Out that sofa jump

You remember how 3 years ago, they weren't playing I Gotta Feeling every 3 seconds? Instead it was Sexyback, or Hips Don't Lie. That was what we jived to our freshman year of college. And that's how it rocked.

That year is long gone now, the year of innocence and swellness. Of Primary Source upheaval yeah, but still, on the other hand, a half-snowy Christmas? I can't remember. It was a nice Christmas regardless.

Tufts isn't the same now. Gay freshmen seem to have it much easier now, as the last three years alone for some reason have channeled a lot more lgbt acceptance than I could've foreseen. Maybe they haven't, but I think they have. I don't know why, or how. But I feel pretty good out and about here. It's all I can do to prevent myself from being blatantly obvious and/or horny and wearing my favorite blue pin on my favorite blue jacket, that is, the pin with the two male bathroom figures on it holding hands. That shit could get me laid really fast, maybe, or demonized real fast. Either way, I wore it at the coming out day rally, and I hope the guys I wanted to see it saw it. They probably didn't.

I'm waiting on someone who won't respond to a friend request, he's probably embarrassed about what went on two nights ago when we met at a dance, and wondering why I'm not. Haha, truth is, I was embarrassed right after it for like 5 hours and I'm not anymore. He was drunk so of course it didn't hit until the morning after, if he remembered. Damn, I hope he remembered.

That's at the top of my mind right now, and everything else is buried and refuses to rise again. I don't want that stuff to rise again; scholarship essays, math homework that won't get solved, all of that is a group of voracious zombies hoping to devour my essence in flesh and in spirit. And here I sit listening to another pop song hoping it will ease my nerves. It won't. Only sleep will.

Sleep, though, is hard for me to approach. Just like a limit you can't find; you know it should approach something, even if it's infinity, but you can't ever approach it yourself. It approaches it without you. Your job is to hop onto that fucking arrow onto the infinity sign, or to zero, or to wherever the limit takes you. But you can't slip into the arrow's dimension, and it fails.

Then the arrow enters your dimension, you devour it, and you dominate in the world of sleep. The arrow twists, floats off, upward, upward relative to two vectors somewhere, the cross-product... gone, the arrow takes off, and this isn't even in three dimensions or in seven dimensions...

Math dreams like these I never have. Only dreams of other things. Math isn't behind the dreams, I don't think. Maybe it's buried somewhere in there.

Dreams are things that are so lonesome if you invent them consciously. But when you're really alone - no one can dream the same sleep dreams you dream - they're never lonesome. At least not for me.

Maybe none of this is true, though. But in a dream world, true and false dissipate.