The evening
The best answer is an equivocable one. It aids one in not being definate. But oh how misfortunate it is to stumble upon this type of answer when searching for a substance of rigidity.
You think you can maul me with your indifference and bitter- sweet cynicism. Oh, my darling, but life is so full of clarity. I almost have your puzzle finished. It's too bad how some of the pieces don't fit. And I'm ever- so grateful for that.
I bought art supplies today. Walking through Bedford with an enormous 20 x 26 board sure won me some popularity from the resident yuppies. I've always been an artist at heart...so close to the heart that I barely display my own work. Work is not meant to be displayed if it challenges the mysticism of the soul.
I began dreading the thought of being "textbook." All of my thoughts and all of my inhibitions have been felt before, or so I assume. Where is my originality? Surely I have some talent aside from forming spit bubbles out of boredom and allowing my disheaveled appearance get the best of me. Not brushing my hair doesn't provide me with personality...it just makes me a lazy bum.
I crave for more adventure aside from being in compromising positions with people in pitch black garages and filthy beaches. Such is youth, though. So indecisive, so neglectful of the fact that what you do tonight you may kick your ass for in the morning (or you take it into consideration but don't give a fuck regardless). I still have yet to fulfill a fantasy of orgasming to Slayer and simultaneously candy flipping.
The coarse route this virulent life has taken is tedious. But I'll take what I can get and make the best of it.
School isn't all in the dark, or so to speak. I love you, Nadia. And Timothy, thank God for you as well. ("God?" said the girl looking upwards while blowing a large pink bubble. Thankfully, she wasn't saying "So where is this going?")
I wish I could say good night but I won't feel sleep screaming at me until 4 in the morning.
Adieu
You think you can maul me with your indifference and bitter- sweet cynicism. Oh, my darling, but life is so full of clarity. I almost have your puzzle finished. It's too bad how some of the pieces don't fit. And I'm ever- so grateful for that.
I bought art supplies today. Walking through Bedford with an enormous 20 x 26 board sure won me some popularity from the resident yuppies. I've always been an artist at heart...so close to the heart that I barely display my own work. Work is not meant to be displayed if it challenges the mysticism of the soul.
I began dreading the thought of being "textbook." All of my thoughts and all of my inhibitions have been felt before, or so I assume. Where is my originality? Surely I have some talent aside from forming spit bubbles out of boredom and allowing my disheaveled appearance get the best of me. Not brushing my hair doesn't provide me with personality...it just makes me a lazy bum.
I crave for more adventure aside from being in compromising positions with people in pitch black garages and filthy beaches. Such is youth, though. So indecisive, so neglectful of the fact that what you do tonight you may kick your ass for in the morning (or you take it into consideration but don't give a fuck regardless). I still have yet to fulfill a fantasy of orgasming to Slayer and simultaneously candy flipping.
The coarse route this virulent life has taken is tedious. But I'll take what I can get and make the best of it.
School isn't all in the dark, or so to speak. I love you, Nadia. And Timothy, thank God for you as well. ("God?" said the girl looking upwards while blowing a large pink bubble. Thankfully, she wasn't saying "So where is this going?")
I wish I could say good night but I won't feel sleep screaming at me until 4 in the morning.
Adieu