I feel like the mother of the world

Take a hint, give a hint. Cards to hand to people who constantly yap into small metal bleeping devices, loudly. Let's cut down on the noise pollution already. And if you print them out on nice cardstock, it'll be even better. SHHH!

It seems like everyone in this college is learning about black folk and racism in their classes. Theme? A good thing to know, although I still feel just as removed from their terrible experiences. Mine is in the context of education of course, specifically addressing the why's of low-achievement among black students. Factors and complicatedness, but it is not their fault like we think! It makes me ask nonstop, in America, how the hell do these people survive? It is said that what doesn't kill you will only make you stronger. Then they are very strong people.

Mojo's Daily Grind on Guadalupe is a pretty neat place. And it used to be a house, silly. Rach, Nora and I studied there tonight, amidst the swirlies of hot smoke on the porch, and then to the tune of a loud and angsty boy who was promoting himself on an open mic. I had just finished my school book, Young, Gifted And Black, and it took me 3 times as long with that background noise beckoning in my ears. I always felt a little self-conscious carrying that book around with it's title in fat bold butternut squash-orange letters on its black cover. Reform, reform. I am getting the idea that we humans started off on bad footing on just about anything and everything and for the rest of time we are trying to fix it, layers and layers of fixing. What can we say that is great for the collective human race? Hum. We are messed up and therefore, we mess up.

Been experiencing some anxiety lately from the machine component. Why don't we use the most effective ways to do things? Especially things that are important, like learning, teaching, studying, exercising, scheduling, ee e e? But if we save time and energies, what do we use that extra on? More efficiency? Is this how business and capitalism work? Life is but a vapor, and then it's gone. How much have I wasted?
Ok, and then there are relationships. Messy, wonderous things. I was thinking, I would not trade society for amazing aesthetic ability; that's why great artists need to kill themselves, dying alone. They couldn't help being selfish. In some ways, the sadness becomes even more real when you can share it with someone. Otherwise, whose reality are you trusting? Ah, I must soon retire, now that I've started spilling words concerning things I know nothing about.

Biking to Mr. Natural's (Chicon and Ceasar Chavez) with Mary tomorrow for lunch. Extra special, I say!