(no subject)
I've not even written a journal entry since I got over Tristan Prettyman. Not "got over". I just heard all there was to hear -- a thousand times and then I went to sleep with it and then I could move on to love something new. But I've not let go Tristan! And still... though it's been only a week... I can connect to her music. Arrg!
The pencil is my mental
escape in fate.
I am a person in pursuit
of his own suite.
Within the boundaries
of unpredictable floundering
I question my capability
and find comfort in traipsing illiterately.
In quest of self
I question his, yours, and our health.
Of the mind, I ponder, whether it healthy to wonder.
May one live in happy ignorance?
I claim this nothing but a non-comprehendible creation of settle.
One, to feel bliss
must question that
and this.
In my words I search not for meaning,
but for concrete translation.
My thoughts seem as aimless as the child of thou.
Though I, like the child,
know
in what is ordinary, one may question what was not questioned before.
In protest the subject is brinking revolution.
With this hope, I find faith.
-Kaitlin
The pencil is my mental
escape in fate.
I am a person in pursuit
of his own suite.
Within the boundaries
of unpredictable floundering
I question my capability
and find comfort in traipsing illiterately.
In quest of self
I question his, yours, and our health.
Of the mind, I ponder, whether it healthy to wonder.
May one live in happy ignorance?
I claim this nothing but a non-comprehendible creation of settle.
One, to feel bliss
must question that
and this.
In my words I search not for meaning,
but for concrete translation.
My thoughts seem as aimless as the child of thou.
Though I, like the child,
know
in what is ordinary, one may question what was not questioned before.
In protest the subject is brinking revolution.
With this hope, I find faith.
-Kaitlin