it spins. i run after it. it doesn't stop. i get tired. still running. so tired of running in place. it spins just to spite me.

so here we are, in sunny northern california again. hell, where's the rain? they made sure i was here to make it stop raining in november. you know who THEY are. serial rapists, everywhere.

on the way down, sina looks sad and says, "we don't fight, enough, sam. what happened? i used to beat you up all the time..." three days of being five again, my arms are re-immuned to punches.
i wrote crap on the way up north, crammed into a truck that holds three, just when i doze off, i hear sina say to neighboring cars, "fucking ass, get out of the waaaay." a poem called "Pleasant Valley State Prison" and one called "Oregon Lumberjacks", because we ran into a klan of lumberjacks from Oregon at a gas station in Wasco. what, you've never been to Wasco, California?

next semester will be good. i'll do stuff with Calpirg, i'll join the hiking club (if it's the last thing i do), i'll take that pottery class finally, and...get a job for sure.

and after jenny's explanation of how sad "the lucid eye" is, i gotta read it. jenny's funny. she'd make a great mom. she'll kill me for saying that, but hey, what are you gonna do? she listens to reasonable logic. when i argue with her, i'd have to actually make up a good arguement for her to agree with me. with some people, i'd just have to sound like i know what i'm talking about. anyway, she's really funny.