I am On the Verge of Art and the Final Gusts of Sanity
Patti Smith brings it out of me.
That lust to be an artist.
That itch that's itched in me since I was thirteen and mimicked Cobain's fingers on the neck of my 50 buck Stratocastor, pretending I had written the riff to "Lithium," that I had that kind of soul. I do have that kind of soul. But that talent? No way. All afternoon I've been drinking in Just Kids. I reemerge breathing poetry. So much for using this journal to post all the nerd meta I was going to. Not in the mood to browse Topless Robot. Melancholy is the mood but my melancholy has an anger. Spitfire lines comparing commas to abortions and madness to birds flying into mirrors-they wrap themselves around my mind. A rough poetic harshness has always found it's way in me. Ever since I was a kid I daydreamed about being the kind of person who said things to piss people off, just to do it. Now I've grown up into that person, and found the harshnesss suits me.
This is why I suck as a fanfiction writer. Yeah, I get these bursts of bizarre creativity. I wonder shit like "Huh, I wonder how the de-aged cast of "Firefly" would do if they were the cast of "Neon Genesis Evangelion" instead?" But in the end, I'm a just a weird dark girl who better damn produce something postmodern. Better make the crazy worth it, right? In the end, I just want to write about my bizarre, contradictory, weird hometown and cultural clashes I see in it. In the end, I'm too damn egotistical. I like my own stories too much.
* Last night I hung out with the "gang" again. We're too cynical and ironic to be friends with the hipsters. We laugh at them in their pretension; their classism. I don't know if they know how to take us. I know I don't really care. We stayed out until 2 laughing about tragedy and dissecting humor and irony and debating the ethical implications of incest. God, I love those guys. On a nerd note, the last time I hung out with them, a guy friend of mine started nerding out with me about Star Wars. We ended up going all english major on George Lucas's ass and doing a feminist critical analysis which culminated in our simultaneous, drunken howl of "DARTH VADER IS THE PATRIARCHY!" Heads turned from tables away. Perhaps an essay is coming up after all.
*My dating life is getting more complicated. I may be going on causal dates with three different girls soon...I KNOW RIGHT??? It's like all of a sudden my life goes from loneliness to too hectic. No complaints. I broke up with my girlfriend a few weeks before finals. Most amiable break up ever. Now, I am on the market again, I guess. I like being single more than I like being in a relationship. Independence suits me. But I also get horny and bored. We'll see. Also, I still have feelings for this (male?!) ex-classmate of mine. I'm still trying to figure out if he likes me or not. God, I love these socially awkward shy artistic types, but I can't figure out if he just asked me out or if he genuinely wants to talk literary criticism for a few hours. It's also interesting considering dating a boy. I usually don't find men at all attractive, but something about this guy just crept under my skin. Huh. It happens.
Sorry for the ramble. It's 3 am and I'm at my night job. I feel a Netflix Arrested Development marathon is coming on.
That lust to be an artist.
That itch that's itched in me since I was thirteen and mimicked Cobain's fingers on the neck of my 50 buck Stratocastor, pretending I had written the riff to "Lithium," that I had that kind of soul. I do have that kind of soul. But that talent? No way. All afternoon I've been drinking in Just Kids. I reemerge breathing poetry. So much for using this journal to post all the nerd meta I was going to. Not in the mood to browse Topless Robot. Melancholy is the mood but my melancholy has an anger. Spitfire lines comparing commas to abortions and madness to birds flying into mirrors-they wrap themselves around my mind. A rough poetic harshness has always found it's way in me. Ever since I was a kid I daydreamed about being the kind of person who said things to piss people off, just to do it. Now I've grown up into that person, and found the harshnesss suits me.
This is why I suck as a fanfiction writer. Yeah, I get these bursts of bizarre creativity. I wonder shit like "Huh, I wonder how the de-aged cast of "Firefly" would do if they were the cast of "Neon Genesis Evangelion" instead?" But in the end, I'm a just a weird dark girl who better damn produce something postmodern. Better make the crazy worth it, right? In the end, I just want to write about my bizarre, contradictory, weird hometown and cultural clashes I see in it. In the end, I'm too damn egotistical. I like my own stories too much.
* Last night I hung out with the "gang" again. We're too cynical and ironic to be friends with the hipsters. We laugh at them in their pretension; their classism. I don't know if they know how to take us. I know I don't really care. We stayed out until 2 laughing about tragedy and dissecting humor and irony and debating the ethical implications of incest. God, I love those guys. On a nerd note, the last time I hung out with them, a guy friend of mine started nerding out with me about Star Wars. We ended up going all english major on George Lucas's ass and doing a feminist critical analysis which culminated in our simultaneous, drunken howl of "DARTH VADER IS THE PATRIARCHY!" Heads turned from tables away. Perhaps an essay is coming up after all.
*My dating life is getting more complicated. I may be going on causal dates with three different girls soon...I KNOW RIGHT??? It's like all of a sudden my life goes from loneliness to too hectic. No complaints. I broke up with my girlfriend a few weeks before finals. Most amiable break up ever. Now, I am on the market again, I guess. I like being single more than I like being in a relationship. Independence suits me. But I also get horny and bored. We'll see. Also, I still have feelings for this (male?!) ex-classmate of mine. I'm still trying to figure out if he likes me or not. God, I love these socially awkward shy artistic types, but I can't figure out if he just asked me out or if he genuinely wants to talk literary criticism for a few hours. It's also interesting considering dating a boy. I usually don't find men at all attractive, but something about this guy just crept under my skin. Huh. It happens.
Sorry for the ramble. It's 3 am and I'm at my night job. I feel a Netflix Arrested Development marathon is coming on.