please will you will it please you please you it will oh jesus will you please
and so it is that after devoting two years of work to get to and stay in art school, i find myself too depressed to care about or comprehend or produce a single fucking thing. and right now i want to swaddle myself in blankets and go into hibernation on the floor of my bedroom in the middle of my old books and shirts and thriceworn underwear and track the season's changing by watching the light through my window. maybe some kind soul could leave a saucer of maple syrup by the head of my cocoon once a week. that would be splendid. maybe if i could see the shadow of a tree cast on my floor through the window. but a less fiery eye, i beg of you. leave dante out of the people i see on the street. i have forever dreamed of starting something written with "and so it is." i prefer my memories of "blood on the tracks," to "live in 1964." class tomorrow? i wouldn't take that bet. i would like a hug from cat stevens and joseph beuys, maybe a reassuring back pat mixed with eye contact from philip guston. my cat does not understand how much i need her now. i will keep talking until i am left with nothing to say but what i really want to and then i must stop before the jig is up. my brain has turned into the quivering, stinging gelatin of jellyfish pods, but that metaphor is too open to mockery and ridicule to share with other people.