It was my last day of my first semester at the University of New South Wales today, and i'm melting and merging with the research I've done for my Ulysses paper. Its late, and a few minutes ago i finished writing enough text so that, tommorow, i can mold it into something coherant. It seems the only logical/illogical way to do things.
I'm thinking this as I type it, in the manner of my old blog entries. What have i learned in my one semester here? How easy it is to make friends if you stand up straight, dress nice, and smile. Even in a country filled with (justifiable) dislike for America, there seems to be no problem with me. its nice.
Simon's Rock with so much more intense then this, so every time somebody complains about an essay I laugh. I thought I put the Rock behind me, but I log on here every night and see names that stand for little bits of memory, pieces of time, glances in hallways, nasty 'in-jokes', strange insular triangls. S.T.U.N Runner at 4 am in the cold, cold night of a New England winter floods back; and it is winter here and tommorow, if I desired, i could go to the beach
My James Joyce class was fun-- the teacher bought us all imported Guiness, and somebody wrote 'Inelcutable modality of the BEER' (a reference to Proteus) on the blackboard. The lecturer and the tutor had studied it so much they resembled their characters, the former a balding, glasses wearing, slightly pedantic Leopold Bloom with a good heart, the latter with his blonde hair, slight arrogance and endless theories about 2001: A Space Oddyssey making him a good Stephen Dedalus. I don't know if they had those roles before they read the book or if its all in my head; I remember the tutor (the younger one, the grad student) popping into Berkelow Books last week and telling me to go to the pub, since I shouldn't be at the bookstore on a Friday.
Did we pay so much attention to the most pointless moments of our everyday lives before Joyce? Did we care this much about bullshit before the Internet?
I look at the other users nodelet and I regret that they won't see me now, confident, dressing nice, broke but able to get people to buy me a beer. When they learn to, they'll link my name with the stoop shouldered (that bits still there) boy who never smiled, who threw strange theories into the uncaring wind.
I read a poem to my creative writing class; there were about 10 people there for the reading. Nobody cares about my writing in my uni, and the girl I like did not show up (she cares, i know). Perhaps they were too busy writing. I wrote the poem last year, automatically, and people liked it.
This is filling up space; this is to hasten my ascension to Level 4; if smileloki or neuromantic or (God forbid) dokool had tapped me on the shoulder last year or the year before and said "hey, there's a site you should visit", i wouldn't be searching in vain for the 60+ pages of essays that got wiped with my harddrive (they were handed in, but not for my use).
Things fade and flip; i'm getting girls phone numbers every day but not sure how to use them; i'm discovring that its easy to pretend to be confident to late to win the ones i'm in love with; its almost 4am and the world is slipping