today i found $200 pesos on the street and talked to john on skype for an hour and had glass class and felt like i don’t know anything because why would language work one way and not another why is it hablar and not habler or pensar and not penser and why is it adonde comprar and not de donde comprar and how does language have no sense and also i think i’m just being more pessimistic now and seeing the language half malentendido and also i told john i don’t mean to be a salmon but new york is not all that great maybe i believe in fate today i aggressively made friends with sarah in the café at iuna i said what is your phone number and let’s go to barrio chino and this is it we’re becoming friends now, and on the subte home i thought about how every once in a while i remember my home friends and our home i meant to write our high school but perhaps i didn’t perhaps i meant to write our home or perhaps language is deceptive and hiding in the corner tricking my hand


tonight at dinner i did an interpretive dance with my fingers for Madeline to describe my day; it went like this: quiet, tremble, jump, fidget, scurry/move water glass, fidget, dance dance dance, jump and exclaim! quiet and done.

Chicago, IL

Things are still sad and cold and grey here these days.

Chicago, IL

Things are still sad and cold and grey here these days.


sunrise over Cleveland

well, not quite Cleveland yet

the hot blur pulling itself up

like an orange fish caught and bleeding on the dock

and this trip won’t end

Last night I dreamed that I got a grad school decision in the mail, accidentally dropped it in a lake, and then couldn’t read it.


Things I am scared of: cocaine, not loving my children.

Chicago, IL
(Courtesy of Paul)

Chicago, IL

(Courtesy of Paul)


ceramic sculpture of a body fired, glazed, fired, broken, with flowers growing out of it.


to consider: what if i lost this notebook? it would be okay, because this (these thoughts, these events) are what happened. so they are in the public sphere? (i think i employ the Socratic method with myself). do i no longer believe in secrets? maybe i no longer believe in secrets. believe in? – value, think i should have.

Chicago, 2013

Chicago, 2013

Chicago, IL

Chicago, IL

Chicago, IL

Chicago, IL


st mark’s bookstore

i guess this is what i do: go to bookstores. when left to my own devices. but then there’s the question of where i’m left to my own devices: on the one hand, at home, where i search for companionship and also a certain strangeness of place, which i find in scribed papers. on the other hand: elsewhere, where i find both strangeness and companionship in the place itself. this is what i mean by writing: to sit down where i am and put on paper thoughts i didn’t know i had. now i’m reading nox by Anne Carson. i would like a public bath and a bottle of apple cider vinegar with which to rid myself of my itching scalp. went to yoga to the people, and now i’m so tired. worn, spent, slow. a goal: to not hurry, these two weeks. to not move quickly, as i have no need. i need solitude to write; this is what i’ve learned. it is hard to make lists when i change journals so quickly.

it takes me an hour to recover from a yoga like that. i come out starving and so thirsty and then i have to pee a lot. it’s like my whole body is inhaling and exhaling and there’s nothing i can do about it. yesterday i blogged about homelessness. i wonder what my parents will think of that.

i want more water, but they charge you 25cents here to use the bathroom.

(drawings of lungs, heart, ovaries)


barnes and nobles now, where i don’t much want to be, but the strand didn’t have nox, which i’m halfway through now, and i’m noo tired to keep moving, although i’d rather be elsewhere with nox, and comfortable chairs. barnes and nobles has everything which is a strange concept. but the people are comforting, so many in all the chairs tucked aside as in an airport. at JFK on Saturday i saw people sleeping on the floor at the gates. briefly, it smells of lipstick.

after yoga it’s like my hair grows long and fast and then all falls out at once. there is nothing i can do but feed it. it’s like a crying infant. chair post. john west wants some response to the bay. i wish i didn’t have to call it this: the bay. i wish i could instead say Oakland, Berkeley, san Francisco. but it is none of these things. where is BART in that? where is the water, Albany, the strange fact of them all as separate cities? the strange invention of place.

i consider how to be a pedestrian in new york. treat all others as fierce animals, and make no sudden movements. don’t show nervousness. in fact, don’t be nervous at all. pay attention. but don’t make eye contact. if you do make eye contact, don’t look away. the other person will do that. remember, you deserve to go first. but maybe let the other person go first instead. you will appreciate being that person. look around. see. know that people will think you’re not from here. remember we’re all human. don’t expect anyone else to remember that.


thinking about medicine and the belief that we need to suffer



on the plane. feel pressured to write in my journal, but don’t want to write in my journal. remembering that my computer battery doesn’t last very long anymore. feel weird typing. anymore is the correct word to use there. i have moby dick. that is all. i have my journal. that is all. i have a hat i’m crocheting. that is all. that is not all. i do not have the window seat anymore (that is the correct word to use there) because i gave it to the older woman beside me. because i gave it. just talked to mom and dad on the phone. to dad and mom on the phone. dad asks, how were your last couple of days out there? mom says, i’m making vegan chili. and talks about chipotle raw-mesan. i send out love. Christine gave me lots of advice in the car about studying abroad. i opened up like a cabinet and said let me tell you let me tell you i have this friend this is how my program works i’m nervous because let me tell you.

i just don’t want to lie. anymore. right now. right now i don’t want to lie anymore. but what. but what. now i think everything will just open up i will open up all this material that makes my bag so heavy that made me have to check a bag that i’m bringing back all this stuff i’m bringing back, now it will all pour out and arrange itself. that is what i think.

(dad says, are you keeping a journal? yes, but it doesn’t feel like it. it doesn’t feel like i’m writing a lot. even this doesn’t feel like i’m writing a lot. what feels like writing? what does? maybe when i’m home it will. maybe then i’ll know. i don’t have a window seat, and that’s okay. i had a papusa with beans and vegetables at the farmers market this morning. a lot of fruit samples.)

i want to brainstorm. brainstorming works, jonah lehrer! but i’d like to see what he says about that.

by not write in my journal, i mean i want to write on here, on my computer. it’s faster, and i think faster. when i’m really writing. maybe that’s what really writing means. i think it has to do with the progression of my thoughts. i mean, when i’m not just writing what happened, but moving along, getting deeper into my thoughts, into myself, my self, as i write. the woman next to me is reading a bible. a little orange bible. orange is a nice color. i want to be surrounded by positive people.