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16:19 - March 22, 2003 It's always strange to be home. I don't know if I like it. Everything is too set in stone. I like things to be malleable. This is just a short update anyway, since I'm leaving for London in about an hour. I probably won't post anything for at least a week. My dad has set out his will on the dining room table with the name of our neighbour on it. I haven't asked him about it, but I'm a little worried he wants to hijack the plane and fly it into Bill Gates' mansion, or preferably, Bill Gates. I mean this seriously. Wish me luck.
16:20 - March 20, 2003 All in about an hour. Nick came in and made a lot of fun of me for being so high and not being able to play music at all, or describe music, or talk about music, or even really talk. Maybe it's a cop out, and it probably is, but I am not thinking about the war... at all. last night I stayed in the fort instead of watching the news and talked about I don't remember what. And I tried to read the New York Times this morning and almost started crying. and then I threw it away. All it is is people decide what they want to believe and then they look for facts to back it up. Whoever has more facts to back up their opinion wins the most followers. But it's not always the will of the 'most followers' that goes, as duly demonstrated by current events. I have a very simple view towards everything: don't fucking kill people. or go to war. ever. for any reason. at all. There's nothing else that rings that true for me... the debates are incomprehensible. I can see both sides at different times of the day, logistically. The only thing that stays constant within me is 'don't make people suffer.' I don't add a 'needlessly' because that should be a given. there is never any need to make people suffer.
thus concludes my political views. I am going to continue to hide. I am going to continue not reading the newspaper and not attending rallies and not watching the news and not going to forums. And when the shit hits the fan, I will be part of the guilty party for letting it happen, for not being informed, for not acting. For not protesting. I will be a sheep. I will know it. I will never forgive myself.
15:33 - March 19, 2003 It was posted on the website last night at about 9, and Will Vill exploded. Phones were ringing off the hook, doors bursting open, snowmen rising out of the ground in minutes. Snowball fights are officially banned, as they told us about an hour earlier, but within seconds people were having snowballs lobbed at them from across the quad, handfuls of snow stuffed down collars, hard packed balls of ice flying. An eight foot snowman loomed behind my building when Nick and I ran by it, in mad pursuit. He's from California and he beat me in a snowball fight..... how fucked up is that? The fourth floor boys were building a snow fort and an igloo. Nick set up a 'throne' for himself in the snow and when he sat on it, he fell through. It's at least three feet of dense, soaking snow out there. (I'm writing this in short scenes because that's how I think... in fragments.) Andrew and Lara and I walked to Denny's at 1 AM, which was ridiculous in itself because we were up to.. literally... our knees in snow, slogging down the center of Baseline Road (IN the road, yes... no cars dared be out) and when we got there, it was closed. DENNY'S was CLOSED. Must be serious. On either side of the road were these ditches filled knee deep with watery slush which we kept falling into. Walking in this weather is like swimming. You use your arms to keep you going. The only thing open for miles was the Amoco station, which we stormed, and then back to the quad to sled on cafeteria trays and throw snowballs at the strangers building snowmen. I didn't leave until three.
15:04 - March 18, 2003 The point of the fucked-up-ness, though, the part you may not have picked up, is that today, March 18, there is more than a foot of snow on the ground, and more is swirling down at a frightening rate; it's such that visibility is probably a little over two blocks. The snowflakes are as large as a bottlecap; it's under 30 degrees (something I do like about Colorado: it stays just under freezing instead of eighty degrees under freezing, as in Chicago). But still. This weekend I was romping about in shorts. Two days from now I get on a plane to Chicago, and then to England. With my luck Denver International will be all snowed in. I don't think the cosmos want me to go abroad. Ever. Strangely enough, I still enjoyed walking around campus today. Econ was cancelled for reasons unknown, and I had a few errands to run on the hill, which I happily went about doing. I though my good mood was just due to the sun, but.. maybe (and I don't dare hope) my own mindset has more control over me than the weather.
16:57 - March 17, 2003 .....
14:06 - March 16, 2003 Stearns Central, as it is, is a huge party/conference room between two dorm buildings, with floor to ceiling windows, clearly visible from 30th street. It's got orange plastic chairs and rolling carts and party tables, all of which everyone promptly knocked over. Flooded with light, dancing to music, wearing masks, running into walls, pushing push-carts, skateboarding, we were, I'm sure, a sight to see. The anonymity really agreed with me. All of us knew who all of us were, but nobody walking by could figure it out. As previously mentioned, I'm not sure if it's possible to get me drunk enough to dance.. but... now it's apparent that it's possible to cover my face enough to get me to dance. It was just this brightly lit room at midnight with strangers in masks running around trashing things and flailing about. They took cigarette breaks, stood in a circle outside, still wearing masks, smoking them through the mouth hole in the paper, and whenever anyone passed, we would stare silently, or we would dance more, three inches away. I cannot describe this to do it the full justice of how wonderful and free it was, but my head is still full of it. I have never let my consciousness go that much, not ever. This morning there are rumours circling Will Vill about what the fuck went on last night, where that music came from, who those people in masks were. Nobody can figure it out. We still can't believe no RA's came down, no hall directors, no cops. When we had finished with it there was no chair or table or pushcart still in place, no sign not swiveled upside down. Chris returned the key to the Commons with an innocent smile. We had trashed everything and nobody had noticed. Giddy, we rushed back up the stairs.
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