speaking in the native tongue

i just started richard wright's autobiography, black boy. i just finished huck finn, and wright felt like a great follow-up. his native son essentially taught white people that black men weren't all placid and servile uncle toms and nigger jims. he also has a lot to say about manhood, and it gets tangled up in my head and makes me confused.

on the one hand, i'm 23 and it's springtime in college and i want ass. and the big lesson i've learned in this place is the best way to get some without hurting anyone is to drink a lot, fuck strangers, and lie all you want as long as it's not about your intentions. but it feels really empty. and the drunken conversations, the acquaintances and drinking buddies and familiar conversations, our piercings, baseball, the chief, what's your major, where's your accent from. if a night doesn't end in fucking, it ends bored, drunk, and frustrated. i felt like i wasted my undergrad years. i didn't waste these two years, but i'm disappointed again. this town was boring and dry. worse than that it was cold and disinterested. so businesslike. even sex was like a product, faceless and without personality or style.

so goodbye champaign and goodbye midwest. they say things are better out west. i'll let you know.