antisocialite

A cup of black tea scented mango and an almost-finished paper, the comfortable introverted companionship, the acquaintance made of Kandinsky in the name of attempting to making academic absurdity bearable. I can't help but try even with the work hard now/slack later ethos that's characterized my entire academic life. I barely have the ambition to be an artist or a writer, let alone pursue degrees and that kind of trajectory. Instead, I mess around, feed my brain, hang out with the souls I enjoy when I get the chance to.

The thought of sitting in a classroom of unbearableness after a long week led to a long-deferred and much-needed lunch hour excursion of food consumption, hanging out at the cemetery, and exploring the old Chinatown and due to my lack of photographic posting, I've decided to tag along with Randal's 30 day challenge thing. So here's the self-portrait, face obscured by signage and reflection to protect the guilty.



It's good for one's soul to be out in the fall air, walking and feeling momentarily free. We were made to walk and stand, not sit crouched at desks and sedentary. Hopefully I'll get to hang out under the bridge downtown but that doesn't look like it's in the plans tonight as I finish what I can before the place closes, thankful for weekends and the precious crystalline interludes of revelation like the first time I heard this album and it blew my mind.

cleveland gothic

Escape from the brutalist architecture and not having the time or motivation to hang out in graveyards sent the mordant souls into the dead zone of post-lunch-hour downtown where much mirth and amusement was found in the humid bleakness.

"I'm kind of not liking Cleveland," a friend of mine says, having gotten out of town to other places and I get it, walking past empty storefronts, seeing undergrads harassed by homeless dudes, and the only place with a now-hiring sign is the check cashing joint. Prospect Avenue used to be lined with hookers back in the day and now there's office buildings and pawnshops, I wonder if the scuzz will return when Mr. Comic Sans builds his magic casino.




what's up Walter Benjamin?


The Education of Little Tree



Stay classy, little plastic evergreen.



If you lived here you'd be home by now.



Lurking in the doorways



My inner goth kid is still alive and well.



Barely creative.