talking about cleansing makes me yak

i've moved into a burgeoning hippy mecca. it's the only thing that could put a damper on the beautiful garden and location by the park. the next person who uses intestinal purity as a euphemism for self-induced diarrhea may trigger some gastro-intestinal problems in me. only without all the carrot juice and homemade laxatives. on a similar note, fuck warrior yoga. your sensei is a bro with a soul patch. if you want to be a warrior, join the army. or start the revolution already.

i'm only bitter because i've been running a fever for a few days. the nice thing about feeling like you are about to pass out all the time is that you can justify spending three dollars a day on fresh squeezed orange juice and then sleeping for thirteen hours instead of going to work. that almost makes it sound nice, doesn't it?

this friday david played in a laundromat/bar in soma, which turned into a mini porter reunion. the show was nice, the reunion part was just depressing. there's nothing worse than being too exhausted/under the weather to even get drunk, no matter how much you drink. cut to $50 taxi to the city, breaksfast with max, then spending a sunny afternoon reading on polk street with a huge glass of orange juice and a macaroon from rainbow. about 30 dogs said hi to me while i was sitting outside working through book2 of republic. the reading of which incited my neighbor to say hello, causing cairo to come up in conversation, causing me to pick his brain. he freelanced. hehehell yes that's what i'd like to do. but what a banal thing to say.

chomsky spoke at the paramount in oakland. want of $250 kept me from hearing him. also, want of dinner kept me from investigatingthe scalping/sneaking scene. so instead i ate dinner with the fellows aka matt and jon, who are living in sf for two years on stanford's penny and writing poetry and sci-fi respectively. matt has crohn's disease and spells dessert "desert". i feel stanford could be more judicious with their fellowship funds. jon shreds tenderly his 3/4 size guitar and is into dostoyevsky. doug, the creative writing prof from usf came by to shoot the shit and we all ended up laughing like idiots over tea in the smokiest room in the castro.

at eleven i took off to meet max and nico for drinks at romolo, the sommelier and gm from coi came over as well with the latest stagière and we sat around until they were ready to lock up. max and i had fourth meal at trieste next to big al's where the algerian man who works there speaks to max and i in french and gives us free beers for the taste of his home tongue. it's four, we head home, market is almost dead, but the bars in the castro still have a few lights on.

hardly strictly! neko case, the ferocious few (max's neighbors), and amadou and miriam were highlights. nobody has shit on a blind man playing a gold 12-stringed guitar. nobody. then, to my house.

i'm sick. er. a liter of oj and bear hugs from dad, mom makes me tea. we sit in the garden, watching the chickens and playing with feebi's ears. the girls, lucy and sweet esther, are laying away. lucy has some mental disabilities which cause her to attack and mount the bushes and even attempt to hump ethel into submission. she has trouble eating food, she misses. a very awkward hen. esther is lovely, though, and loves to get up in your lap and snuggle.

i nap. then, make mozzarella. in the shape of a heart. cheesy? har har. back to sf. sleep. wake at five. every deranged man woman and heathen bastard child is headed south. i sleep. trudge home. class. home. soup.

today has been spent between oj refuels and the library. made it through a significant portion of fanon's "wretched of the earth" and have a basic plan of action for the next three months, which is about as far ahead as i can bear to look these days. the sheer amount of new and scary undertakings is kind of exciting. the sheer amount of bureaucracy involved is shit inducing. cleansing. let's hear it for my intestinal purity.

i'm a fucking eye sore today. my soul is in question. worth having? i'm finally excited about academic projects in a real and productive way and will be a graduate in eight weeks barring tragedy. hey! you! murky future! are you listening? i'm coming...! please hang on to your socks, i may look polite, but i take no prisoners.