Knock-knock

If you rack your knuckles against the screendoor of the Kamikaze blogg in the next month chances are they'll be no one milling around to inquire "Who's there?" Little David just started working an additional job of late-night security (2am-7am, three nights a week) in a failed endeavor to dredge up a few more greenback before the holidays. Yuppie sibblings means yuppie Christmas gifts. Plus I got randomly chosen at Thanksgiving to buy gifts for my 20 year old cousin BRI and the only things she said she needed were "Beer, cigarettes, and thongs." That about sums up the trinity, wouldn't you say eh, there Lewis?

Finals are taxing and monopolizing. Two weeks of incessant academic blather and FINALLY I can write again. ALL I WANT TO DO IS WRITE ALL THE TIME! The urge is that of a lover returning to his beloved (and locking the bedroom door with an audible 'click') or a hunter poised to kill in order to feed his starving family. Makes Sense? Hobby=Passsion=Love=Identity=(someday)=career (maybe).

I have THREE BOOKS that are just incubating inside my chest, itching at the tips of my fingers, waiting to be pecked out onto the fizz of the screen. I love words. I love women. I love my crazy no sleep fall in love vizionary life.

But I need to write. I've been getting all this praise and it's like "Don't praise me. I haven't written yet today. Besides, you're brilliant too. We're all fucking brilliant. We all have to dig inside our chests and shovel out our spirit. Don't leave me alone to juggle my own dreams."

I had a wonderful conversation tonight with a female grad student. She is 35 years old, has a family and two kids and has been going through rounds of CHEMO for the past year. Everytime I see her she has a smile on her face. She even flirted with the poet laureate of the united states last year when he gave a reading here on campus.

She stopped me in the rain tonight to congratulate me and I tilted the conversation solely on the emotional axis of her persona. I told her that in the last deacade alone I've lost three family members to cancer. I told her that I've never really met a cancer survivor and seeing her with her vivacious smile cracking witticisms in class almost makes me want to cry.

She seemed stunned when I kept on thanking her. She tugged at her nutmeg flavored wig and smiled when she told me that her eyebrows were beginning to sprout back.

Now I've been blessed to have dated/seduced/struck-out with some beautiful women in my time (You'll just have to take my word that love-o-my-life V-doll looked like a cross between Julie Delpy and a Victoria Secret model)...To me, as a hetrosexual male, a poor-man's poet and an emotionally long-term flaccid philanderer I decree that there is nothing more attractive in a human being than someone who has overcome something. Someone who has harnassed some tangible handicap in order to be here at this moment, this place, taking nothing for granted.

Gotta get back to studying! It's almost five am and I have class in a couple of hours!