under the influence of Lloyd Dobler

i'm leaving for New England in a few hours, and unlike the last time, no juggling is involved. instead i'm preparing with a healthy dose of Bob Dylan, a mild helping of separation anxiety, and a pile of chapbooks i plan to pepper from Cambridge to Woodstock.

but this is beside the point.

the point is i plan to run an experiment while i'm away, deviating from my obsessive journaling routine, and embracing a more stream-of-conscious approach. i imagine it will be reminiscent of the method i employed on the subways and buses nearly a decade ago, squeezing in as much as i could between 181st Street and Columbus Circle.

i was looking through those journals this time last year, and they gave me a new appreciation for how forcefully my surroundings impact the thoughts i call my own. among the unfinished starts and random tangents, i found cryptic rants about consumerism, the final grapple with my own racism, and absurdist treatises on polyamory. all were written under the influence of Lloyd Dobler, and my youthful romanticism made me blind to the importance of time and timing, of place and placement.

the coming two weeks are an attempt to traverse these worlds and bridge the gap between lyricism and minutia... as ever.