up jumped spring
You know those little 100-calorie packets of fake Oreos? They're really delicious with a glass of milk.
In other words, I'm home. It's...uh. Uh. It's weird. I got back late last afternoon and the family dynamic fell right back into place. Then I went out and visited Lee and Sean, smoked a little pot and came home. Then I watched what seemed at the time to be a very orientalist and boring film called The Midnight Express with my family ("family bondage time!"). At least there was some hot Turkish homoeroticism contained therein. (They did not oil wrestle, but there was mud wrestling and showers and Turkish polis.) And I was 'stoned immaculate' as it were by which I mean I got on a meticulous laundry kick and started in on my 4-weeks' worth from the last month of school.
Today is my brother's birthday. He's 17. Mine is tomorrow, and I will be a grown lad. Heh.
Ooh, and Cristina got me twall-style Tom of Finland boxers! Whosa fabulous girlfriend? Yeah.
So, I dunno. I'd like to start getting my shit out of my car, do some yoga and/or lifting soon, and dig into Anti-Oedipus, my reading project for the summer. I've been skimming through Pablo Neruda poems trying to find an appropriately nomadic one.
What can I say without touching the earth with my hands?
To whom shall I turn without rain?
I have never set foot in the countries I lived in;
every port was a port of return...
or, if you prefer:
Qué podía decir sin tocar tierra?
A quién me dirigía sin la lluvia?
Por eso nunca estuve donde estuve
y no navegué más que de regreso...
(from "Fin de Fiesta")
In other words, I'm home. It's...uh. Uh. It's weird. I got back late last afternoon and the family dynamic fell right back into place. Then I went out and visited Lee and Sean, smoked a little pot and came home. Then I watched what seemed at the time to be a very orientalist and boring film called The Midnight Express with my family ("family bondage time!"). At least there was some hot Turkish homoeroticism contained therein. (They did not oil wrestle, but there was mud wrestling and showers and Turkish polis.) And I was 'stoned immaculate' as it were by which I mean I got on a meticulous laundry kick and started in on my 4-weeks' worth from the last month of school.
Today is my brother's birthday. He's 17. Mine is tomorrow, and I will be a grown lad. Heh.
Ooh, and Cristina got me twall-style Tom of Finland boxers! Whosa fabulous girlfriend? Yeah.
So, I dunno. I'd like to start getting my shit out of my car, do some yoga and/or lifting soon, and dig into Anti-Oedipus, my reading project for the summer. I've been skimming through Pablo Neruda poems trying to find an appropriately nomadic one.
What can I say without touching the earth with my hands?
To whom shall I turn without rain?
I have never set foot in the countries I lived in;
every port was a port of return...
or, if you prefer:
Qué podía decir sin tocar tierra?
A quién me dirigía sin la lluvia?
Por eso nunca estuve donde estuve
y no navegué más que de regreso...
(from "Fin de Fiesta")