ramble II:
a stream-of-consciousness

Saturday, February 14, 1998

"You're always game for an outrageous outing or a funky party that rages into the night. Romancing and its subset, dancing, charge the air, liberating your organic sexuality. In quieter moments, you put some genuine feelings into words as graceful and embracing as your consummately human touch."

That was my horoscope for today. But maybe that's because it is Valentine's Day today, so everyone gets a schmaltzy romantic tone to theirs. Red, white and pink hearts wherever I go. What a chance for commercialization. While I'm not going to get sucked into the whole marketing scheme, I don't look at the holiday with a negative, cynical eye. I see V-day as a time to express your appreciation for the ones you love. I had fun making valentines for my friends and family.

I had my radio show, Musica Magnifica, today at Swat's WSRN station, playing an hour (2-3pm) of international tunes; this show's theme was world expressions of love: everything from heartfelt African beats to sweet Japanese tea-sipping melodies to lusty Cuban rhythms to emotional Pakistani music.

I haven't been remembering my dreams lately. Only little fragments. Like the night before last, I dreamt that Justin and I were traveling down through Central America together. We were looking for the Panama Canal. It was just a swampy river that we had to wade through, but then I realized that the real canal was actually farther up ahead; I saw it as a skinny bridge of wiry metal cables. Phoebe is now in Mexico. John is in Cuba.

I'm procrastinating. This week I'll be reading Kafka.

Lots of thoughts are floating around at surface-level, but lately I haven't felt like delving much deeper than that. Defense mechanism. They all just drift through my consciousness without leaving much of a trail behind them:

shared off-campus house next semester?
the sharp pain in my stomach. retaliation at what I've done to it?
his smiling face and warm energy.
India next summer?
Swat's social scene.
need to vacuum my floor.
is Mom really moving to Italy?
type O blood.
comfort of silence.
Chasing Amy and the dynamics of fluid sexuality.
sculpture design.
the power of zucchero.
my sheets are 100% cotton.
"intern" has a new meaning these days.
remember: I am my body.
UPS fucking owes me big time.
these boots are made for walkin'.
smell of coffee & fried eggs, sound of weekend jazz, and sight of morning sun.
constructed social mores.
I like my new underwear.

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