that my sister has emailed me and I actually responded; now we may start some kind of correspondence, dare I say-on a somewhat regular schedule. Simply Spectacular. It's strange really, because I grew up with her for about eight years, and then went to college and then moved to Buffalo, then Germany, then Buffalo again, and in the meantime she is becoming an inteligent person with her own ideas about who she is. I sometimes think of her and can only picture the ten year old in my head (much as I think my college friends will maintain an early-twenties appearance). Ever since, I have been remiss in my brotherly duties; her most formative years and I barely ever talk to her. Such a shame: I have so many truths to tell her <pause for sardonics> that will spare her all the trouble of finding them out for herself <once again: pause> I mean, I already burned my finger, and then my hand, my shoulder, my ass (more than once), and several assorted internal organs/delicate tissues. Alas, I do not hold these truths to be self evident, nor believe that they can be taught by other than the golden hand of experience (points?). Well, what this entire unwieldy collection of nonsensical rants shall extoll is none other than the guiding precipitousligkeit. That's right, I'll repeat it (this time in Hochdeutsch): Abschüssigkeit. At first this doesn't make sense, and then, once your own precipitousligkeit has been foundered upon the rocks of disenchantment, your eyes will flutter open upon the breathless sea's wispy aerocurrents. Your fatigue shunted into unreality, you will step forth and embrace the concupiscence of eternity. God bellicose and guten Abend.

FBI keeps eye on anti-war protesters for violence,
Not surprising that they're keeping an eye out, only that it's so public and printed so casually. It's scary to me that by simply attending a completely peaceful protest or even going to a meeting about a peaceful protest you could end up with your name on a list along with any habits or tendencies that the recording officer has observed. So maybe you're at a meeting discussing what tactics you;re going to use, will you be fingered as an extremist? if you get a little mad and raise your voice will the words "anger possibly leading to violence" appear below your name on some government list? Worst of all is that once your name appears somewhere it gives the police "evidence" after they wrongly arrest you at the protest. It's leading to preemptive arrests where we don't even wait for you to commit the crime: we know you're gonna do it anyway. Scary times. Some might say Orwellian. I am one of some.

I may not be with you for a while now. Not one, but two games that I HAVE to play come out tomorrow. Embarrassing I know, but I can't help it. I don't buy many video games, especially not at full price when they first come out, but these are my staples, the reasons that I even have the stupid consoles. And, at least one of them is multi-player, so it can be a quasi-social activity as we sit around and throw shells and banana peels at each other. The other...no hope there, it will suck my life away for the next couple weeks. So if you don't see/hear me in the coming weeks don't worry. I'm alive, just not on the same plane of existence. Dork!

In about twenty minutes I will be returning to work for the first time in a month and a half. Matt made a joke yesterday about going it by equating it with the first day of school, I wish. Where is my feeling of anticipation? I am glad that I will be getting a paycheck, but that's about it. I love the idea of serving the public, but I don't feel that that's the only thing I'm doing. I need a new job, but am trapped in my American Dream. The horizon (props to Holly) of fading debts reducing to null is retreating faster and faster rather than approaching; isn't that always the way. So, I will go, I will work, I will get a paycheck; I will consume; I will charge; I will be forever indebted (largely due to my wonderful education which gets me so much now). C'est la vie!

With whiteness pulsating,
All-encompassing view through
Tortured panes reveals
Nothing... or Alle.
Has it come to the end
Must we bow our heads,
Oppressed in blanketing silence
Ne'er to hope again.
The fleeting shadow,
For so it may be called,
Found under and betwixt
Leaping particles, crystalline.