before my brain floods again, after writing all i know in my last test, this afternoon is the only time right after the end of finals and right before i start my new job tomorrow early in the morning. i have today and right now to swim into this. only today to lose my perspective of history, stream-conscious the fuck out of this. the cancellation of void spaces. simple lists, the murmur of language says barthes, is all the same. what matter is that there is a birth of the author that comes along with the text, it is this precisely that gives it sense. just do a list now that you cant think of anything else. a list and a picture of you, biting your lips, kitchen ponderings. i like over sized sweaters in the winter, and the way a face looks right when they wake up, and sleep parked outside eyelids. i think of you like this. i try to explain Phoenix to a girl who has never heard of them before. how, how do you describe them? besides, you know, the feeling that it suscites in you, the tapping of feet, the dancing. it is drunkenness before it gets messy, the wind when the car is going fast fast fast and it is not cold enough for you to wear coats yet. The Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix album is turning out to be one of my favorite albums of the year (Rome, Fences, Girlfriend.) we listened to it the other day, three of us making dinner on a Thursday night, pasta with pieces of beef jerky, (i tried beef jerky for the very first time! it is not that awesome! but this one had bacon!) i don't cook much. I don't cook at all, to be honest. but let me tell you something. i love doing the dishes. it is the strangest thing. (this is my confession. I like, no, love doing the dishes. I like the warm water and the humming of songs. The hands covered in soap and a vague tangy scent of cleanliness.) this semester has gone by so fast. i will take with me the late night group study sessions and everyone with hundreds of papers spread all over the living room floor and the moment when no one cant, for the life of them, analyze anything meta-linguistic anymore and we go into strange subjects and think about the future, when none of this will matter as much. i like all of the random memories we accumulate from classes. the coffee vending machine for a dollar, the best coffee you'll ever drink, your fingers around the hot plastic cup when still daydreaming and listening to your professor recite excerpts of golden age spanish theater, Calderon de la Barca's:
¿Qué es la vida? Un frenesí.¿Qué es la vida? Una ilusión,una sombra, una ficción,y el mayor bien es pequeño;que toda la vida es sueño,y los sueños, sueños son.