I'm experiencing a goddamn amazing piece of time travel today. I's like a science fiction movie, in which a character keeps walking through those viscouous liquid time portals, unwillingly walking back and forth from one dimension to another. Today it was 1994 for me; halfway through my undergrad and trying to extract some information or service from concordia University.

It all started when i decided i would apply to UCLA's MFA program, with the notion of fast-tracking myself to YET another dimension, where everyone's above the line, the grass is green and the girls are pretty: With a masters degree i could say goodbye forever to grip trucks, sandbags, cable runs, shitty six day weeks... But the deadline is upon me, and suddenly i have to rememeber my student ID # and password for the on-line admisiions and transcript services (and the former wasn't VALI - when did I change that?)

When I left concordia, and Montreal, i never thought I'd look back, but now six years later THINGS HAVE CHANGED. dealing with institutions takes a lot of experience. I feel like I'm out of shape. I have two weeks to hustle my application together for the Fall 2003 semester. That one won't be in my hands.

I gave Mike Manzone notice of my intention to take over his apartment on march 1st, 2001. He seemed agreeable to it. I have a stable life in my future. Just the thought of it seems to energize me.

My blogs are not smelling too fresh right now. What, it's been three weeks since I touched this. Goddamn, what happens? It's like a blackout drunk - waking up in jail, or a wrecked car. I don't even drink. I'm addicted to painting.

Everything i want to write is too personal for blogger-forum. I don't know if that's good or bad. I should probably branch off to another venue of personal expression. Ambitions thwarted by procrastination; I'm not going to lay that one out. Letting fall every plan or design... Smoking has really cost me a lot in the last 18 months. I only have one week left of that.

I was excited about going to new york a few weeks ago, but now i'm shuddering at the thought of living out of bags for another month - two - three months. Who knows? I know i can buck up, but it's not too inviting.

Zack asked me tonight what i planned to do on Sept 11th, and I hadn't thought about it. Inwardly, I figured I'd wait and see what happened... you know - out in the world. Maybe I'd arm myself in the house, and listen to patriotic radio broadcasts. I'm not going out and around the Mission district. I know there will be marches, and demonstrrations calling for peace and rethinking of American policy. I think that's so childish and simplistic and goddamn holy. I'd rather go out to Alameda and attend services on the U.S.S. Hornet. I find that much more comforting than the alternative-world of this neighborhood. I don't know what I'll do on Sept 11. If I work on painting the house, i'll probably hang an American flag on the scaffold. Everyone else on the block can find their own interpretation of events.