Look who decided to write something
Okay.
This is going to be a very choppy, ramble-y entry.
Note: if I say you, I could be talking about a specific person, or a group of people, or myself. So, don't take the you personally.
If this makes you want to cry, you've interpreted it correctly. If this makes you want to laugh, you've proven my point.
Here goes.
I just read sex.
Not about it.
It.
What an astonishing book. You won't get it though.
I don't really think most people will.
But it's a best seller nonetheless.
But as I said before; sex.
It's the kind of book that you almost have to think so hard about that you're not thinking at all.
It's hard not to take an analytical approach to things in general.
Life is organized like that.
But life consists of chaos, mainly.
And you need a creative mind to sort through chaos.
How does one combine the two?
I think that's what a philosopher is.
Someone who thinks creatively and analytically simultaneously. ly ly ly.
This book sent shivers up my spine.
It made me squint my eyes like I do when I'm trying to look like I'm thinking something profound.
It made me gasp and cry.
My immaturity made me giggle at the word organ.
My maturity made me realize the intensity of it all, and understand the beauty and immensity of emotion portrayed through only a few short verses.
I think that's what a teenager is.
Someone who defines the line between maturity and immaturity.
Fact: I'm one of the most, if not the most, mature people I know of my age.
Other fact: My naivete is embarrassing.
Possible? kinda.
I think it's hard to understand anything unless you've lived it.
Scholar, researched it for a project, have 15 friends who went through it.
Doesn't matter.
You can wear the watch, you can change the settings, you can adjust the wristband.
But only the watchmaker knows the inner workings of your watch.
So, maybe you read all about it.
Maye you watched a documentary.
Or attended a rally...supporting watches.
But could you sit down and make the watch?
This is a lot like poetry.
My poetry at least.
Less rhyme-y.
But still taking metaphors too far, excessively pressing the enter key, and making my squinty eye face.
I've been through A LOT.
But not nearly enough to say I'm not naive, and i'm not ignorant.
No one is that tolerant.
No one is that understanding.
No one is that mature.
Maybe I've never lived on the streets.
But maybe a little boy who does, has a brother who has always been there to protect him.
Nobody knows.
Nobody knows everything.
You can cry for someone else, but you can't have pain for someone else.
You just can't.
It's not our fault.
If we could, there'd be World peace.
When you say you feel for someone, you can't really.
You can sympathize, you can understand, but you can't feel.
I HATE that.
And that's all I have to say.
This is going to be a very choppy, ramble-y entry.
Note: if I say you, I could be talking about a specific person, or a group of people, or myself. So, don't take the you personally.
If this makes you want to cry, you've interpreted it correctly. If this makes you want to laugh, you've proven my point.
Here goes.
I just read sex.
Not about it.
It.
What an astonishing book. You won't get it though.
I don't really think most people will.
But it's a best seller nonetheless.
But as I said before; sex.
It's the kind of book that you almost have to think so hard about that you're not thinking at all.
It's hard not to take an analytical approach to things in general.
Life is organized like that.
But life consists of chaos, mainly.
And you need a creative mind to sort through chaos.
How does one combine the two?
I think that's what a philosopher is.
Someone who thinks creatively and analytically simultaneously. ly ly ly.
This book sent shivers up my spine.
It made me squint my eyes like I do when I'm trying to look like I'm thinking something profound.
It made me gasp and cry.
My immaturity made me giggle at the word organ.
My maturity made me realize the intensity of it all, and understand the beauty and immensity of emotion portrayed through only a few short verses.
I think that's what a teenager is.
Someone who defines the line between maturity and immaturity.
Fact: I'm one of the most, if not the most, mature people I know of my age.
Other fact: My naivete is embarrassing.
Possible? kinda.
I think it's hard to understand anything unless you've lived it.
Scholar, researched it for a project, have 15 friends who went through it.
Doesn't matter.
You can wear the watch, you can change the settings, you can adjust the wristband.
But only the watchmaker knows the inner workings of your watch.
So, maybe you read all about it.
Maye you watched a documentary.
Or attended a rally...supporting watches.
But could you sit down and make the watch?
This is a lot like poetry.
My poetry at least.
Less rhyme-y.
But still taking metaphors too far, excessively pressing the enter key, and making my squinty eye face.
I've been through A LOT.
But not nearly enough to say I'm not naive, and i'm not ignorant.
No one is that tolerant.
No one is that understanding.
No one is that mature.
Maybe I've never lived on the streets.
But maybe a little boy who does, has a brother who has always been there to protect him.
Nobody knows.
Nobody knows everything.
You can cry for someone else, but you can't have pain for someone else.
You just can't.
It's not our fault.
If we could, there'd be World peace.
When you say you feel for someone, you can't really.
You can sympathize, you can understand, but you can't feel.
I HATE that.
And that's all I have to say.