A stream of consciousness posting, better to read me with later.
The question of work. Three threads away from having a business and an employee, or maybe I want the rushing safety of the Media Lab and its paper. Last night's idle thoughts of working for Google, and then their headhunter's email today. I could be their genius, like a proud dog for an indulging master. But a master with openings in Dublin (Bloomstown), Switzerland, Australia-- maybe even here, me kept in a kennel on my favorite seacoast, to chase one rabbit of my own at a time.
Always the whip; I can feel it in my back. Was it enough today? This morning's work, distracted with a conversation I wanted. Then begetting, and then midwifing, for my students. Then the other's work, distracted by the other conversation I wanted.
Rocky is coalescing into something fresh. Bubbling, throbbing. How many connections were made and broken this week? The middle isn't crowded, and I'm cold on the outskirts. And there are good friends to be had. Feeling so blessed. Now I've got to make the most of it before it cools.
And before the fling runs its course. Came to Rocky to be young before it was wasted on me too, and I might just get there in time. How much of beauty is ephemeralness? I think my picture looks better with ever lesson from Lord Henry, but I know it's the sand running out. It's so right, today, but it's nice to know I have homes for tomorrow.
But not without taking some friendship with me. Like when C. came. Now's my job to collect those friends on LJ before they go the many ways of the dusty book. It won't be the same, spread so far apart, but it will be something.
And then called away by C. for a couple hours of voyeurism on on pornography, smoke (and it's Thursday), nursing her baby, and critique. Watched Terence McKenna. Spoke like that and became famous. "Help me with my oratory style?" I can always come to C. for her truth and my falsehood. And I wrote it down, my path laid out. Be natural, clear. My gestures. Relaxed, slower, lower, fluid. My shoes and pants, my nerd.
It's been a week of acting. Played a game with a Rocky friend Saturday, not really an acting game, an apology mostly. So much less than meeting at salsa when she would wonder if it was me. But got me to thinking of my mannerisms. I don't want these, but I can trade them in. Acting is living. Damn awkwardness, but I can see the headlights at the tunnel's end to take "me" away. And then my meme answers: "continuity through change". Just now, it was Frank'n'Furter who brought this mess, revealing new secrets with his eyes in 3-133. Frank is a god. I'll do him more than justice; I can be him. The Rockys who inspire me to really act, body and soul. Have to know it enough to forget it.
Amazing how ideas grow and break. The myth of the weather machine, the MIT community's hubris to sanction our own event. And then the windy grey ushers in a damp misery, and it turns out we didn't have any clothes on. But how many good ones will we lose? It might be better. Look into next years' frosh-- the administration might not think highly, but we can make them.
Kurt Vonnegut died. Sallie Mae is being unfaithful. So far to go.