Talk About it

I have had some depression. Earlier today it was overwritten by intense joy at the prospect of minoring in human neuroscience and technology.

Money continues to be a concept I don’t really “get” but Noah can loan me the funds for Nicolaas Jarr/bread/tequila/therapy. After the last 6 months of bills Noah stills owes me around $400, so maybe everything is easy, I can have both feelings and fun – then talk about it.

I am mostly me. Deep in my headphones at work, making jokes, worrying about texting the people I like, but not worrying too much about debt or the €6720 that I need to get an education visa in Finland.

I told Jess I would rather be ghosted than broken up with. Now I’m worried about both. I am getting the feeling that they are over me. How painful. How desirable.

(Shortly after writing this Jess broke up with me).

Full Moon

A hot tub outside a garden of yellow flowers and a grand official building – apparently this is how my subconscious depicts northern Europe.

Inside the building with its polished marble floors, someone was holding a puppy whose head was falling off. They handed the puppy to me and I took off my white robe so I wouldn’t get blood on it. Standing there naked, I instructed the people around to call an ambulance. The puppy, who I realized was my old friend Crouton, looked at me and wagged its tail, apparently unaware of its wounds.

First thing I did upon waking was check my email. I was unexpectedly anxious about the Aalto decision and cried when I discovered I had gotten in.


Jess and I talked about ethics at opposite ends of a dramatically-lit table with an antler and pomegranate centerpiece.

I used to be the type of vegan who could eat goat cheese at an art-opening and call it freegan. Now knowledge of systematic brutalization prevents me from indulging in no-cost gustatory pleasure.

Jess’ line is somewhere between plant and primate, I think people should eat bugs but I don’t even kill mosquitos. I’m just vegetarian-type, it’s my sign or my gender or whatever. If it weren’t an option in my culture, I think I would still have the inkling, but who knows because I can’t live in a vacuum.

Similarly, who knows if I would have body dysphoria outside of patriarchy?


I’m in a weird in-between zone in a few ways. Waiting to figure where I’m moving, what I’ll be doing. House-sitting, not finished with a number of projects. I feel low key apathetic about everything except that I also feel like I’m falling in love. Hard not to.


Soft and sweet sexuality, pervasive throughout my body, it felt like a pale color and it felt like I could sink into it. Come to think of it, it was the same color as 11. I laughed, said something about 11,000 orgasms, and “T-H-X.”



Tinder message from someone named Eunice “what are the limitations of being the other made up thing?” I responded “legal documents” to surmount the 52 miles between us we agreed to meet on the rail runner, and covertly enjoy margaritas. Her pick up lines reminded me of Adhit’s – aggressive, funny, and self-aware. “The only thing lacking in this dimension is your phone number.”

I ended up with some game, between my mansion sit and the Meow Wolf gala +1. Eunice accompanied me, slid her hand into mine sublimely. The next day I woke up with hickeys and a cold, feeling overwhelmed and wondering what I had gotten myself into.

What Kind of Jazz do You Like?

After Noah and I took in our Whole Foods haul we stomped our feet, spun in circles and yelped.

Noah: “If we lived in an apartment we would be homeless.”

We each drank a beer and had one of the two crackers that were left with Kite Hill cheese.

We excitedly talked about vegan cheeses with a gray-haired man at Whole Foods. We looked in his cart and asked if we could come over for dinner, asked what kind of jazz he liked.

Noah’s goal is to be able to pick up vegan cheese without thinking about it.

“Can you imagine being wealthy and stupid enough to buy these pre-cut vegetables? – I can, it would be awesome.”



In the afternoon I learned my middle/high school teacher Cara Esquivel died.

In 7th grade she made us all run around the block when we were being rowdy. In 8th grade I went to Oaxaca with the program she started: “Chapulin.” This is what inspired me to start my first job when I was 14 – since I was too young to be hired anywhere I made and sold burritos from a basket to office workers downtown.

In 9th grade I took Cara’s literature class and reading Night by Ellie Weisell ruined my year in an important way. Cara emphasized Native American literature and started an inter-school program with Santa Fe Indian School. High school wouldn’t have had such a multicultural perspective without her influence.

Khadija wrote on Cara’s timeline about the time our class had to memorize poetry. Cara said that we would remember our poems for the rest of our lives, that this was some kind of sacred-lineage passed from one English teacher to the next. I forgot that I remembered mine.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The Falcon cannot hear the falconer
Things fall apart, the center cannot hold
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world
The blood dimmed tide is loosed
And everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned
The best lack all conviction
While the worst are filled with passionate intensity…

On the darker side of twilight I looked at the blossoms emerging on the lower half of a neighbouring tree, thinking: “I’ve got April sadness, and it’s only March.” What is April sadness? Right in the middle between hopeless and hopeful. Malegria


Had the house to myself. Woke up at 4am. Did a Skype interview with Aalto University in Finland at 5am.

I used Noah’s computer because it has a camera and was nearer to the modem. I put a plant next to me. Realizing I could do better I hired shirtless babes to fan me with banana leaves. #optimizeyouroffice

Don’t know if the interview went well but I can sure say academic words related to my interests when I am tired.

The panel of nice Finns thanked me for my time and said I could go back to sleep. I clapped and said I was going to the gym. As we were hanging up one of them said “good energy.”

I biked to the gym, biked home, packed a lunch, biked to work, bought coffee with couch change and was sleepy all day.



The dregs of my jet lag are making it so I sleep more deeply than is typical. I did wake up to a yelling fight but was in a liminal state and didn’t register that it was real until the next day when Sean’s hand was broken.

There were malo vibes in the house that morning though, so I should have known.

Noah and I went to mom’s to wash towels and watch Better Call Saul. We had a long family discussion about things in our lives that are unhealthy.

Noah stayed at mom’s and Sean didn’t turn up. Raerae had been texting us about late-fees and I offered to get an advance on my paycheck to help subsidize Sean’s rent. He somehow managed. Hopefully we’ll all somehow manage until the lease is up… and afterward.

Denim Gender

As I faded, listening to the New Yorker fiction podcast and holding the beautiful body of another, I said something about how there are only “600 more days left in the weekend.” I woke up laughing about it, Jess said: “Yeah, I didn’t know how to parse that one.”

Another thing that cracked me up was the idea of trying to braid Jess’ hair while making out.

Enduring my jokes is part of knowing me. When I got back from Italy I took out a tube of tomato paste and said: “The toothpaste in Italy sure is weird.” Kristen cracked up, I cracked up. Noah cringed.

Leaving my house at 8:50 PM last night I thought maybe I should bring sunglasses and a toothbrush – I did a mixture of trying not to be presumptuous and forgetting. Then Jess offered me a toothbrush.

Jess wore a ~too sexy 4 work~ tank top and cutoffs. I re-applied the black turtleneck that is part of my body. We went out for #coffee at the Tea House, talking about denim and gender.

In my age and class group $80 is a lot to spend on pants. $80 is not a lot to spend on pants when considering labor, material, and durability. Though I could do another 2 years in a pair of $40 ASOS jeans, spending $80 on a pair of $200 (organic cotton/ethical labor) pants that will likely last me 2+ years is the type of rich bitch decision I get to make right now – kind of, first I have to pay the internet bill and wait for a check.

More and more, each object in my life is an expression of my own love for it. Anything I acquire, I am choosing to spend my life, or a part of my life with. As I think about who I am and what makes me feel happy, I also think about how objects I adore are going to exist for longer than I will. I’m a big grassy man in luxury homeostasis

Leap Year

A few hours after I should have, I discovered that busses don’t run on Sunday in Treviso, then walked 40 minutes in the rain to the train station. On the way I saw some swans in a river.

An 8 hour layover in the gleaming Moscow airport had me sleep deprived enough to put salt in my coffee (+ I don’t read Russian). I chatted with a Californian travel writer, practiced English with a newly-visa-ed family, and watched the snow fall.

I sat next to a pregnant Russian doctor on the plane. When we got to LA she asked how long I had until my connecting flight – 3 hours. Her’s was in 4. I asked if she wanted to go to the beach.