I haven't said much of anything here in a while. Exams are over, except for the HILL one which i must take tomorrow morning on my day off from school, on account of having missed the actual test. bummer. i haven't really studied, since i'm past exam-mode, but everyone said it was pretty easy.

so tuesday begins the last semester of senior year. i'm excited--meghan has first period free now, so we'll have a free together every morning till we graduate! *cheers* plus i'll never have lynch as a teacher again. and now i have mrs. juda, and praise jesus i might actually *learn* something in english class!! i look at invisible man, confined to my bookcase, never to be opened again if god favors me, and i laugh at its pathetic symbolism, its four hundred pages of stream-of-consciousness, its hyperbole, its rite-of-passage bullshit. fuck you, invisible! and fuck you too, stephen dedalus! i never read your damned book, i probably never will, and i'll get an A on that exam just to spite you. i should feel sorry for these literary characters, it's not their faults their creators are so annoying, but i've grown to know and hate them *ok not stephen dedalus, but i hate the idea of him!*, and so i feel nothing for them but contempt. i don't like the feeling of hating a book usually, though; those collections of millions of neatly processed words usually mean a great deal to me, in theory in not always in practice. but not all, not invisible man. i would lock that book up in chains in a dungeon and feed it nothing but water and breadcrusts *books don't eat* and let rats be the only ones to turn its pages. so much for ellison's vision.

Quote of the Day that is Intensely Humorous to One Who Has Read and Hated--or Not Read and Hated-- Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man: "Why don't you write books people can read?"
- Nora Joyce to her husband James (1882-1941)