tardive (late-arriving) entry

andy pink, tower, tenn —

to scam or to spam — to relate is our fate!

hello scammers!

it has been a couple of days, for one, i found myself extremely depressed, and again — despite the weird cheer of my writing, generally — i found myself on tuesday stuck in bed, fearing that i was going to kill myself. i never quite feel suicidal per se, but i have this horrible fear — when it crops up — that somehow i will end up killing myself. i would be curious if others have this strange symptom, it is a bit of 'suicidal ideation,' for sure, but there is this other element that suicide is somehow out of my control, that it could happen, despite myself, in place of my will, a conscious accident, i find it quite scary and when it strikes i can’t leave the bed and i become very fearful, can’t move.

classes were pretty good today — the morning was less happy, the gender class was pretty okay, but i was bored — we discussed ‘cultural appropriation,’ which i think is a really cool topic, but i am so wedded to the idea that appropriation is all fun and good — because no one ‘owns’ culture or ‘owns’ identity and culture — so, being decided, i am not much interested in the topic itself, ultimately, because it is already decided for me in advance. the philosophy class in the morning was weird, i felt like the general energy and vibe were negative and tired (partly due to the poor lighting in the classroom), and although i gave it absolutely all i had (which is true of me all of the time, even if i don’t have much) — i sensed that the kids didn’t much care for it, i gave the revised interpretation of one of the dreams in freud’s book on dreams, this is an amazing reading, of mine basically (erikson talks about it a bit, but he does not do so in a way that is comparable — as good as — my version) — but, upon this presentation of the revision, i didn’t have the sense that the students much cared, i very much blame the classroom, physically.

the other two classes were just lovely and perfect. the gay class today was spot-on, i gave them handouts with textual quotes and questions to work in groups on, they did well, we returned to the group, and it was all quite productive. it is very interesting to teach a gay class as a gay man because the material is just inherently of such great interest, and unlike the philosophy classes, it is so easy to teach and banter about because the kids don’t require much of a lecture. mostly what i do is just clarify their comments, returning in different words to them their own ideas and statements, a classic pedagogical technique, ‘mirroring,’ which is a bit different from ‘modeling,’ which i also do, but simply as being an awesome and cool gay man in the classroom. i will have more to say about lesbians tomorrow. in the meantime —

the second philosophy class, immediately after the simultaneously invigorating and exhausting gay class, was awesome and i think, in my 9 or so years of teaching at different institutions (one of them was connecticut college, back in the 50s) — of all of my teaching experience, i felt like this philosophy class was the best i’ve ever done, late this afternoon. it was truly magical, uplifting in spirit, explicable of the most difficult material, just marvelous, absolutely at the top of my game, excellent. one kid came up and asked me if he could give me a hug, i felt awkward about that, i didn’t think it was appropriate, so i didn’t move, but he hugged my shoulder. i hope i didn’t hurt his feelings with my ‘cold shoulder’ (welsh, quite literally), but i think he just absolutely loved the class and wanted to connect. i think it is weird that i am not allowed to have sex with my students. such is roxbury community college in south bost —

speaking of: tall, dark, and foreign was in both gay and philosophy today; it’s almost unbearable, keeps me at my top, at all times, giving all that i can give, spotlight and starbucks, yet it is simultaneously excruciating (in the best, most intense and lovely, way) — i can barely stand it, it’s the sexualized hangnail, so to speak, and it is a kind of subtle and sad flirtation that is prohibited only because it is active, in the moment, undeniable, yet never to be consummated, never to be realized, to always be deferred, even in the present moment of the active flirtation. i should think it proustian except i have yet to finish ‘in remembrance of things past.’

i miss you all terribly, i hope that you are staying warm in your various arizonas and texases; i find cleveland to be full of indians, these days, and while i can enjoy a tomahawk chop as much as the next colonialist, i still would prefer that the rock n roll museum be slightly better than it is. as i might pose to bob barker: how many ice statues of elton john — and how many wax statues of kid rock — how many do we need, i must ask you bob, in order to win a pricing game — $1?

to the hills of cleveland, the moose are alive with chocolate, scotch and soda, banana republic, all saints, club monaco, j crew — you me and the other —

andy pink