this is a burb for the writers of online journals who are attending or are alumni of Eugene Lang College at the New School University. if you want to be listed here, please e-mail anna @ wannabejournals.com.


Elaine
These are what my nights have been like lately: dreams almost exclusively about fucking and shopping and then waking up in the middle of the night so that I can scratch myself maniacally and complete restlessness but also complete exhaustion and having terrible headaches, freezing or too hot, and incredible muscle soreness. I feel possessed by demons

Lauren
there is a huge privalege involved in going to college in general, but especially in going to lang. while we market ourselves as a cultural and "diverse" place, recruiting focuses on white middle- to upper-middle class students who are interested in the college, but can pay to attend it. of course, the university is one of higher education, but first and foremost it is a business. it all comes down to money.

Joshua
I can sleep in, I can read books I want to read, I can do nothing all day just because I want to do nothing all day, I can stay up all night without having to worry about getting through classes the next day without falling asleep. Now, if I can just get these fucking essays done....

Anna
not only are feelings arbitrary but they also are vague and donít make sense.

Meg
We all sat down and I looked around and smacked my head and felt lame. Then I compounded the lameness by placing an interesting piece of cabbage in my marinara sauce, calling it a swan, tossing some lettuce around the swan, and then (as the swan sank in the sauce) naming it "The Dangers of Globalization," calling it performance art and having the swan say, "Can you show me where the nearest Gap...AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

Mandy
I went to Tompkins Square Park to read and write and ended up sitting next to a Coney Island sideshow attraction. Literally. He was sitting there with some friend of his and he was explaining his profession. It was fascinating. I did my damndest to hold on to it, staring at the pigeons or the sunbathers or my notebook, as he went on about the carnival life. I've never before heard the differences between geeks and blockheads, barkers and talkers explained in such loving detail. It was wonderful. I wanted him to be my friend, but instead I watched the pigeons and mentally named them all Pidgy.







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