lazy lazy lazy lazy lazy lazy jane

It's half way through the year and this is only my fourth post. I have become so boring. I have become so boring. I have become so boring. I have become so boring.

I have become so boring. I am still enamoured of sexy, artsy, marketable European names like Jan Fabre to the point where I am watching his performance chronology on DVD and am still trying to pay the sort of attention that looks for genius like looking for nails in rubble (the metal might be valuable!) even after the first completely unappealing, unintelligible rape scene. It's half way through the year and I am 27 years old and the present me would not currently write much of what I have written here in the past here now, but as it seems, I have not lost my one consistency of stupidly endless trains of thought. THERE IS A LOGIC TO THIS SENSATION, old young Mel tells current older still young Mel.

Hmmm. Hmm of the Moment. So much more booring than an Um of the moment. Thoughts that were once hesitations symbolic of the struggle to articulate through the morass of inarticulate conflated experience, through the helpless pure self webbed in complex multiselves, have now become the dull, sandblasted Hmm-ings of a pauser, an indecisiveizer, an oh-this-is-how-it-goes-what's-my-next-meal-er. Next, I will be wanting love, kinship, marriage, family involvement, world travel, settling down, figuring out, regular intercourse, societal relevance, a house as the creative expression of myself, and BABIES. UTERINE EXPLOSION. WANNA WANNA CRACKER!!

.......

OK!

Sold!

I'll take it!

Put it on my karma tab!

Life is good! I am enjoying life!

I am no longer spending large amounts of my present missing the conflated pasresent!

I am not experiencing an immediate nostalgia for right now, or rather, right before just now, if only I could catch up to it!

I am relieving my back pain by sitting back, taking time with my thoughts, being only mildly irritated by the heat of the laptop on my two wrists, rocking back into my green-gold rocking chair I found on the street and fixed up myself!

I just farted! Glorious fart of the loveable and provident universe!

The only thing left that I lament -- no swan song for the lost nation, the forgotten friends, the idea of forgetting -- is Melinda Lee as rationally understood as a compilation of her parts and conflicted dreamings! Melee with Issues! Melee with Ideas ....! Melee with Imperative ....!

The vinegariness of methane lingers, as does my vulgarity, as does my repetitive vocabulary. Here, she is only getting smarter for the sake of it, as in "smart ass". I don't even lament being alone for so much of my life, because without that lonely time, when would I be able to do the important work of writing down my thoughts about twice a quarter? [CODE: I am mad at myself for not writing more regularly, more marketable artsily, but mainly for not writing more]