let the maggots come!
Oh My Dear Lords, my darlingdarlings,
I cannot possibly convey how much I miss all of you!
This has been the strangest afternoon. I have been screaming and laughing
and flailing about because at every-odd moment I think, somehow, that TASP
has left me or has distilled enough to be the persistent ache of my heart,
but it comes back quite gnawingly and obsessively and I never, never want it to leave.
Ah, but dear me, I am now gripped by the oddest of all sensations, and given my
fervent and largely impossible desires to telephone/drive to/fly to each and every one
of you, I shall share it now. Hopefully, it will cull up a bit of that nasty competitive spirit
that cemented all of our dear hearts together and helped us not overdose on lethal things
like depression and disbelief for having pledged away six weeks of our life to the old rotting
hole beyond the Mississippi.
I HAVE FOUND THE BLOGS OF THE OTHER TASPS.
dearlorddearlord, do you know how absolutely bizarre it is to
see all of them in their strange photobucket accounts and to read the
half-intelligible scroll of jokes and electricity and energy that rivals
ours but is so bizarre and so absolutely foreign?
O, TASPERS, BELIEVE ME, IT IS SO STRANGE! Do it immediately! Go and look at all of them!
It makes all that we had feel like a strange dream, because these people are such strangers,
and are just faces and names, but their own existences, too, hinge around the incessant occurence
of old memory-conjuring things like BIRTs and FACTOTUM and PUBSPEAKS and stillmyheart I
almost died when I saw silly pictures from UT Austin labeled "OUR EXCLUSIVE RELATIONSHIPS!"
How strange and jarring and oddoddODD it is to think that there are more of us out in the world,
but they can never be us. These are the strange things coursing through me at very rapid speeds
and it is like to many tiny blips of nostalgia-jealousy-curiousity-bizarrity-loneliness-love that
I really can't process it at all and should hardly attempt to transcribe it.
Their names seem strange and false but OHOHOH how sonorous are the sounds of Andrei & Andres,
of dear old Sarah and Nisha and Gracie-Lu and Jake the Closet Romantic and Intiya and BOJUN who fooled us all with the pronunciation! Egad, my dears, egad!
And isn't it strange to think?
Oh, here is to missing and loving.
True, true, I feel mad for having been there.
I feel mad for having spent so long pouring myself into and out of and through
all those holes in Parkian/Burgessian sociology and Corbusian ideology and
MODERNISM and those impossible videos and PRUITT-IGOE.
I stumbled upon the website for some age-old poetry TASP from 2003,
and I thought to myself "Oh Gesso! You are quite mad! Buildings? Could you be serious, O
Keats-loving one?" But yesyesyes.
The strangeness all worked out, did it not? Thank you all beyond words, again and again,
for changing me and my life and the world. We are amazing and must celebrate this together
again sometime. (subtle undertone: commmmmmeeeetoooooooCOLUMBUS!)
Here is a motley assortment of strange and potentially WashUTASPER-Ego-Inflating (dear lord! how we need it!) facts, figures & oddities culled from much "productive" time spent with my face three inches from the screen, screaming at the Austin & Michigan TASPers:
-The Michigan TASP fixated on Granola! (Jake, this means you.)
-Texas' LiveJournal features fictional letters written from Cornell to WashU (??!?!?) pertaining
to the sodomization of stuffed furry hoofed-beasts. Apparently this ritual transpired more than once.
-SCRABBLE: UMich TASP as JIGSAW: WashU (Look at those impressive logic skills!)
-An aesthetic reckoning: We really are more beautiful than anyone else. I warn you to believe me before perusing the photojournals of the other TASPs! (I only kid...sort of!)
-The other TASPers, to my great dismay, apparently enjoyed far more cordial
and less subversive relationships with their esteemed professors than we did.
But really. Wouldn't a bit of old Mumfordian or Garbian wisdom on our blog
dampen a bit of our..."nostalgia?" (Happy Hannukah, Doug.)
GO:
http://www.geocities.com/tasp2005michigan/
http://www.google.com/url?sa=D&q=http://taspum05.blogspot.com
http://www.google.com/url?sa=D&q=http://www.livejournal.com/users/uttasp05/
ALAS! Everything else has left my mind,
but
WE
ARE
SUBSTANTIALLY
SUPERIOR
IN THE UNFLINCHING
GLORY OF OUR
ANTI-ELITISM.
Never forget it.
And now, with more love than I could ever stuff into pretty homemade packages,
I must disconnect my heart and force myself to complete my preliminary project
proposal for a SYNTHESIS of sociological research (on the transformation of New Albany
from rural farming wasteland to New Urbanist Mecca) with folk songwriting and
bad poetry. See? Nothing has changed. Same old impossibility!
I LOVE YOU SOSODEARLY, MY TASPERS!
Love,
Jessi
Post-Script: My Darlings! How official is the Midwestern + Southwestern MICHIGAN RENDEZ-VOUS? Oh, my soul is clamouring for the 6th of October! Who is attending? Do I need to telephone Josh? Do I need to have my application for the U-of-Mich in hand? Do I need to pack suitcases? Is David really leaving the badlands of whatever strange and communication-boycotting town he lives in to salute his fellow TASPers with a much missed trumpet solo? Will we be scolded by scores of factota for the shoddy quality of our last (and still not received) papers? Ah!!!!
Post-Post-Script: Adam, your parents are absolutely everywhere in my St. John's literature, and I have days--very wonderful days, and often recurring days--where I know that I do not want to go anywhere else. Thank you for damning me to be a prospective Johnnie.
Post-Post-Script: Shout "GREAT COMPROMISER!" if you want to revive ComComCom! Sarah and I have plans, my dears, PLANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNS!
I cannot possibly convey how much I miss all of you!
This has been the strangest afternoon. I have been screaming and laughing
and flailing about because at every-odd moment I think, somehow, that TASP
has left me or has distilled enough to be the persistent ache of my heart,
but it comes back quite gnawingly and obsessively and I never, never want it to leave.
Ah, but dear me, I am now gripped by the oddest of all sensations, and given my
fervent and largely impossible desires to telephone/drive to/fly to each and every one
of you, I shall share it now. Hopefully, it will cull up a bit of that nasty competitive spirit
that cemented all of our dear hearts together and helped us not overdose on lethal things
like depression and disbelief for having pledged away six weeks of our life to the old rotting
hole beyond the Mississippi.
I HAVE FOUND THE BLOGS OF THE OTHER TASPS.
dearlorddearlord, do you know how absolutely bizarre it is to
see all of them in their strange photobucket accounts and to read the
half-intelligible scroll of jokes and electricity and energy that rivals
ours but is so bizarre and so absolutely foreign?
O, TASPERS, BELIEVE ME, IT IS SO STRANGE! Do it immediately! Go and look at all of them!
It makes all that we had feel like a strange dream, because these people are such strangers,
and are just faces and names, but their own existences, too, hinge around the incessant occurence
of old memory-conjuring things like BIRTs and FACTOTUM and PUBSPEAKS and stillmyheart I
almost died when I saw silly pictures from UT Austin labeled "OUR EXCLUSIVE RELATIONSHIPS!"
How strange and jarring and oddoddODD it is to think that there are more of us out in the world,
but they can never be us. These are the strange things coursing through me at very rapid speeds
and it is like to many tiny blips of nostalgia-jealousy-curiousity-bizarrity-loneliness-love that
I really can't process it at all and should hardly attempt to transcribe it.
Their names seem strange and false but OHOHOH how sonorous are the sounds of Andrei & Andres,
of dear old Sarah and Nisha and Gracie-Lu and Jake the Closet Romantic and Intiya and BOJUN who fooled us all with the pronunciation! Egad, my dears, egad!
And isn't it strange to think?
Oh, here is to missing and loving.
True, true, I feel mad for having been there.
I feel mad for having spent so long pouring myself into and out of and through
all those holes in Parkian/Burgessian sociology and Corbusian ideology and
MODERNISM and those impossible videos and PRUITT-IGOE.
I stumbled upon the website for some age-old poetry TASP from 2003,
and I thought to myself "Oh Gesso! You are quite mad! Buildings? Could you be serious, O
Keats-loving one?" But yesyesyes.
The strangeness all worked out, did it not? Thank you all beyond words, again and again,
for changing me and my life and the world. We are amazing and must celebrate this together
again sometime. (subtle undertone: commmmmmeeeetoooooooCOLUMBUS!)
Here is a motley assortment of strange and potentially WashUTASPER-Ego-Inflating (dear lord! how we need it!) facts, figures & oddities culled from much "productive" time spent with my face three inches from the screen, screaming at the Austin & Michigan TASPers:
-The Michigan TASP fixated on Granola! (Jake, this means you.)
-Texas' LiveJournal features fictional letters written from Cornell to WashU (??!?!?) pertaining
to the sodomization of stuffed furry hoofed-beasts. Apparently this ritual transpired more than once.
-SCRABBLE: UMich TASP as JIGSAW: WashU (Look at those impressive logic skills!)
-An aesthetic reckoning: We really are more beautiful than anyone else. I warn you to believe me before perusing the photojournals of the other TASPs! (I only kid...sort of!)
-The other TASPers, to my great dismay, apparently enjoyed far more cordial
and less subversive relationships with their esteemed professors than we did.
But really. Wouldn't a bit of old Mumfordian or Garbian wisdom on our blog
dampen a bit of our..."nostalgia?" (Happy Hannukah, Doug.)
GO:
http://www.geocities.com/tasp2005michigan/
http://www.google.com/url?sa=D&q=http://taspum05.blogspot.com
http://www.google.com/url?sa=D&q=http://www.livejournal.com/users/uttasp05/
ALAS! Everything else has left my mind,
but
WE
ARE
SUBSTANTIALLY
SUPERIOR
IN THE UNFLINCHING
GLORY OF OUR
ANTI-ELITISM.
Never forget it.
And now, with more love than I could ever stuff into pretty homemade packages,
I must disconnect my heart and force myself to complete my preliminary project
proposal for a SYNTHESIS of sociological research (on the transformation of New Albany
from rural farming wasteland to New Urbanist Mecca) with folk songwriting and
bad poetry. See? Nothing has changed. Same old impossibility!
I LOVE YOU SOSODEARLY, MY TASPERS!
Love,
Jessi
Post-Script: My Darlings! How official is the Midwestern + Southwestern MICHIGAN RENDEZ-VOUS? Oh, my soul is clamouring for the 6th of October! Who is attending? Do I need to telephone Josh? Do I need to have my application for the U-of-Mich in hand? Do I need to pack suitcases? Is David really leaving the badlands of whatever strange and communication-boycotting town he lives in to salute his fellow TASPers with a much missed trumpet solo? Will we be scolded by scores of factota for the shoddy quality of our last (and still not received) papers? Ah!!!!
Post-Post-Script: Adam, your parents are absolutely everywhere in my St. John's literature, and I have days--very wonderful days, and often recurring days--where I know that I do not want to go anywhere else. Thank you for damning me to be a prospective Johnnie.
Post-Post-Script: Shout "GREAT COMPROMISER!" if you want to revive ComComCom! Sarah and I have plans, my dears, PLANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNS!
posted by goodbye, goodbye at 2:00 PM
3 Comments:
hey, we're more ethnically diverse than them. and you know what, them austiners dont look like beautiful, healthy, human beings to me, so they just wimped out on the phone.
Hey Doug, it looks like we've switched places? :P
"So in conclusion Amartya's mom is fucked by me.
Fuck fuck fuck
and and and
Sincerely,
Jimmy (written post mortum)"
Sarah-Sarah!
We must be reunited,
in elevators,
veddyveddy soon,
or else I shall burst
unpleasantly in crowded
public spaces and no-one
shall appreciate my anguished
cries of "TEMPERATURE + OBSCENITY!"
Do You Remember, yesyes?
Warm! Copulation!
(Methinks it is time for
slumbers and Biology. Forgive my
blasphemies!)
Jusqu'Octobre,
(J'ai oublié tout, c'est vrai,
c'est la verité! Aide-moi, ou c'est la--le?--morte pour moi!)
Ta cher cher cher cher cherie.
(J'adore tous les garçons!
Et c'est tu, les autres aussi,
mais plus de mon coeur c'est tu
qui je manque! Sois belle et bien.)
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