(no subject)
College is terrible. High School is terrible. When did the weekends start getting more stressful than weekdays and vacations even more so? I did alot of a writing today and at some point around 6 or so I officially flipped out. I had this English paper and it was very vague and the type of thing I resent but it was driving me crazy so instead of responding to how the article as the was the proper assignment I responded to the question. What came out was kind of interesting so I think I'm going to post it even though it kinda freaks me out. It's only been a couple of hours since I wrote it but I already don't relate to what I'm saying at all. In retorspect it feels sick. But its all I have so I'm going to pass it in. Gregoire is probably going to fail me on sight. Can't wait till I'm out of school.
Extreme Failure
This is my own personal masochism. This is constipated inspiration and I don’t care. This is verbal contradiction and mental cliché. This is my reaction to apathy so what shape it shall take is undecided and intentionally vague. I’m in love with words but I don’t know how to make them work. I’m in love with ideas but articulation fails to follow so I am lacking a necessary necessity to render what’s abstract concrete. To polish what is rough into something worth seeing.
How’s it coming? What do you think? You told us to respond right? Well what if the stimulus failed to stimulate? Maybe this is the best that I can create. Fail me whatever I probably deserve it. Doubtlessly everybody else is currently tackling this with a pallid zest. Maybe some got lucky. Maybe this speaks to them or awakens within something worth expressing. Maybe. Somehow I can’t see it. We’ve all gotten good at lying. But today I just can’t bring myself to pretend that any opinion that I have is worth expressing let alone reading. Whoops that’s an opinion too. I lose.
Is this low self esteem? I could talk about any number of things. I can express nearly unlimited disdain for social conservatives and Sunday football. I could write something irreverent about mince pies and the quality of quaint revulsion the word itself brings me. But I don’t want to. And this isn’t it a simple I’m not willing to do the work. I’m not willing to sit at my computer and type and think. I’m doing that right now aren’t I? As a matter of fact I’ve been doing it for hours. This has been stored in the back of my mind for almost a month and with every reread, every reconsideration it gets worse. The problem is inherent to the personal nature of the assignment. This isn’t cut and dry, black and white. This is a world of possibilities and it’s just too much. I can’t BS or just vomit out a personal reaction. I don’t know how the thought makes me sick. It sends me ambling around the house eating yogurt and playing the piano in an attempt to calm myself but the teeth continue gnashing and the heart feels burning.
So yes anyways back to the point. Oh yeah right there is no point. Just a stream of me flowing across my screen and hoping that meandering words will cement themselves into something worth reading. I’m writing this to a tune by the way. If you look closely there is pattern in syntax and in diction. Rhyme schemes and rhythm hidden in layers of half thought and awkward metaphors.
You want to know how I think how I respond? This is it. With rambling indecision and crippling revision. With stress, pain, pressure and moral dilemmas that would appear unfounded. This is honesty. These are my thoughts and they’re sick and shameless. And yes I know I’m responding to the wrong part of the process but that’s okay. At this point I’ll take what I can get because I’m not going to dig myself into a hole for any longer. I’m not going to await divine inspiration and/or insight so that I’m not forced to call some half retarded drivel my personal opinion (more contradictions). I refuse to care about something this stupid. I have to go practice. Teach, eat, do nice healthy things that will get me into college.
I’m over 600 words. This masochistic masturbatory exercise wore itself out a long time ago. Have a good day. Mine is only getting better.
Extreme Failure
This is my own personal masochism. This is constipated inspiration and I don’t care. This is verbal contradiction and mental cliché. This is my reaction to apathy so what shape it shall take is undecided and intentionally vague. I’m in love with words but I don’t know how to make them work. I’m in love with ideas but articulation fails to follow so I am lacking a necessary necessity to render what’s abstract concrete. To polish what is rough into something worth seeing.
How’s it coming? What do you think? You told us to respond right? Well what if the stimulus failed to stimulate? Maybe this is the best that I can create. Fail me whatever I probably deserve it. Doubtlessly everybody else is currently tackling this with a pallid zest. Maybe some got lucky. Maybe this speaks to them or awakens within something worth expressing. Maybe. Somehow I can’t see it. We’ve all gotten good at lying. But today I just can’t bring myself to pretend that any opinion that I have is worth expressing let alone reading. Whoops that’s an opinion too. I lose.
Is this low self esteem? I could talk about any number of things. I can express nearly unlimited disdain for social conservatives and Sunday football. I could write something irreverent about mince pies and the quality of quaint revulsion the word itself brings me. But I don’t want to. And this isn’t it a simple I’m not willing to do the work. I’m not willing to sit at my computer and type and think. I’m doing that right now aren’t I? As a matter of fact I’ve been doing it for hours. This has been stored in the back of my mind for almost a month and with every reread, every reconsideration it gets worse. The problem is inherent to the personal nature of the assignment. This isn’t cut and dry, black and white. This is a world of possibilities and it’s just too much. I can’t BS or just vomit out a personal reaction. I don’t know how the thought makes me sick. It sends me ambling around the house eating yogurt and playing the piano in an attempt to calm myself but the teeth continue gnashing and the heart feels burning.
So yes anyways back to the point. Oh yeah right there is no point. Just a stream of me flowing across my screen and hoping that meandering words will cement themselves into something worth reading. I’m writing this to a tune by the way. If you look closely there is pattern in syntax and in diction. Rhyme schemes and rhythm hidden in layers of half thought and awkward metaphors.
You want to know how I think how I respond? This is it. With rambling indecision and crippling revision. With stress, pain, pressure and moral dilemmas that would appear unfounded. This is honesty. These are my thoughts and they’re sick and shameless. And yes I know I’m responding to the wrong part of the process but that’s okay. At this point I’ll take what I can get because I’m not going to dig myself into a hole for any longer. I’m not going to await divine inspiration and/or insight so that I’m not forced to call some half retarded drivel my personal opinion (more contradictions). I refuse to care about something this stupid. I have to go practice. Teach, eat, do nice healthy things that will get me into college.
I’m over 600 words. This masochistic masturbatory exercise wore itself out a long time ago. Have a good day. Mine is only getting better.