_____________ > ______________

🙂 FUCK RICE.

Hofstra, why aren’t you a professionally viable choice for me?

So many people kick off their careers from here. NYC is in range! You can try going places. You can try in the best city in the world.

Hofstra I love you, but you’re bringing me down.

The other college. I love Rice. I love Houston, and Rice is at the center of the city’s intellectual life. It’s situated right in the Museum District, my favorite place in the world, and has a great number of trees.

I need to get a financial aid estimate. But now, ideologically, I would go.

Or not.

Rice + family

Hofstra here! um I’m not really a college but I’d like to be!!! Hahaha, um please don’t be too harsh. I have cool ppl! I can make you an assistant features editor! Or something! Who the fuck knows! LOL, HAHAHHAHA FUCKKK. Okay, I’m going. Fuck me. I love these ppl but I can’t stand to let them bring me down.

Rice, don’t look so smug. you’re not even considered an Ivy plus, you’re just a sad little private university in Texas where you have had free reign to be as exclusive and free reign as you want with money from a racist. Good job with that though; the trees look nice. You’ll be tough, but at least I’ll have a good time kicking your ass as you kick my half-ass. It’ll be sad to leave Hofstra but it’s just not enough for me. The trees and the place are so overwhelming in the moment, but I can effect greater potential in my life nearer my family. Not that I haven’t done great things here. I’ve found my self-esteem as a writer for the Chronicle. My friends from Nonsense are the strangest and coolest ppl I’ll probably ever meet, the creative equivalent of some extraterrestrial haven in the cosmos. I just hope to god I meet ppl even a smidgen as weird or creative as these people at Rice.

But, fuck, how can I??

Time, models of thought

Tonight I talked to Bryan, a friend I met on SQUAD (Subtle Queer Asian Dating). Across empty bowls of dan dan noodles Bryan made, they’re a food vendor @ The Mighty Manatee, I talked about time and some other stuff. The earliest memory I have of time comes in the form of fireworks at Disneyland, where my parents took me and my sister when I was a toddler. In it I remember seeing my first fireworks, eruptions of light that then fizzled downwards. In the byproduct of their explosions, fireworks leave drifting sparks that float and disappear with gravity. Against wind resistance, it looks as if time has interrupted the motion of these explosive detritus. This, I think, was my first experience with slow-motion.