Stop pushing. I know what I'm doing.
Lately at parties I've been trying to convince random people that I'm Allen Ginsberg; mostly those who are at a loss when they try to remember my name. I'm going through that phase again where I've been reading his poetry and listening him recite "America" and "Howl" over and over again. Unfortunately, I do not possess the same lingiustical integrity of his material, so I can't help but feel a tinge of jealousy as I smile at the candor of his work. Rotting Ginsberg, how frank and absurd! Sometimes, you can catch me slink to a bus stop with a book of his complete work in tow. Life almost feels insignificant in terms of books. Ginsberg's poetry and songs span over twelve hundred pages. How long will my life's book be?
I feel lost in the jungle. My brain is as lucid and relentless as the next. Lately, I keep putting myself in a position where I feel that I've said a few words too many, only to have my careless confessions to be discarded by the careless. My life feels like a board game, which I have a gross disadvantage, and a part of me doesn't really want to play. Life should be more like a Rodgers and Hammerstein movie, where everything is pretty clear cut with no moments for an overly analytical mind to misconstrue an unconscionable amount of times. Sitting on my hands only makes me antsy and I cannot stand it. Pressure builds on my already taxed shoulders, so I run out blurting things to the people I want to get close to only to drive them further away. My words act as happy daggers, killing all I care for around me.
I feel lost in the jungle. My brain is as lucid and relentless as the next. Lately, I keep putting myself in a position where I feel that I've said a few words too many, only to have my careless confessions to be discarded by the careless. My life feels like a board game, which I have a gross disadvantage, and a part of me doesn't really want to play. Life should be more like a Rodgers and Hammerstein movie, where everything is pretty clear cut with no moments for an overly analytical mind to misconstrue an unconscionable amount of times. Sitting on my hands only makes me antsy and I cannot stand it. Pressure builds on my already taxed shoulders, so I run out blurting things to the people I want to get close to only to drive them further away. My words act as happy daggers, killing all I care for around me.