A Brief Pause for Wincingly Nostalgic Reflection

I have a new friend, (Hi, New FriendFred!) and he advised me to remember to breathe. He is a very brave person, because normally when people tell me to relax, i kick them. But Fred, luckily got me to listen to him. Breathe. In, and out. Thus spraacht Fred.

Oddly enough, I once wrote myself the same suggestion:
"Breathe"
Back when I thought I had something to tell the world, I had a column in my college newspaper the final semester of my senior year. This was the first one. Note the title: "Counting the Cars on the New Jersey Turnpike."

But then I became obsessed with Woody Guthrie, and I decided to be the voice of the people. I changed the title to "This Machines Kills Fascists" [that's what good ol' Woody inscribed on the back of his gee-tar over yonder there].

Thus, in Woody=speak:
We was angered that they wanted to give us a name linkin' us to those other schools, those 'special' schools with the fancy-schmancy nicknames, so they done called us 'the independent ivy,' and, well, we was just up in arms over it. Near had a conniption fit: "Media Whores"

And then all this shit started going down all around and I thought someone needed to bring in the metaphorical deconstructive broom. Or perhaps it was a dustbuster:"Efficacy 101"

And, then the Admissions office arranged Prefrosh weekend to coincide with Uncle Duke Day, when everyone does druuuuugs, man. They had to surgically remove my tongue from its deep,deep,deep position firmly lodged in my cheek. [This was intended to be performative poetry, btw]: "Welcome, Prefrosh"

And finally ... I was going to change the world through ART. This was me once. Yeeeks. Good thing that cleared itself up.
Pretentiously Prattling on about Postmodern Performance in re: my thesis production of Einstein Dreaming