Pat and I, we stayed at the same corner and had handstand contests and he always won.
"I'm going to be really excited if it comes through but honestly, I really have no faith in this Dream House. I mean, doesn't it sound familiar? And look at us now, all still living at our parents' house. You can hardly call Connor and Matty's place a dream. or Shane and Kyle's."
But maybe all of that was my fault.
Beer Pong before work? Fuck yeah I'm down.
And these people trust us with their children.
Tomorrow is my last date before my first Mexico trip and I still don't know where we're going.
Before I leave I need to withdraw $400
Before I leave I need to get a CoA transcript sent to Wisconsin
Before I leave I need to find a book to bring on the bus.
I'd like a kiss before I leave and that's so much to ask. and yet it's not.
I wonder if we'll all turn out to work desk jobs. It doesn't seem likely and yet, none of us knows what we want to do with our lives. Maybe Shane'll teach preschool.
Shane and I clashed alot tonight.
Rachael Valler is afraid of losing to us in Taboo.
My Freshman first semester I got 1 A, 5 C's and a D.
My Junior second semester I got 7 A's.
I would really enjoy winning a national championship with Wisconsin.
I drank Vodka out of a plastic water bottle underneath the table at La Pinata tonight.
I wish more of my friends were more like Shane and Pat.
I wish Shane and Pat would motivate me to do more with my life.
When I was in New Orleans I went to City Park and practiced handstands for hours. Even in October the weather is so warm. I wrote a poem on a bridge:
Two turtles rest on a fallen palm tree six inches from the waters surface
Soft dark green algae
Split-pea river
They stand so still legs splayed necks angled
Five minutes motionless
and every second brings you closer to the certainty that they’re statues
- and then the smaller one in the back
moves his head half an inch –
this is their life.
Unmoving meditation beneath the crows laugh.
A life based on stillness and purposeful repositionings
Up above a soft haired blonde walks by and my focus follows fantasizing
of held hands beneath trees and sweaty riverside lovemaking.
I want to know her name
and what she thought when she saw me shirtless.
On a bridge. Writing poetry.
Daydream until the click of her boots fade and I realize where I am and what I’d started.
The turtles hadn’t moved an inch.
Infinite wisdom in that nothingness.
Honest to god meditative tranquility
More serene than rustling leaves and rippling water,
Misdirected butterflies and lovestruck little boys
With their long hair.
Finding the image of an enlightened turtle and from it erupting thousands of thoughts and sentences opposite sentiment. When all I really want is to stop everything from moving. And fall away from thought for just one second.
Shane and I talked last night about the tendency to think that everything one writes is absolute shit. He says that he hates writing in his blog because of that fact. I think I write in my blog so that some day someone does come out and tell me it's shit. But nobody ever will.
Its pretty pretentious to call what you write poetry. especially in the writing.
must be something I learned from Hannah.
George Stubbs is the cover story for Mssui.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
George Stubbs is better than me at Ultimate.
Grant Lindsley is better than me at Ultimate.
Ollie Honderd is better than me at Ultimate.
Casey Ideka is better than me at Ultimate.
Jeremy Norden is better than me at Ultimate.
Patrick Roberts is better than me at Ultimate.
Milo Snyder is better than me at Ultimate.
Russell Wallack is better than me at Ultimate.
Sam K-S is better than me at Ultimate.
Making a show of my ego is what this blog is all about.
Goodnight.
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