What it really says is // Flynn Sighting
So pictured below, the caption is: Rabid Koala Wears Beret.
As to Flynn, well he's officially alive, as I spoke to him in a very cracked out state before I left for NY after I finished up a prelim. I called him at an inappropriate time (when I knew he would be at work), but I snagged him for a few minutes. He apparently was getting over some kind of strep or something icky, and was working like a madman many many hours a day. He was to call me back, but you know...and he eventually did, a coupla days later. I'll catch up with him eventually. But he's alive...somewhere.
As to me, I was just in NY -- home and the City - visiting my family, getting out of Nashville, going to the City, going to Mohonk, and then getting the hell outta there before the home vibe was too much for me. So I'm back in Nashville, working, and have to write a syllabus. Do I know what the hell I am teaching? In a vague sense, yes, but I don't teach until the spring...but I have a workshop to attend on all this, oh, Thursday. Good luck to me.
I also hate my job. Have I mentioned that? If I watched
Office Space right now, I'd quit instantaneously. After taking the first of my four comps exams, and having sorted through some things about my life, I know I hate this job, don't care what it produces as a company, and that this position has nothing to do with where I'm headed as an individual.
You don't take prelims if you are headed towards a terminal master's degree. You don't take them unless you're really serious about becoming a philosopher. You just don't. They're too gruelling and physically and mentally exhausting to do for fun or on a whim. After I finished my metaphysics exam up, and before I left town, I thought about going home and getting to read some pleasure stuff. And after however many days of reading philosophy for the exam, my idea was to read some Descartes for shits and giggles. Yep, I'm a philosopher. That's my prognosis.
As to relationshippy-ness and such poetic matters of taste: I think I may finally be over my ex-boyfriend. I heard some news the other day about what he's up to, etc., and some of his not so great qualities that are continuing. I wasn't surprised in the least as to what he was doing, and I didn't really feel connected to it in the least. I used to really worry about him and whether or not he was okay and all that. But that seems like ancient history at this point. I can't save him from himself, and although the door is always open for him to call me if he needs to, he never will. I didn't really feel worried, I just felt unsurprised and disconnected. And perhaps that is where we are. I've composed a little something in the wake of that, and in the wake of me being mischevious and making trouble with my big mouth...we all know I'm candid as hell. So here it is. Feel free to comment:
17 August 04, 2:45am
and as I heard the news
I felt nothing / surely I
wasn't surprised, all as
expected / all is not well
long since I had a hand
in this, or a part to play
like I say, you can't see
my hands, and I'm no longer
reaching / so I let it drop
this time -- nothing to keep
to myself
***
and in an unexpected move
I lay myself bare
no plan, no thought of reaction
a free throw in the dark--
even with good aim, it's
almost impossible
but six weeks, an ocean
and baggage separate
and all the I'm sorrys
don't change that
but if you mean it
you can't come up short
and I spend every day of my life
meaning it / and sometimes
the harder you try, the harder
it is
and funny thing,
I'm still standing
in the baggage claim
if you ever decide to
come looking
maybe I'll ride around
on the conveyor belt for a while
to pass the time
still, we didn't have
a good shot the first time
thought I'd give it another go
and you just don't know
you don't want that scar
torn open again / in continual renewal
so I knock on your heart (cautiously)
to see if you'll let me in
maybe someday
until then
I'm riding that belt
with my guitar
to serenade passersby
and tell my story
that's better than fiction
I'm not teary eyed
so don't be sorry
those eyes look painful
too familiar
don't look at me that way
we're both vulnerable
in a heart skip sort of way
that's unbearably light
(not heavy, not sinking)
but you don't see it that way
