Something was said of awful truth

yesterday.

Things to do today

1. Listen to Tom Waits on Storytellers over breakfast. Then, listen to Stars.

2. Walk the footpath up through the woods and onto campus.

3. Brace self for the entire day of lecture. Also, brace self for and try not to develop turrets upon hearing the first words out of Sean Flanders.

4. Stagger home for the two hours between 6 and 8 for grilling with brothers and write a poem at the end of the night titled, "In Which I Compare Fraternity Brothers on the Deck to a Barrel of Snakes Waiting to be Tipped Over."

5. Fold Clothes, perhaps?

6. Find self in the company of the J.

Oh, Tuesdays!

Stepping out of the dirt of youth

And thus begins the fourth out of fifth year working towards the everglowing BFA, and I'm already ready to move onto the next thing. I saw all of the justnecessary faces today and several of the couldhavenots.

Goal for this year:
Meet fewer dipshits.

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I heard the voice of the C. in several professors today and couldn't decide whether it was a lack of the C. and the natural heart's longing process, or a characteristic of her voice that all other members of the department and program learned from her and now share.

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Things this past summer made me grow to miss with the fall approaching:

-Arguing on the porch until the sun barely rises with characters C. and J.

-Smoking cigarettes in the house with the jukebox playing "All My Friends" and then lying about it.

-The Highland house's garage with a cardboard box for cigarette butts and harmonizing/sobbing to Ben Folds' "Late."

-Visiting the Wagon Wheel ten minutes after it opened.

-Being prized enough to wear a "Boys of Beverly Hills 90210" t-shirt in the proper company of suiting individuals.

-Waking up on weekends in foreign places with the J.

-Tasting the first homebrew of July.

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Things to look forward to:
Thursday nights playing open-mics at McGoff's and adding new poems to my catalogue.

Rejoice/Crucifixion

Tonight at approximately 1:30 in the wee hours of the early morn, the shriek of a 23 year-old Korean was heard throughout all of the house. Seconds later, she came bailing down the staircase of the bedroom in the attic pale. Frightened at such a horrific sound, Pete arose from the chair in his room with a tennis racket and tumbling upstairs. The next noise was one of Travis yelling down to her, "If he's still alive, HE'S NOT FUCKING HAPPY, Brenda."

It was then that I had decided that despite my efforts to act as if nothing were happening outside the closed door of my room that my curiosity couldn't be shielded for a heartbeat more to find that Batsie, the cute bat friend with tender and delicate wings whom had found shelter in the peeling walls of the house attic from the cruel, cruel world had come out for her last dance and had been struck to death with the racket. Travis was just trying to move out. The coming days will be hard and sorrowful as the we, the brothers of the 211 Van Brunt Street house will mourn the loss of such a confidant.

just Mankato

Travis pointed out to me after moving in that the only photo I have in a frame on display is one of Kevin Costner and Madeline Stowe. He also suggested that I consider therapy because this may be known to psychiatrists as a form of displacement in the form of parental figures.

This quick update will unlikely be quick at all, despite having to be to work in an hour and a half. I don't know if I told you, but if you haven't noticed over the course of the last 11 weeks, I had a sort of constipated/slouched look on my face that sometimes yelled "I don't know where the hell I am." This is the byproduct of a gerund I conjured up last April where I thought it might be physically/mentally/emotionally possible for me to have two jobs again for the course of a summer. This time though, I'd be in Princeton, MN (or the Old Country) M-TH waking up at 4 to be to work at 5 until 3 in the afternoon, then driving 128 miles to Mankato, MN to work at the Grizzlebee's F-SU. I worked every day of the week for 11 weeks, sleeping on couches and in strangers beds. (Sidenote: Thank you Matt Vercant, though I hope we don't ever meet in person, your bed was sufficient to my needs).

On Thursday of last week (Aug. 2nd), I retired from my day job of building cabinet doors. Friday I packed and visited an old friend, and Saturday (Aug. 4th) I relocated quasi-permanently to Mankato. I've just uncovered the mystery of the missing underwear this morning after having been moved into my new abode at 211 for almost a week. A weight of curiosity has been lifted from me. From here on out, it's good times of Home Brewing Honey-Bee and Fat Tire Ales with Pete, Cooking with Jen, and feet resting on the rail of our porch.