perchance my perfunctory paranoia will not sediment onto that kind of flooring. the flooring wherein my abusing of common signifiers mirrors them-they. why am i reminded of monads? is it the same phenomenon, those stars-leaves-oceans-hearts-skies-fires-suns-mornings-thunders-clouds-eyes-summers-nights-starings-sufferings-cliches? perchance.

the expectations do delimit my horizon. whence does my inability to listen to Saying as such emerge forth? i am barred in. or at least working within the limits of creative expression.

submitted a few poems to my university’s literary and plastic arts magazine today.

oh, we’ll see.

GRE tomorrow. I am afraid my questioning the methodology of the test and the extent in which my being able to play in the continual groundlessness of signifiers too much has hindered my capacity to actually engage in the process of test taking requisite of me. What does this regurgitation and mastery of words statistically tell about this particular “subject” which inhabits the test position? Anything? Me who is confined to this body and sex; me who is and is becoming but never a sedimentation. The standardizing of the test. Normalize and restrict—whence communication and the possibility of shared meaning. Though in the universal of course we miss the particular who is me. And I do contribute, yes, to the sea of persons-peoples. But I am hoping, yes, that this particular and not particular “subject” who can merely fill in the blank with the phenomenon of “logic” can be taken seriously. Who is occluded from the entering? And is this a mechanism of elitism, or a mainstay of the process toward abstruse freedom found in (bourgeoisie?) Academia?

Of course I will be writing analytically.

living and dying by grades and gpas and the quality of one’s work and the expectations keep on fluttering up around me as if moths could multiply with the blinking of my eyes.
there’s anxiety, yes, and then there’s fear. fear of failure. the urge and wanting to become a doctor replaced: a different urge to become a different breed of doctor. soon enough, soon enough, the anxiety will subside.
but i do not know causality if hume has taught me anything.

sundays are for essay writing but only inchoate sentences layer up & upon & etc. while marx and the red glare of the Text cannot find a dwelling with my keys or roller ball pen i am so very fond (but abstracted from (?)) of as such //
and now exists a morning in anxiety-anticipation, a little high from midterms (though finals soon, too)

san francisco for the weekend to see my mother.