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I have been seeing this boy that I really rather like, and I really rather wish I didn't. He is charming and intelligent, a linguist by education (though not by trade), and handsome after a fashion. I only seem to go for men who are handsome after a fashion.  He is also not entirely free.  I can assure you, however, that I am doing nothing morally ambiguous.  I know exactly where I stand in relation to myself, and to him, and to the other him.  I'm not sure about them, however, and how much they know about their relative positions, but that's not really my concern at the moment.  I have deduced only three potential outcomes of this situation, only one of which is in any way desirable.  Still, I press on.  I think there might be an opportunity to heal some old wounds here.

My failure to get into graduate school this year has left me shaken, though I am soldiering on.  I am working on plans to acquire a studio space with a friend of mine, and possibly develop it into a gallery/venue.  I also want to pursue film as a creative media.  It has occurred to me as well to return  to my earlier jewelry making pursuits.  I feel like my work could be easily developed into decorative adornment, and as long as I don't fixate too much on my high art aspirations, everything should be fine.

New York is still working its way through my brain.  Marina Abramovic's performance The Artist is Present was more powerful than I have words for.  I don't really believe in synchronicity, in the idea that everything happens for a reason, that some force guides events into a coherent narrative.  Or rather, perhaps I should say that I think that the guiding force is the human psyche, analyzing the passing of time, and not some transcendent force (though I might give that the human psyche is/can be a transcendent force).  Anyway, the purpose of that digression was to clarify myself when I say that Marina Abramovic's performance has become the key in analyzing the mess of ideas and experiences that I have been working through for the last month.  I have been suffering from a sort of ideological breakdown, the foundations of my mindscape are crumbling.  I have been working to reestablish a grounding.  I have been reading through the philosophy of Gille Deleuze , which has been immensely helpful and strange.  It does make a kind of sense to me that the spirituality toward which I am drifting would be so thoroughly Post-Modern.  Anyway, again this strange digression.  New York, Marina Abramovic, and Gille Deleuze are all knotted up in my mind, wrapped around ideas of presence, immanence, glass and humanity.

All of the color has gone out of my art, and recently, all of the art has gone out of my art.  I know that this is linked to the breakdown previously described.  I have ideas that I cannot commit to expression.  I want to make colorless colors.  I want to work with invisible ink.  Can you see a white mark on a white page?  Wait!  Inspiration may just have struck!

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