a man with a bad leg and galaxy-print yoga leggings on the 4:40pm CTA Purple
Line to Howard/
I spent my day talking to academics who speak too quickly and at length/
Jungian analysis in 21st Century America is anachronistic and makes me pause for a moment/
I bought The Death of Ilan Ilyich today from a used bookstore/
Looking at the $36.15 in my bank account and wondering if it matters at all.
the sunlight casts shadows, distorted, like fish, on the train in the afternoon/
Professor Ramirez spins his hands in small circles while he talks/
Archetypes synthesize two disparate groups: tarot-readers and far-right pundits/
I wonder what it would be like to die because Tolstoy makes it sound nice but somehow I doubt it/
My roommate only eats eggs anymore and I’m worried about him.
everyone on the 3:15pm Red Line to 95th is brown-paper-bagging it/
I feel bad when talking to academics in their offices because I suspect they haven’t read all the books they keep in there/
A man who was arrested three times for dissidence by the Nigerian Government taught me Jungian analysis/
Ivan Ilyich is not a kind person and his redemption seems forced/
Thinking about only eating instant noodles until I get paid again but I probably won’t.
I ride the train often to catch a glimpse of myself/
I talk with academics often to better understand what I am trying to learn/
I avoid Jungian analysis because Lacan is more fashionable and it embarrasses me/
I only read The Death of Ivan Ilyich because I feel like I’m supposed to and I didn’t enjoy it/
I ate day-old soup for lunch and today was just another day where I learned about “ragas,” the five-note Indian improvisational music form, and listened to Mark Kozelek’s self-titled album and knew that, unless I wrote it down, I wouldn’t remember this day at all.