Atlas

I chose the above name for my fish. It works.

A Roommate

At last I share my room with another living organism -although one with a much smaller soul than mine. A fish, a Siamese Fighter, with a red body, blue tail and black eyes. He's a Delta, which means simply that his tail and fins fan out behind him and look uncannily like silk fabric. He is small and hardy and is swimming contentedly in my round, glass, 8 liter fish bowl. He's magnificent. He deserves a good name. I traded 15 dollars for him.

My thoughts in March.

Weddings. Communism. Expensive tea. One-world governments. Colored fabrics. Good weather. Orange juice. Dress patterns. Driving. Quentin Tarentino. Poetry. No more money. Numbers. Pen ink. Flowers. Allergies. House cleaning. The dictionary. Submarine sandwiches. Dry ice. Luciano Pavarotti. The Rwanda genocide. Nihilism. Bertrand Russell. Self-awareness. Sexism. Fairy tales. Paradoxes.

Some Kind of Wonderful

Why is it that everything has seemed to happen since I've been 16? Last year and the first 3 months of this one haven't been 'sweet' at all. I feel like part of a John Hughes film, only I'm not Ferris Bueller. Nothing ever goes right for me.

Swallowed

I feel like a giant tongue monster has caught me, tossed me behind his teeth and is incessantly swishing me around in his mouth. My life is a tangle of useless emotions and nihilism. Oh, and let's not forget school. That's probably the highlight.