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I think that I am pretty close to exactly who I wanted to be when I grew up, despite the fact that I am not a fashion-designing Egyptologist who is in charge of New York.

(Great Lion-maned house party grad assing- everyone's growing up! French maid costume from scratch, finger bangers extrordinaires, bikes, strongbows, smashing capitalism with petit pas) (oh god, why don't you see it?) (come over, buttface.)

Current Music:
Lollipop- Lil' Wayne
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Catherine Anne,

You ridiculous beast, there is nothing about which to be sad. Quit being sad. Go do something useful.

Current Music:
Gloria and the Male Gaze
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Tags:
Current Location:
den of sloth
Current Music:
giggles!
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Do not forget meeting the Buddha at Ralph's (he likes cheese). Every song is from ten years ago. The ocean looking like milk under the sun. Imaginary daughters (right now they would be named Rama Pirate Prentice).
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windowfarm, four point, pay off all debts, write alright?, smoke more marijuana, get ADC internship, take GRE, curry the favors of keletso and the saber toothed tiger of logic (give bissap to nimtz), call your mother more often, improve french (weekly conversation, maybe find someone for daily conversation), language proficiency test see Olivia, hang out with Lisa more, write letters, more pirates, more swims, no doubt, jesus christ, more david or like, more Heady Conversations of Consequence, more DeBeauvoirian walk arounds, more work!, cultivate and feed from close friendships in general (garder la conaissance mais aussi le savoir)(note which is masculine, what of it?), no shitty dudes! and don't forget sa khol (Mahamodou, Ramatoulaye, Rahkkys (and the elder's sweet last conversation of "alhumdilallah!"), papa Abdoulaye, Papi, Mamoor, I want to be there, that person), whoops, find contact list, gaurd them all (Bashir the guinean, Ibou the guide, but avoid those Gambians fer chrissakes), do not forget to allhum the dilallah.

G. sleeps seven feet away, weary like I am. You can see all of the good clean living on our faces. Holed up in an Oceanside hotel room on the only rainy day in Californian history, we drink caffeinated malt liquor and light incense which promises to smell like "African Love," "Mango," and an old favorite, "Pussy." Awake his face is like that of a grizzled five year old, asleep it is like a baby hamster. He looks good. (I gave him Gravity's Rainbow because he was always my picture of Pirate Prentice. He identified the blueprint on the cover immediately.) I am scores of thousands of miles away, but I have no idea where. Can't relax, nothing smells good (even the novelty fumes). Packets of sensation in chemical form (nothing too strong here, just boring corporate vice) take me somewhere closer. Liminal State Bobcats, indeed. But enough! To space!
Current Music:
Sabali
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"Nietzsche was stupid and abnormal." -Tolstoy
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1. "Boredom: the desire for desires." -Tolstoy.

2. We played a game in Toubacouta concerning what one would be if not human. I said I would like to be a birthday cake. I just wrote that here because I wanted to remember it (also that Rachel R. said that she would be the world's largest jaayfonday and that Waly responded that if that were the case, he would like to put her on his wife.)(And of course Babocar,right on cue, declaring it to be his birthday and that he was famished, so come sit a little closer, eh?)

3. I will miss playing clapping games with Rahky the lesser and having her sit next to me during the Wal Fadjri evening news music, singing "Wade Wade Wade Abdoulaye Wade Wade Wade, Wade Wade Wade Abdoulaye Wade Wade Wade..." I will miss Mamour sweetly reading his homework to me in a parakeet voice and challenging me to arm wrestling matches. I will miss the way Mohama sits in my lap and plays with my chin. I will miss Buba's (mostly ecstatic)shrieking. I will miss catching Papi steal sugar cubes and the way his eyes are so serious. Turns out I do like kids (and that the Senegalese really like making kids). Huh.

4. What was it that Nietzche said about nostalgia being for the weak? And even as I write this, I remember riding the bus with Angel, being thrown about the back, howling with laughter at his aphorisms.

5. I am never going to stop moving. I am never going to be safe again.
Current Music:
chariots of fire
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If you could find me, you would find me chewing on a stick with The Idiot in my lap, not working on my papers because, as it turns out, the world of low finance is actually pretty boring. I appropriated this book from the Peace Corps party house (where we had vodka and real peanutbutter and tarot cards for thanksgiving, oh my! I wanted a piece of Mauritanian Mike, who feeds rats to talibés, but it was not to be. He singed me with a firecracker and that's as hot as it got before I had to go home, making excellent good friends with the taxi driver in my broken Klingon), as they had two copies and I am finished with Gravity's Rainbow. I read the plupart of The Idiot while hiding out during the lunch periods of 10th grade, cultivating acne and disdain. I hadn't realised until going back to it now what an impact it made- "The one thing in the world is spontaneous compassion. As of justice- that is a secondary matter."

Oxytocin production is apparently linked to empathy. I'll say no more of that for now.

There are 13, maybe 12 days left in this country and there's so much I haven't said to anyone. Incoherent overview: watched 3 sheep sacrificially slaughtered on Saturday while wearing wizard robes and golden discoball high heels, watched the grand Mecca pilgrimage on tv, ate raw sheep liver that was thrust into my face by my host mom (who has been rocking a Michelle Obama wig as of late), had a sex dream about P. Diddy, perforated my eardrum Friday night and have not been able to converse well in any language since, sketchy things with drunk Baye Fall that made me cry, had a 102 degree fever that left as mysteriously as it came... and I'm ready to come home, but is there one? But look, does it matter when there is dancing to do?
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The Futures Market:
a. Get married. Raise a small herd of milking goats, llamas. Make fat, happy babies. Read a lot of books.

b. Really do become a trade lawyer for the forces of good. Work for Human Rights watch. Have lots of extramarital sex. Drink a lot of booze.

c. Go to grad school. Examine simulacrums in Portegeuse-speaking Africa, or something. Have lots of extramarital sex. Drink a lot of coffee.

d. Become a religious ascetic. Spend a lot of time looking hot in some manner of headscarf and roiling about in fits of ecstasy. Transcend the desire to drink anything.

e. Join the Peace Corps. Get paid poorly to shit your pants and be miserable. Have sex twice a year or so. Drink heavily, but furtively. Go back to square one in two years with the satisfaction of being able to speak a pretty much useless language.

f. Work in a coffeeshop for six months out of the year, travel for the other half. Get paid nothing to shit your pants but be too cool to care. Put colorful stars on a map. Have lots of one night stands courtesy of drinking heavily.
Current Mood:
drained teleological
Current Music:
the clink of bracelets
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I really ought to be doing my homework.
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