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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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Today I attended a Wiccan (more or less) Ostara ritual. I was introduced to the group through rather circuitous means. One of the people Alex may or may not have been cheating on me with introduced me to a friend of hers who is a member of the coven. The group is made up of some really cool people, and I'm glad to have been welcomed so warmly even if I am not at all Wiccan and have some related concerns.

The High Priestess is charming and very . . . exuberant. She was very happy to see that I made it to the ritual today after I attended the informal meet up last night. There are a handful of people that I am very glad to have met today and yesterday whose acquaintance I intend to pursue. It's strange to me what fruits disaster bears. Through the devastation of lost love I have gained a great crowd of new friends.

The Wheel turns, the Earth moves; day breaks. Of course, I'm past being hurt at this point. Bryan told me that he had read somewhere that six months is the healthy morning period for the loss of someone (through both break up and death, if I remember properly, the brain equates them both). May approaches, and I am mostly done with all of this psycho-drama.

I am still waiting, of course, to make plans for the coming months, but regardless, I'm gearing up for adventure.
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My life is entirely in pieces right now, though not because of anything traumatic, not because my world has been shattered or anything silly like that. I've been very consciously pulling it apart, picking out the stitches and opening the seams. Now I have my life spread out on the floor and I've been looking at it, trying to figure out what I can make out of all these pieces that used to be a coat.

Of course, I can't make certain plans right now. I don't know where I'll be in four months. Hopefully I shall be living in Providence, Rhode Island, pursuing my MFA at RISD. I'm waiting for the damn letter. Only a little bit longer and then I can start making plans and making phone calls.

I'm planning on selling off all of my stuff no matter what happens. I'm not renewing my lease in June, as much as I love my apartment (I shall miss you, Sluethwood in the Lake!), I hate my downstairs neighbors, who have more cats than sense, and my landlord stopped returning my calls six months ago. It's time for a change.

I'm slightly disappointed with my wardrobe progression this year. Moratorium on Color has only recently reached a point where it can be properly expressed and it is almost time for Pirate!, which I am having some conceptual difficulties with. The idea of wearing color in any large quantity makes me feel kind of ill (I can do it and am doing it now, but I don't like it, at all). I am most comfortable anymore wearing black, white, or grey. Anything else feels alien and strange. I'm thinking of modifying Pirate! and taking it into a more Steam Punk inspired place, maintaining my moratorium on color. Originally Pirate! was supposed to be about mundivagance and gender play. However, I'm feeling like my summer wardrobe is going to be more about tailoring and subtlety. I will be more of a dandy pirate, I think. I did just buy a black velvet waistcoat after all (I'm changing the buttons from horn to mother of pearl).

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