I'm queer for the past. I want make a 5-issue serial autobiography. "anticanonical". 8 pages each with images of frozen motion in between.

Two days ago I didn't think I would graduate when my parents were here. I didn't properly submit a piece of work and I thought I would have to wait for next february to graduate. As of two hours ago, that is all sorted out. I am not proud of any work I did in university. I predict I'm going to work hard my entire life atoning for this.

I live in the past. I daydream. My eyes glaze over and generally, there are many pregnant pauses in my conversations. I am not pragmatic. I thought of the term pragmatic idealist to describe myself, but that's a pretty vague term in itself. Like karma avocado. karmavocado. I sometimes remember what I dream these days. I had a vague dream of walking through white halls and finally reaching a fish market. Another one was in something like a refugee camp and then an Italian girl comes up behind me, wraps her arms around me and whispers in my ear, "Norfuse".

The problem about any piece of writing I turn out will be that it will have no direction. They are always incomplete. I have to find a way of tightening that ambiguity.