Sunday, November 3, 2002

with these hands

I have more faith than you could hold in your hands. Both of them. A grocery bag or a backpack wouldn't help contain it either.

I have just left a horrible conversation initiated by psych major Bonnie on the subject of dreams and fate, and whether either of them have any Meaning. Rebecca, Jamie, and I said that they do. Bonnie started to revert to psych babble, and I do mean babbling, not engaging us at all, but spouting off shit, telling us that what we thought was bullshit even though she did ask us what we thought, and at that point I knew what was to come, that this was not well-intentioned, that Bonnie had a point she wanted to argue to us - and Bjork's Telegramwas playing in the background all the while, it still is - I miss you, but I haven't met you yet - and I couldn't deal with it - Bjork knows it and I do too, and I don't have the time nor the energy to engage in conversations with people that don't know this - that have lost something true and beautiful to an academic major. I am convinced being a psych major changes one's way of looking at the world for the worse.

A couple weeks ago, I talked to Jelena about how school was going for her and she said that she was going to study pscyh now, and I seemed startled and she said she knew, that it was weird for her to study it. That she believed in the soul and that it was so weird, so jarring to be in classes where everything was boiled down to some scientific reason that entirely failed to see the point in this, in any of this. And she seemed encouraged by the prospect of encountering a different way of looking at the world, that it would only expand upon her worldview.

Also a couple of weeks ago, I talked to my sister on the phone and she said that she was thinking about being a psych major, and I pleaded with her not to, to continue doing Cultural Studies, that I did not want her to think that way, that it would happen no matter what she said, that in conversations about fate, she would spout off bullshit enitrely irrelevant, enitrely uncalled for about how there is no higher power.

PCP was scary, there was low-qualtiy sound, scary males I didn't know, and even scarier people I did know. People on drugs are a little less pure, a little paranoid, a little sketchy and it sometimes makes me really sad to encounter it .

"From those sights / Take one ... there see / A work that's finish'd to our hands, that lays, / If any spectacle on earth can do, / The whole creative powers of man asleep." - Wordsworth

Boys I like, that I would love to do nothing more with than hold hands with and stare at the edges of lips, of not enitrelly comfortable eyes roving for something to focus on - these boys doing their own thing, doing whatever it is that thing is, that that thing has been.

And the only beautiful part is the day after, the stillness, the calmness that people have when they just wake up at twilght, that they rise as the sun sets, how deserted campus is during the day - people hungover, recovering, comfortably asleep on their little plastic mattresses.

That a dream can come true, oh, ah, I miss you(Wild horn blaring that makes you want to dance with this knowledge).

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