|the stomach ache of saturn.
||[Feb. 24th, 2004|04:39 pm]
|||||crown me king- "even the caviar tasted like ashes"||]|
this sour turn of a tuesday is clamoring at the door. the laces of my brain are soaked in lethargy; it's like turpentine soaked fabric. i can close my eyes & see the match, but have little to fear from this tame little world. people talk about freedom but not enough of them complain about the requirments of biology & its intendent, higher level concepts (viz. i fucking hate being alive). i'm a padlock away from venting some of the ichor, the poison in my veins, but i guess i'll save that dreary forge for another day. that heavy anvil of hate given the form of repetition.
today, meet my fist. fist, today. now shake hands & come out swinging.
i guess it could be worse. the last class i have is historical ecology. i...well, i guess i can almost describe it as popomo archeology. the instructor explains concepts like "viewshed" & "privileged view." like, lawns in olde englande. estate design features like the ha-ha (so called because if you fall in one people say "ha ha!"), & how its a ditch rather than a fence to give viewers from the castle an unbroken line of sight, while peasents on the other side see the dirt humps just fine. "time clocks" like nitrogen depletion, climate change, & partible inheritance. how plows build up lynchets, & so fields become not just abstractions of property but actual terrain features. stuff like that. on the downside, the class is three hours (3:00) long.