the strange thing

is that, undeniably, and with deliberate forward motion, I have moved from losing touch with high school friends to losing touch with college friends. Maybe not, though; I have actually kept in much better touch with some of my college friends than I did with my high school friends (and this week there was new hope for better in-touch-ness in the future with an old HS friend.. encouraging.).

But maybe what I mean is that I have moved from losing touch with high school to losing touch with college. And maybe what I really mean is that, undeniably, I have moved from losing touch with who I was in high school to losing touch with who I was in college. It's a weird habit of mine - to run away from who I've been rather than to run with it. It - those past me's? Haven't they all been me? Of course, but I'm not the same, not at all. In fact, what parts of me have remained unchanged? What is a person, an individual, if there is not a part of him that cannot be changed? If every part of her can be changed? So, I am the same, of course. But the person you meet now is vastly different than the person you met 5 years ago. 10? Unrecognizable. My name is the same, my lips; my size hasn't even really changed that much. Then what is it that gives a person her driving qualities?

I could probably start telling you. I could recount the past 10 years and tell you the vast differences in my life now and then. But that would really turn out to be quite a bore, quite pedantic. I can only say that I really don't think we were ever meant to stay the same. No, not at all.

16-year low

This is funny.

Remember that this is an article in the v. serious Business section of the Charlotte newspaper (v. esteemed.. think Washington Post, except Charlotte. and Observer.), alongside v. serious articles such as, "Housing construction hits 16-year low", "Once-bucolic N.C. 73 in throes of growing pains", "Christmas clubs dying, not dead", and "EarthFare coming to Rock Hill".

4th paragraph down:

"This can be smart if the people on whom you are modeling your behavior know more than you do. But in many situations, no one knows very much. When you follow people who don't know what they are doing, and other people follow you, the resulting feedback allows small events to trigger huge and irrational changes in group behavior." [bold added for indication of favorite and most true part]

oh, society, wherefore art thou?!

penultimate paragraph:

"Yang said that although many investors recognize the problem of contagion and herding behavior, this does not keep them from following the herd, possibly because they feel less regretful about bad decisions if they know many other people made the same mistake."

I want to become a professor so I can make lots of common sense statements, and then be quoted in thousands of articles by underpaid journalists all across America. I will send out e-mails daily to a random selection of lucky journalists with ready-for-print quotes to supplement their paltry instant ramen diets. e.g.:

"Laura said that although many pigs recognize the problem of crap hanging from their butts and herding behavior, this does not keep them from following the crap-covered herd, possibly because they feel less regretful about being covered in crap if they know many other pigs are just as disgusting and ignorant."

As a professor, I will have lots of common sense to apply the same theories (sentences) across a variety of different issues. e.g.:

"Laura said that although many teenage girls recognize the problem of anorexia and herding behavior, this does not keep them from following the vomit trail to the bathroom, possibly because they feel less regretful about bad decisions if they know they'll one day be skinny enough to make even worse bad decisions."

first-name basis, you'd better believe it. only my friends are allowed to call me by my last name.

i'm not saying you're doing a bad job, but could you put a little more effort into it?

wow, that last post is even worse than i remembered. my poetry, it appears, is more forced and hackneyed than the advertising tactics used in local car commercials. And, because of the content of the poem, I can't edit it. Sad.

Anyway, I guess i was trying to say that i'm sick of trying to figure out life. i'd rather kind of just do it (hey, it's Nike's fault that that's hackneyed, not mine). But i'm not really sure how to do that either. which is v. stupid and backwards, that i think i have to figure out how to stop figuring out life. i mean, jesus christ.

Though last night (this morning), i dented my head on the glass door to my entertainment center trying to put in Scene It, so i'm not sure, really, that just doing anything is a good way to go for me.

long sigh

we are such a cursed being, I think, to have to think about what is, rather than to just be it.

the tv in the background.
tell it to play me something sweet
sweet surrender
to a metal box
not metal
more than metal now
materials I don’t know
don’t understand
how their collaboration
plays me something sweet

a holiday movie
the lifetime special
my sister’s favorite
why not
feel good, be good
be god
play god
pray to him
her?
it
[latin it]

ramblings
the tv in the background
playing
politicians debate
60 seconds
to answer an
unanswerable
thank you
sir
thank you
you’ve said enough
we’ve cast our judgment on you
god’s cast his judgment
its judgment
her judgment

not worthy
no second date
thanks for trying
thank you
you’ve said enough.

but we’re not done
I’m not done
I’m still here
asleep
awaken
rude.

ramblings,
noise
I’ve always hated poetry
bizarre
how bizarre
the pieces of our life
that come together

an old song
from high school
my old school
her new school
he wasn’t even in school
yet

can you edit
poetry?
seems like it would lose
its
charisma

Microsoft word
just uncapitalized
the ISMA in charisma
it also capitalized
Microsoft
(I did it that time)
and squiggled my
uncapitalized.
again.

dave matthews
is going to drop the
devil
to his
knees.

i
am going to drop the
gods
to their
knees

with my
tenacity
whatever that is.

I think I am going to make that first sentence, a thought that arose while reading page 296 of my Dial Press Trade Paperback version of Kurt Vonnegut’s Breakfast of Champions, the title to that poor excuse for a poem. Maybe I like poems after all. They’re v. quick to write.