sometimes, or often, when i'm in school, there's this raging sense in my brain of shrinking and shriveling and turning into an unappreciable raisin of withered thoughts or memories which are easily lost amongst chair legs and carpet pile. we talked today in french about this amazing ability of the artificer hero [i am very much paraphrasing and shining this up], cf. odysseus the resourceful or tristan the perky. to invent an identity for self-preservation. courtly love.

often with my flagging sense of what's real and what is just happening, or happening to happen, my inability to do things with conviction or enough momentum to make me better and stronger, i artifice too. i will my eyes to glaze over and my head to drop precipitously with boredom, i fall onto my bed with some kind of thud of despair. some conversations i overhear make me wonder where i am supposed to be, or who i am supposed to be, instead. what kind of either taking part or far away in somewhere more fragrant and troubled. so selfish. but really until i have some picture of myself and practice my smile a little better i can't do anything else. i wonder why certain conversations don't synchronize as they used to while other things... because i'm tired of this drive for style but also of such ugliness. criticism. blindness. some kind of unceasing pain i feel close at hand. the competition for angst. not for courtly love.

for something far more relevant for today and un self centered: anand.