(no subject)
I knew a long time ago that if I didn't meet those design and arts requirements that I would have to spend more time in college. For some reason I just didn't care. I justified the whole issue by whole heartedly believing that I would somehow make it through 5 1/2 to 6 years of college without losing my mind, and that, by the holy graces of God or some unseen force, I would somehow muster up the resources to propel myself forward through this lengthy endeavor. Fuck though. How could I be so insanely stupid; how could I have set myself up, wittingly, for such a ... meandering through words but none come to mind. Such a sink hole, crash, point-of-no-return.. How could I have set myself up knowingly for something that would exhaust every bit of energy and spirit I had in me. Every time I dropped a class, I knew that it would set me back, yet my lack of foresight has put me into a hole I'm not sure I want to be in anymore. I don't feel like coming to this fucking library ever again. I always write journals on here about the walls. I always somehow find a way to mention the fucking walls in this place somehow, even in my less than concious postings. It's because that's all this fucking place is. It's pure walls; nothing but walls, and much more than the usual four; some how the son of a bitch managed to squeeze the maximum amount of plain, white, dull, and unsympathetic walls into one room as is legally possible. Legal by whose rules though?? The library association of America's? Who are they? Why do they have so much sway in my life these days?? Let me prosecute ok?
The wall walks. He takes a walk through my life, standing ever present behind my head incase I decide to turn around and look at what I've reaped, and he says no to me. I ask why I can't account for my mistakes, and he tells me, collectively, not to worry about it.
I am still here in school. Year 6 in my collective college career, year 5 for Buffalostate college (for those of you keeping score). Yes people do spend years and years in college, but usually not because they are completely unsure of themselves and how they will fair once they leave the comforting settings of a classroom. Students who stay in college as long as I do either completely don't care about their future situations, and have a strange reasurrance that they'll be financially set once they are kicked out for having an over abundance of credits with no goal in mind (chancing that they actually have passed a class or two). Or, the opposite, they are so mindfully set on their collegiate paths, having an intense 7 year plan by which they MUST live, that they don't have time to sit and think about their place in the world. Mechanically living day by day to reach that goal that will get them God knows what besides temporary praise and recognition. I hope I don't sound too bitter, shit. I don't want to live in teh world by myself yet, away from the guidance of professionals who have lived in and understand the world in which I am about to be immersed. I'd rather not throw myself to the sharks just yet, HOWEVER I don't think this guided dream world is practical in anyway these days.
Not to downplay the role of my parents growing up, but I wonder if this urge for guidance is not somehow attributed to fact that my father ,admittedly, attempted to shelter me from the world as I grew up. This, relatively, new exposure to minds and worlds I never even could have known were there is like some high that I'd rather not pull myself away from. In the time span of all things human, these last 3 or 4 years (the only years that I feel I've ACTUALLY grown mentally) don't account for much of anyone's real history. They have been far too short to find any real gain, maybe. Will I still be able to be spongelike once college and I have broken it off? Will the world still matter to me? Fahck.
It's the sculpture thing. I desperately want to be a person who can make sense of and re translate the world in a manner he sees fit. I want to be comfortable in a place that makes no fucking sense to me, to make something in it that may or may not make a mental note. But still he tried to do SOMETHING with the dirt he stood on before he was put beneath it. Let's build ourselves a small little shrine to live in or beneath that we can use as a barricade from all mother fuckers. Unholy demons. Vain and self centered ghosts. Unseen criminals on some warpath, ones who see no wrong in tearing down all walls to be heard and seen but for 5 minutes. There were people who needed those walls for shelter. Where are they now? Find them! FAHCK.
Note: As I said, this is in no way damning my Dad for trying to be a good parent. My father is a great, smart and sensative person. He is funny in a way that is undescribable, but never when he is trying to be. And, as many people know, he is very intense in the impression that makes upon people; strangers, family, waiters, who ever. He has worked with his hands all his life, has suffered from a series of serious ailments, including depression, diabetes and glaucoma, and has been a recovering alcoholic for more than 25 years.
The wall walks. He takes a walk through my life, standing ever present behind my head incase I decide to turn around and look at what I've reaped, and he says no to me. I ask why I can't account for my mistakes, and he tells me, collectively, not to worry about it.
I am still here in school. Year 6 in my collective college career, year 5 for Buffalostate college (for those of you keeping score). Yes people do spend years and years in college, but usually not because they are completely unsure of themselves and how they will fair once they leave the comforting settings of a classroom. Students who stay in college as long as I do either completely don't care about their future situations, and have a strange reasurrance that they'll be financially set once they are kicked out for having an over abundance of credits with no goal in mind (chancing that they actually have passed a class or two). Or, the opposite, they are so mindfully set on their collegiate paths, having an intense 7 year plan by which they MUST live, that they don't have time to sit and think about their place in the world. Mechanically living day by day to reach that goal that will get them God knows what besides temporary praise and recognition. I hope I don't sound too bitter, shit. I don't want to live in teh world by myself yet, away from the guidance of professionals who have lived in and understand the world in which I am about to be immersed. I'd rather not throw myself to the sharks just yet, HOWEVER I don't think this guided dream world is practical in anyway these days.
Not to downplay the role of my parents growing up, but I wonder if this urge for guidance is not somehow attributed to fact that my father ,admittedly, attempted to shelter me from the world as I grew up. This, relatively, new exposure to minds and worlds I never even could have known were there is like some high that I'd rather not pull myself away from. In the time span of all things human, these last 3 or 4 years (the only years that I feel I've ACTUALLY grown mentally) don't account for much of anyone's real history. They have been far too short to find any real gain, maybe. Will I still be able to be spongelike once college and I have broken it off? Will the world still matter to me? Fahck.
It's the sculpture thing. I desperately want to be a person who can make sense of and re translate the world in a manner he sees fit. I want to be comfortable in a place that makes no fucking sense to me, to make something in it that may or may not make a mental note. But still he tried to do SOMETHING with the dirt he stood on before he was put beneath it. Let's build ourselves a small little shrine to live in or beneath that we can use as a barricade from all mother fuckers. Unholy demons. Vain and self centered ghosts. Unseen criminals on some warpath, ones who see no wrong in tearing down all walls to be heard and seen but for 5 minutes. There were people who needed those walls for shelter. Where are they now? Find them! FAHCK.
Note: As I said, this is in no way damning my Dad for trying to be a good parent. My father is a great, smart and sensative person. He is funny in a way that is undescribable, but never when he is trying to be. And, as many people know, he is very intense in the impression that makes upon people; strangers, family, waiters, who ever. He has worked with his hands all his life, has suffered from a series of serious ailments, including depression, diabetes and glaucoma, and has been a recovering alcoholic for more than 25 years.