Stream of typing blog.

I have in my possession a document created 22 years ago, two sheets of yellow paper filled with typewritten lines. It dates from my junior year in college, when several of my friends, along with me and my roommate Rich, were gathered in our room the night before we left town for spring break that year; there were eight people all together. For some reason one of us, Mary V., started typing an account of what was going on in the room, as it happened.

Some background: Rich and Danny were going to drive to Chicago the next day (I went to Florida that year). I was apparently on the phone to my brother part of the time. The wax refers to three wine bottles, joined like Siamese triplets, that Rich and I were slowly covering with candle drippings. Other things were going on: drawing, juggling, listening to music. I don't know who Carol was, but I think Danny was going to call her, since no one of that name was there.

I've cleaned it up some, but it's fairly true to the original text. I added the headline a little later. Even then, I was an editor.

The night of February 26, 1982. Five specific minutes.

Enters the bearded one, Danny, full of sorrow, for the restaurant where Suzy-the-buzz-saw-Callahan once put a lampshade on her head is now closed. Eight hours of studying John Locke on the way to Chicago does not sound like fun, he says. Howard wails, "re-e-ed, re-e-ed." Mary T. hands him a red pen. Rich notes that the wax now dripping on the wine bottles is the color of root beer. Howard proclaims his picture is "the Antichrist." Geof draws. The figures are odd geometries. Mary T. seems obsessed with eyes. She draws them (several to a face) on each of her pages. Dees talks on the phone. To his mother? A friend? An enemy? His brother, Jay.

Everyone is creating. Drawing, dripping wax on the bottles, etc. Danny notes that it is his last spring break as a Vanderbilt student. "Don't pick the wax out!" Rich yells. Danny is bombarding me with chucks of wax. Howard's about to leave, he says. Danny and Rich are going to try to get Carol to leave now, as soon as Dees gets off the phone. No more music, unless it's classical, says Rich. Dees comments on Mary T’s picture -- "Man in an Urn." That's a bad situation to be in, says Dees. Danny's obsessed with something, Geof says -- because Danny said that the beer in the refrigerator was bought by Vareen B. Carol can't go yet. Danny says let's do something to this place [this dorm room]. Rich says, clean it up for us. Danny asks when they are leaving tomorrow. Rich says noon. Danny says he has to go to the library first to get the [expletive] magazine (an Atlantic from a couple of months ago) because Steve misplaced it.

Silence. People start singing. Rich sings the Lowenbrau commercial. Someone contemplates throwing things out the window, but Rich says no -- last time they called and said to stop. Rich juggles with balls, until I look. He starts again, with apples. Danny assists -- they're juggling together -- they almost got it. An apple rolls away, no one can find it. Danny suggests that the apple lost while juggling may have been eaten by fungus under the table. Rich finds the apple. Danny proclaims a complete juggling food show -- a couple of days ago in the Pub they did a French fry act. Danny can't get the hang of juggling. His hands are sticky, icky. Howard brings him a little rubber ball. Danny asks what we all ate before he came -- eggplant again? No, we tell him, spinach, peppers, onion, etc. all sauteed in a wok.

Silence again. Howard says his candle got hit by an apple. Geof is trying to juggle. Rich is being encouraging. Mary T. sits by, chuckling every once in a while. Andy, Danny's friend the magician, used to juggle. Once his bathrobe caught fire. Rich begins to read from The Tao of Physics. Howard asks why tao isn't spelled with a 'd.' Something Dees and Mary are discussing "looked like an orb." Rich asks if Danny wants to stay in his sister's room. Geof and Rich start playing with the little rubber ball.