(no subject)
between all the aides in the school we've got 45 cents which is not ebnough mind you to even breask into the teachers lounge with. i've never been so bored. never enjoyed being so bored. i hate when i write whats real on here. rather see through thick black eyelashes like the vision like fantasy object on this insane mousepad, i feel very young and very impue, an extreme of anything everything not sure what the hell i mean. i keep running lines of gospel in my head like amandas in my element poem or something bukowski or rainer maria rilke or rumi. i wish i had something fresh, a new art or poem oir person to talk about art and poems and music and unoversal truths and lies and everything very deeply but nothing literally, i wonder... i've been discovered