curdled soy milk and tomato juice?

imagine being a Masai vegan? that would really suck.

i have spent nearly all day looking for data on agricultural transportation and composting, and came up with nearly nothing. some data are just too difficult to procure using the conventional "load Google--type request--click link--bingo" strategy. why can't i find a national map of the routes our food travels? why can't i find out the average national compost application rate for organic farms? why must my brain slowly melt as my gaze is fixated on the monitor screen?

i need some fresh air and a fresh new approach to this data mining business.

molten desire of doom

Imagine if everything you ever sought after in life was in molten form bubbling below you, and all you had to do to be surrounded by it entirely was to dive straight into it.

That's what happened to the fruit fly who was singed to death in my hazelnut soymilk mochaccino.

Ah, the vagaries of desire. They can be responsible for one's pain-racked decease. Or they can act as soma for the mind -- erupting in lava bursts of burning flowers like fireworks that make the jaded one feel like smiling is natural once again.

the sine curve of emotion

or cosine. depending when the happiness begins (at pi over two or zero). taking this mathematical analogy another step too far, should the object of desire lie just below the asymptotic line of experience, much of my stress would be relieved. but i have seen that asymptote intersect with the abscissa and ignite fireworks that last for years. and when the last finally sputters out and is extinguished on the dewy morning grass, one marvels at one's inability to recall the past night's spectacle just right. there are large gaps that are sewn together with the golden thread of nostalgia, and the cloak is worn only at night when the heart becomes chilly.

this morning i rang the bell to the door of my workplace as usual, and one of my coworkers answered with an irritated "yes?" i have no choice but to ring this bell, for i have no key, and i feel it inappropriate to go climbing through windows. i answered, "morning." i decided quite hastily that a simple greeting may come off as more friendly than a gruff statement of my name. after all, i'd done it before with another girl and it had went quite smoothly. however, she replied with an exasperated, "what?" i was slightly shocked, and to remedy the unexpected confusion i quickly said, "hi it's jamie." once through the door and down the stairs to the office i share with three others, including this woman, i thought it only proper to inform her of what i initially said and possibly even laugh about the unnecessary hostility that arose from a trivial mishearing. "i initially said, 'morning.,'" i said, then chuckled politely. she turned her tired visage to me and spit out another more irritated, "what?" instead of giving up and avoiding confrontation, and therefore admitting defeat, i repeated myself, looking her directly in those piercing eyes, those eyes which ironically were loathe to remain transfixed by my stare for long. upon hearing this explanation again, she shook her head and coughed a grunt laden with meaning. here i realized that there was no turning back, and much like a nervous warrior charging into battle on a maddened horse, i released the next verbal volley: "well, i guess i'm starting off this morning pretty awkwardly." this was intended to lighten the mood, which had darkened considerably and suffered our audience of another female coworker, but instead it served much like gasoline thrown to put out a fire, for she replied, "yes, you are." i chuckled again--this is because i am not adept in the arts of anger, and instead force my ferocity inward where it scratches at my innards like a wildcat trapped in a sack.

why am i so gentle with those who grate at my patience so?

apathy has become me

today is a day for apathy. have you ever been overwhelmed by a feeling of lack of interest in all human interaction around you? my brain is so lethargic today--my brain is the hippopotamus staring into the blistering horizon and occasionally a little bird will come a-peck-pecking on the rough hide of my back. as you can easily predict, i turn my head not one micron.

last night was another chapter in a book entitled, "The Slow and Tortuous Defeat of J. M. Kass Brought About By Failure in All Things Romantic, told in infinite volumes." the volumes are infinite because, just as you read the closing lines of one volume and are enticed into believing the climax may just come in the next (which would preceed the descending action and conclusion in any story following the old rules of literature), you find yourself reading the same scenes again, though the people and place names are different. yet i drag this tired body on, through unforgiving deserts of lonesome twirling duststorms and prickly plants with arms reaching in ironic embrace. i am sure Borges could have written an excellent commentary on my imaginary novel. he would have been delighted with its infinitude and would have inserted multiple references to labyrinths.

we at work are going out for a few drinks under the towering shadow of the Empire State Building, just blocks from our workplace. perhaps reintroducing my body to alcohol after their twenty-four hour separation will jumpstart my seratonin. is it better to feel like a rotting log full of decaying wood and grubs, or a hollow log air-blown dry by hot winds? a man who found himself more frightened than ever before said this: "i may never love again."