Reg Induced Insanity: RIIaiaiaiaiaiaiaiaiaiaiaia - a portrait of getting out of school lickety-split

guys,
i think my eyes are open wider than usual
i mean i think i have a larger visual field than normal
a non-human level of awakeness pries open my eyes
and i have the tiny eyes of a shrew
the tiniest, lies lies from tiny eyes
sprints up and down the corridor of the faculty (foucaulty) offices
coffee coffee coffee coffeeeeeee (baileys - sassayossie) [dear last year of college thank you for helping me develop a deeper relationship with balzac's killer]
i wondered if helene cixous got drunk in libraries
the internet is a cesspool
protracted portraits of co-dependence, gchatting people sitting next to you
disoriented-dizzy
cool-awesome, spew spew vomit vomit, can we get this over fourty pages?
do you like the music of pivot?
take for instance the fact that they sound like a distillation of a clockwork orange
take for instance the fact that they smell like Beethoven
transgressive noises on the fourth floor: music leaking from head phones, wrappers, phones on vibrate, giggles, whispers, pages flipping, books clacking to the ground, someone typing too loudly, coughing/sneezing, snicking combination locks in oddly sideways lockers, packing and unpacking, (someone farts), scuffing feet along the floor, a gently clicking clock, can you hear the thoughts screaming inside peoples' heads
i'm talking about the shift from collecting to editing
let's edit this collection
it's got too many pieces, too many notes Mozart, the royal ear can only take so many
buzz buzz buzz
my phone's on vibrate just for you (hey dad thanks for calling to check on me, when did you get power back, what kind of wind storm are we talking?)
are you excited or apathetic?
is that our version of how are you?
how's it going, tik hei, tuto bem
my phone keeps buzzing
certain people who are usually on my mind are not on my mind (but they do pop up - do you bite your thumb, i do but not at you)
that's funny - i've forgotten (and i'm writing about memory and mimesis and journeys through learning and unity of time and monologues and direct address, but i have forgotten a vital thing/person/experience already so here are my inherent contradictions)
bright shining clarity does not necessarily equate to paginas on the computer
speed speed speed of thought, but too fast to steer
and my face feels dirty
or at least oozy (gross? nuh uh) and rough
before the sprints in the back corridors
i pretend not to notice i person who i know
i pretend again
this like a walk-by social snub
not really
i just don't want to have a conversation
oh reggle
joey reg
i love you
do i though?
she says to me "he said a word to me, a word that i can't even say out loud, and i think you're with me on this one, you know, like now is not the time, he said a word to me"
but see that was from another time, let's pack up and go
pack up to go the library
and home again
then to home home
bags in and out of books, bags in and out of books
books in bags,
baguettes on your head salvador
keep the ants from crawling into your eyes
SO HEY
i'm glad we can say - fuck you, i love you

Situation Normal All Fucked Up

Today is dreaming in my stockings, too hungover to do much more brain work than absorbing so fuck thinking and producing, cold cold cold, quiet up in the bell tower, clanging ringing of my shoes on the floor, feeling like the Hologram Museum lady opening doors with my oversized key, and food tasting like it's maybe a joke that's being played on me by the world.

It's been a weird fucking week. Two weeks ago, I thought I had scrabbled together the foundations of some personal aphorisms, but the past five days or so have proved me wrong. I can feel how unsettled everyone and everything feels. Like right now, my nerves are dampened by the dull sheen of an affected brain but still I can feel the the blood drawing away from my fingertips and my toes, receding ever backwards to my heart. It makes me want to set up a nest of blankets and tossed aside scarves wherever I go, so I can keep warm and retreat whenever I need to. Almost as if, I have in some instinctive way decided to be a nomad now that the times have sprung upon me.

That sounds maudlin. I don't mean it to be. Things are changing, which is fine, just a little sooner than I had hoped or expected. Maybe I have to work on not worrying about permanence. For so many years of my life, everything was always the same. I think sometimes I want to hang on to that, as repulsive as it often was to me. It might be time to let go of that need. I wonder what that would do.

Do you have a sense of permanence in your life? Or an attitude towards transience and temporariness?

P.S. The Renaissance Society kitchen is a wonder to behold. There are so many bottles of Pellegrino water.

ink-spitters never run out of ink

as i swam through my hair amidst the rhythmic chirp of crickets, i felt my tentacles stirring. two emerged from the tips of my pelvic bones and i felt two burst from the middle of my back, rubbing pleasantly against my vertebrae. a fifth itch in my ankle became a squirming mess of suckers on the bathroom floor and a sixth slimy arm slithered soundlessly out of my belly button. from each palm explodes more than a handful of angry writhing seaflesh that triples my armspan. donning a pink bandanna and with a mouthful of ink, i am a bomb, borne from hard dirt and soft grass and speckled assholes.

the smoke of my cigarette hangs in the air and curls into a dragon, diving toward the light as i watch. i have three buttholes distributed around the back yard but i put it out under a rock and then, after spitting on the end, throw it into a large reedy bush.

this is really what i wanted to post about today

last night asia and i biked up, late but committed, to daley plaza and met up with our critical mass bikebuddies--thousands and thousands (or so) bikers. what a sight! as we rode, first falling foot to foot and then speeding down hills and up bridges, chicago turned to watch. all along the route, people came out of their houses-apartments-businesses and waved and smiled when we yelled "happy friday!" and the cars honked and waved and gave high fives. all those cars sitting and waiting, waiting for the parade of bikers to hand the roads back over. (most of the cars were complicit except one car that hit a bike!)

when we stopped for an orange/cigarette/conversation, we watched the bikesnake slither through. (perhaps a manytentacled wheely squid?) then rode hard hard to catch up, ending up at 31st beach and just as we climbed up into the lifeguard chair to smoke a j, the blinking blaring band of bikes rode into the beach. what a sight.

if you haven't ridden critical mass, i encourage you to. (it's the last friday of each month and they meet at daley plaza downtown.) i feel much fonder of my bikealike, a sense of community with other bikes...and damn, almost as if i have a right to ride on the roads aside those fucking nasty semi trucks, SUVs, and more harmless breeds of gasdragons. i couldn't stop smiling.

and that feeling (the seeds of revolution) made me think of bukkaka and this very blog. hmmmmmmyeah!

at present, i'm trying to wriggle around in my skin a little, find my feet and gulp down some deep breaths...that is, alone with the cats in the house, smoking and listening to music and putzing (as my mother would say). still reeling-bathing in the glory of the wind on my face and the honking-WAHHH in my ears from yesterday night. it's inspired me to bike around more, bike more, bike everywhere.