traded it in for golf carts and titanium clubs). In the end, his only alternative might be to sell his golf course to farmer Chang and take a job picking fruit in his orange grove. 

M.S. Merwin

Separation

BY W. S. MERWIN

Your absence has gone through me   

Like thread through a needle.

Everything I do is stitched with its color.

Americano Dream

My IV bag is full of shitty drip coffee,

These days

I need caffeine just to maintain apathy.

Treading water thanks to two shots of espresso,

The dark circles under my eyes match

The stained ring on my napkin--

My cup is a glass half empty.

Ego.

Burning Man - Trey Ratcliff

"You should have just enough ego so that you don't walk into the street and get hit by a car." 

TED GONDER