2 years (minus) 2 days ago

i've not written in days, owing to a lack of time and unwillingness to get up any earlier. unfortunately 5am has become le temps de réveiller de rigeur, meditating before sunrise and then spending the rest of the day in a combination of teaching and/or writing my thesis. this typically continues until sundown or just beyond, and by the time 10 o'clock rolls around i can barely keep my eyes open. i drift off to sleep seeing the strangest things, like last night's dream of a non-existent African-American Studies department at my university.

but this is beside the point.

the point is that i've turned to the old reliable standby of the over-worked and under-slept: the cop-out. explaining our actions into (or out of) meaning is one of the mind's most well-practiced functions, and it never ceases to amaze me how many ways there are to under/stand a given phenomenon.

man cannot live by excuses alone, however, and so i turn to that stalwart companion of the cop-out: repetition. so, given that my class starts in 16 minutes, and in anticipation of the 15 hour day ahead of me, i (re)present what was happening around this time last year, when my yin and i went to see this man play his guitar:

Conor Oberst, Nebraskan

resolve/crumble

introductions were made;

the backdrop: patch-top anarchist
chatter, comparing flashlights in the dark.

topics: androgyny, honky-tonk,
Omaha hipsters, dreams of David Bowie.

searching
for a label
to name
thi/e/s/e
thing/s.

it seams to remain,
the stitching removed.