A Collection of Spectacles


Experiments in unedited rants (part two).

So I was sitting here yesterday on the top bunk (my own little world) and trying to free-write about what’s been happening to me lately when my roommate started talking about how annoying it is when her friends ask her, “how’s the city?” because she doesn’t know what to say. Although I think it’s great here, she talks about how she doesn’t want to do anything but drop out of art school and join a circus. Everyone brainstorms about what she might be able to do, because it has to be something that doesn’t require too much physical activity or effort, since that would take all the fun out of being in a circus.

She goes, “I don’t want to be anything, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” I understand. “But, what’s the alternative?” 

“Doing nothing.”

I agree, because doing nothing is pretty fucking awesome. 

Now I’m learning all these things. This school makes me go through mental exercises. I can trace your synapses back to before your first introduction to light, but I still can’t seem to make unquantifiable things happen. This world is not propelled by will alone. On Friday it was good and, flustered, he looked and I looked and for some reason I nodded slowly, agreeing to something that can’t be understood. On Saturday, it was different and we talked forever, but came to no concrete conclusion, only that I am a coy distraction (a step below what I want to be, which is a persuasive deterrent) but I still got a kiss before I left. I’m untrustworthy because I know a lot of people, but desperate because I don’t want to hang out with all of them. These are among some of his complaints. And I am investing too much and he loves [ ] and I am small and childish and I started All the Kings Horses wondering if he gave it to me because I’m a silly jeune fille but we were talking about boredom at the time which he blames on this american garbage and I’m only halfway through the book at this point so we’ll see.

At the end of it all, or at some point through it, it all comes back to whether I’m worth knowing (because if I’m not, I should go elsewhere). The answer is always yes.

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Inside, bits of us divide at normal rates, cleaving and eventually separating. It has been said, and my mind has repeated this from time to time, “it is the dream of every cell to become two.” If love is any example, (and I’ll apologize now, as it seems I always return to this feeling, above all others) then when infatuation, and all other varying degrees are considered, a multilayered landscape is created. This is the complexity of emotion. While our insides work in ways that are far from simplistic, they do so with amazing precision. When two people intertwine they are trying to reverse (reenacting a cell’s nightmare?) a process and supposedly become one, though we make many more mistakes during the attempt. 

Mimetic Fireworks:




TEM of a necrotic cell: the disruption of plasma membrane and organelles is observable. A relative preservation of nuclear morphology appears. 

(original magnification: x 10,000)

TEM of an apoptotic (A) and a normal (N) cell. The characteristic chromatin rearrangement appears in A, strongly different from its normal organization (N). The good preservation of membrane and organelles is also evident.       (original magnification: x 8,000)

SEM of a necrotic cell. Numerous lesions appear on the cell surface.    (original magnification: x 5,000)

SEM of an apoptotic cell. Surface blebbing is evident.   (original magnification: x 5,000)

FF of normal cell, nuclear envelope. The regular distribution of nuclear pores is visible.    (original magnification: x 30,000)

FF of apoptotic cell. The nuclear envelope shows a characteristic clustering (asterisc) of nuclear pores.    (original magnification: x 35,000) “

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On a park bench, eyes with distinct clarity made contact with mine. 

Inside, organs experienced the Rapture theologians dream of.

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