on my knees now, no febreze now, i like your scent
today was my last final - now i'm going to solely read WHAT THE FUCK I WANT (which = genet and proust).
rainbow party is so clear. that's what i love about it. nothing extra, just clear, light, but with a punch. simple, to the point, here it is, no bullshit, no oozing machismo, just lean and hard like a boy's body should be.
tonight saw me going with the literati, to the home of a professor. of course after some wine and weed, and of course an old irish drinking buddy whom i hadn't seen since last year, and with whom i have the perfect fucking wit-connection (come to think of it, exact same as my irish drinking buddy at home - funny isn't it? i like it) anyway as you can tell by my meandering, i'm still a little high.
but anyway the prof was so false. i should pity him? he represented many things for which i have no patience - mainly the loving of things just to love to love them... you should know what i mean. the kind who buys albums to buy albums - there is no feral connection here, just a mindless sort of cataloguing, namedropping, recommending - it's more for social purposes at the expense of anything concerned with real art and personal connection - no such thing as transformation or even feelings, beyond what can be theorized, objectively and from afar, at the head of a classroom - a classroom which is set up to instill the machine, simply in the design of the room, teacher's desk vs student desks, clock placement, board placement, i remember that entire lecture - thank you different prof who actually felt things, i won't forget your words.
*andrew wipes his ass*
...but participated nonetheless, and was cordial as possible - and hell, after two glasses of wine i had no problem participating in conversation. the prof knew all the other literati except me. yeah, i don't fit in anywhere. and i'm not about to become his minion either, and he knows that, in the way that males sniff each other he knew he would never get me, and so he and i probably had about five words all night. but i can't hate the man for giving me red wine, what can i say?
starting to mentally prep myself for leaving this place, next year. it should happen. i need people searching for beauty, i need fags and aesthetes, preferably both at the same time. realizing was i perhaps right in my instinct? i mean, my instinct to not bury roots deep into this college town, not to get close to anyone, and not to betray myself to a soul, and to learn how to completely construct fronts and personas? i was at least partially right, i just need to learn restraint and moderation, which i am learning.
rainbow party is so clear. that's what i love about it. nothing extra, just clear, light, but with a punch. simple, to the point, here it is, no bullshit, no oozing machismo, just lean and hard like a boy's body should be.
tonight saw me going with the literati, to the home of a professor. of course after some wine and weed, and of course an old irish drinking buddy whom i hadn't seen since last year, and with whom i have the perfect fucking wit-connection (come to think of it, exact same as my irish drinking buddy at home - funny isn't it? i like it) anyway as you can tell by my meandering, i'm still a little high.
but anyway the prof was so false. i should pity him? he represented many things for which i have no patience - mainly the loving of things just to love to love them... you should know what i mean. the kind who buys albums to buy albums - there is no feral connection here, just a mindless sort of cataloguing, namedropping, recommending - it's more for social purposes at the expense of anything concerned with real art and personal connection - no such thing as transformation or even feelings, beyond what can be theorized, objectively and from afar, at the head of a classroom - a classroom which is set up to instill the machine, simply in the design of the room, teacher's desk vs student desks, clock placement, board placement, i remember that entire lecture - thank you different prof who actually felt things, i won't forget your words.
*andrew wipes his ass*
...but participated nonetheless, and was cordial as possible - and hell, after two glasses of wine i had no problem participating in conversation. the prof knew all the other literati except me. yeah, i don't fit in anywhere. and i'm not about to become his minion either, and he knows that, in the way that males sniff each other he knew he would never get me, and so he and i probably had about five words all night. but i can't hate the man for giving me red wine, what can i say?
starting to mentally prep myself for leaving this place, next year. it should happen. i need people searching for beauty, i need fags and aesthetes, preferably both at the same time. realizing was i perhaps right in my instinct? i mean, my instinct to not bury roots deep into this college town, not to get close to anyone, and not to betray myself to a soul, and to learn how to completely construct fronts and personas? i was at least partially right, i just need to learn restraint and moderation, which i am learning.