and on and on until the language falls apart; i spent the evening wrapping straw, preparing for performance, wondering when, just when did I fall off the deep end? It looks strange from some angles, but from some angles it looks alright... when you've surrendered to the flow you just never know when you'll end up covered in dead plant matter dancing in front of your colleagues.
there is some deep dissatisfaction with the paleness of my world, I suppose that's why I dance, although there is also some comfort in that world that makes dancing seem incredibly stressful. I may have to take Phillips mantra for a caveat and proclaim "unconcern for results" as an apt ending to my time in Iowa City.
I've written half a dozen thesis' in the last several months and now I have a little over a week to choose one which will come to represent me. An empty record of me to go unread in holding down the street. It seems the only appropriate choice would be to turn in the thesis thesis, the one I wrote concerning the concerned writing of a thesis writer. This thesis proclaims its thesisness while the universe stares at itself through my eyes.
Boy I could sure use a good metasin man to bounce my thinking off of right about now.
