Theoretically working on Foucault shite. Note the word theoretically.
I have my day planned. Go to class. Hand in (possibly finished?) paper. Sit through class (that's gonna suck, no presentations today.) Go to library. Alternately sleep and read Harry Potter 4 for 5 hours. Go home. Eat. Go to class. Come back. Sleep. That's my plan.
Suffering brokedom badly so I'm gonna devote tomorrow to finding a job. Hey, I can wish, can't I?
I realized a while ago that loquacity, for me, is tied to freedom. If I'm feeling constrained, inhibited, I can't speak/write what I want. Remove an element of surveillance (ah Foucault, useful at last!), a person, an opinion, a security camera, and you automatically feel freer. And the words flow forth. And sometimes the clothes, too. The panopticism of the word doesn't control just what we write, but what we think.
Readin' fuckin' Foucault.
Listenin' to computers humming.
Thinkin' about how I have just over an hour to get in 400 words.
Most recently I was 
