trash can emeritus - eh eh eh eh pick pick pick pick pics on the internet - like we own the inner net - like we dunk that better bet - and if we like it we can keep it - all the twinks and tweakers surround the speakers and if you put your hand to floor you might find you wanna speak it - we saw the hurricane when it was coming cross the lake and the lifeguards called us in - photocopier emeritus - and anything we do, well i don't think it merits this but - go ahead and try it you should prolly try it - and if we like it we can keep it - and the people who aren't going to berlin on saturday night are moving to berlin for some crazy reason they can't explain - and everybody's shouting in german - and we are clutching each other - even the quiet part of the night that's just the wind and us in torn in two by the drunk boys and hobo bros and other bros - sure all the bros - and the street lamps make everything look suspended in orange jello - and we say oops and recuse ourselves like it's not our fault - like it happened to us - but our faces hurt from laughing and we run away from home - oops - and this week middle school teachers and grandmothers and professors emeritus die all within in our near vicinity and we write screeds in the woodchips of the playground with our piss - people are here for a year - for the next two and a half weeks - the people who say they are visiting might never actually show up - and you're probably moving in five or six months - so we all use the same towel - and say what we mean when it's past eight and we've been drinking since two - because somebody thinks we must own the inner net - and everybody thinks the other ones are hogging all the fun - you must be - we must be - if other people think we're having fun - we must be.

ok so i just discovered yesterday that posting a housing ad on craigslist is a
GREAT WAY
to meet people.

really..

cuz you get SWAMPED with responses from all sorts of different kindsa people
and they all wanna prove that they'd be an excellent person to live with
so they give little bios, talk about their interests,
about their pasts and ambitions,
and then you get their email address

AND then you can invite them over to see your place ;)))
cuz that's what they wanted anyway
and so did you.
haha!

lovin my blood

i want to shout it from the rooftops! today, as expected, i started bleeding (in prep for the new moon tomorrow...it's already been a cycle of the moon since rosh hashanah on 3rd beach in lapush with stam bex and elz), a few days after having used fertility awareness method (FAM) as birth control. i wasn't unprotected, i was protected by my own knowledge of my own body! fuck yeah!

also, if anyone wants a kombucha mother-- we have some pretty little babies ready to leave.

also, happy birthday to justin, our little boogerbutt:

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

a small anecdote of utter unimportance

figure A: toward a theory of soap (1)

personally, i find foam much less intimidating than soap. perhaps not quite spiritual, but certainly pleasing. on the other hand, i have some concept that it is altogether fake and therefore not to be trusted. when i have encountered foamy things in nature, i tend to also think that they are unnatural--faux-mold and faux-mushrooms, cheaply made, placed by the invisible armies of civilization to make the forest experience more photo-friendly. (the same armies who are responsible for mobilizing bird to move from tree to tree and slowly plucking leaves from trees to preserve the illusion of autumn.)

i suppose there's something in the idea that people relate to their own dirtiness differently based on the soap they choose (or avoid).

mostly i would like
to fill your mouth
with my foam
and your foamy saliva
inject with my lips-o-suction
until we are dry
and curseless
and all of the jargon is gone,
replaced by oooooooooooze.
(say it say it do it do it)

and preemptively, expectantly i will add: corey where are you? are you here yet?

oh and also, i hope ev's last post can create some reallife conversations here at the bao...i'd rather tackle feelings in realtime sometimes rather than commenting on posts, but i think we can collectively agree that we are all in the habit of seeing/reading/consuming more than we can acknowledge or are expected to/expect ourselves to engage with. the blog is perhaps the closest place i've seen on the web to some kind of reciprocity. and i like how it weaves in and out of conversation and life. so i'm glad you posted ev and i hope it can be a bridge between webworld and the living room to have some kind of further conversation or something.
< / meta-mediation-of-mediatedness >

back to the paperbox, bye!

1. internet, the. "useful knowledge for useful people or psychoanalytic queries into banality or !!!???)0()(;;;;!!!." baohaus living room: "roland barthes on dirt," google search engine, MILK TIME and republished at the end of the world. link to full exploration of the luxuriousness of foam here.

2. at right, figure B. "foam or shit?" from "the abbreviated index of poor materials for sharpening giant pencils" (2)

this is not a blog post

blue day,

rue day,

i-want-to-moo day.

i've been meaning to post about camp trans but i don't quite know how, yet.

cats shedding,

vodka in the afternoon.

humid air and

sidewalk stares.

even when the bathrooms at work are always empty, choosing between the one down the hall and the one further down the hall is still an existential conflict.

sometimes revolution makes me happy

and sometimes my bone marrow aches with sadness for everything that is wrong.

(today is among the latter days.)

and yet

my garden flourishes

gabe and vlad have been sleeping with me

the lake is cold and bright with just a bit of a vomit-like skin

and i got free condoms from 5710.

anyone interested in going to pittsburgh with me for the G20 protest, september 24 & 25?

and a challenge

to enliven this space.

do you think your experience of life differs from that of the average squid?

please explain.