the devil will find work for idle hands to do
it has been a long time.
i don't regret it.
livejournal is a waste.
but then...
if i had feelings, right now i guess i would be scared. that is a terrible word and if i hope to be any kind of a writer someday i am going to have to do a lot better than that, but my night-addled brain is simply not supplying. so fuck the printed page, i suppose. perhaps i should just cherish not having an editor while i still can (i kid myself of course, having pre-edited every word coming out of my mouth or fingers, ever).
but this is what i'm thinking, besides "back on track fucko."
i'm thinking that this summer is short (too much so) and i'm just not done. every now and then (really, every one) there is a certain weight that i'm feeling. i'm bound to the idea that there is something left here that i'm missing. what i mean is, anyone reading this, just don't let me go without saying goodbye. at least do that for me.
nearly every person i see i think of something i never told them.
or sometime that i held back
or
or
a question i never asked.
i'm thinking of writing a book, it will be called "all i ever wanted to know i never found out because i was terrified of something."
it will go in the self-help section, but don't count on any.
note: i just realized that self-help books are a total contradiction. a real live oxymoron!
on books: i read one once and it said that every other person in the world has something to give you, some gem of insight to help bring you to the next level of consciousness. all you need to do to get it is ask the right questions.
you're supposed to have some goal or something in mind.
a desire.
an end.
and as much as i want to say "fuck that hippy shit," there are dreadlocks in my family so i have to at least consider these things. and for real what i find out is that i have asked some shitty questions or no questions at all and i know i just know i have missed whole people, entire places and scenarios that could have built me into something more than i am right now. but whats more is there are people i have known for years and that i love or could love and i don't feel satisfied with the time i've spent with them.
i guess what i'm saying is, by the time i leave august 31st i want to have said this many times:
"i've never told you this before, but..."
or
"i've been wondering for a long time..."
or even
"i hate you, actually."
that one would be quite refreshing, truth be told. but its not the most important.
i guess what i'm saying is,
hey
wanna hang out?
i shouldn't have written this, technically.
because, i wrote something on a cereal box once and it made a lot of sense but you can't read it because because it just ruins everything. i just know that you would hate me. i just know.
ah this being obsessed with consistency is always so hard.and requires too much memory.
...so am i.
i don't regret it.
livejournal is a waste.
but then...
if i had feelings, right now i guess i would be scared. that is a terrible word and if i hope to be any kind of a writer someday i am going to have to do a lot better than that, but my night-addled brain is simply not supplying. so fuck the printed page, i suppose. perhaps i should just cherish not having an editor while i still can (i kid myself of course, having pre-edited every word coming out of my mouth or fingers, ever).
but this is what i'm thinking, besides "back on track fucko."
i'm thinking that this summer is short (too much so) and i'm just not done. every now and then (really, every one) there is a certain weight that i'm feeling. i'm bound to the idea that there is something left here that i'm missing. what i mean is, anyone reading this, just don't let me go without saying goodbye. at least do that for me.
nearly every person i see i think of something i never told them.
or sometime that i held back
or
or
a question i never asked.
i'm thinking of writing a book, it will be called "all i ever wanted to know i never found out because i was terrified of something."
it will go in the self-help section, but don't count on any.
note: i just realized that self-help books are a total contradiction. a real live oxymoron!
on books: i read one once and it said that every other person in the world has something to give you, some gem of insight to help bring you to the next level of consciousness. all you need to do to get it is ask the right questions.
you're supposed to have some goal or something in mind.
a desire.
an end.
and as much as i want to say "fuck that hippy shit," there are dreadlocks in my family so i have to at least consider these things. and for real what i find out is that i have asked some shitty questions or no questions at all and i know i just know i have missed whole people, entire places and scenarios that could have built me into something more than i am right now. but whats more is there are people i have known for years and that i love or could love and i don't feel satisfied with the time i've spent with them.
i guess what i'm saying is, by the time i leave august 31st i want to have said this many times:
"i've never told you this before, but..."
or
"i've been wondering for a long time..."
or even
"i hate you, actually."
that one would be quite refreshing, truth be told. but its not the most important.
i guess what i'm saying is,
hey
wanna hang out?
i shouldn't have written this, technically.
because, i wrote something on a cereal box once and it made a lot of sense but you can't read it because because it just ruins everything. i just know that you would hate me. i just know.
ah this being obsessed with consistency is always so hard.and requires too much memory.
...so am i.