the imitation of innovation
I know who I am.
and yet I don't.
how fucked up is that?
I know that I can stride along the fine line between explaining something to an extent in which I lose 90% of my original audience... but in all of that diatribe and monologue, you don't hear what I want you to hear.
I haven't talked to someone that I just started talking to during the summer in almost a month now (I think). I'm not AVOIDING her... I just don't ever think to call her when I have a free moment with my cell phone, or log on to talk to her online. I know our online conversations usually GO VERY LONG... and I don't have the... oh, shut up.
(read paragraph before last one. There you go. Perfect example.)
heh.
I am an imitation of myself.
someone who, at one moment, was like no other.
and at some point, I've conformed into someone else... like no other. Which one is the real me?
stay tuned, and find out... maybe we can get Scooby-Doo and Friends on this motherfucker.
I am not a shell- that egg cracked a long time ago.
(specifically in the preface to entering this journal)
I am not voided- the blood courses through, and the thoughts rampage on.
I am not empty- "half" of anything, I am not.
I can not describe, nor entertain of the description...
... of who exactly I may be.
I just know it's not me.
but I am me.
innovative as it may be... irritating it is and will be.
the illusion of confusion...
... of imitation by selection.
making the amendment to the cause
without hesitation or pause.
can someone be who they are
breaking the bottle, the jar
within and inside
command and provide
who you are to me.
who I am... to me.
and yet I don't.
how fucked up is that?
I know that I can stride along the fine line between explaining something to an extent in which I lose 90% of my original audience... but in all of that diatribe and monologue, you don't hear what I want you to hear.
I haven't talked to someone that I just started talking to during the summer in almost a month now (I think). I'm not AVOIDING her... I just don't ever think to call her when I have a free moment with my cell phone, or log on to talk to her online. I know our online conversations usually GO VERY LONG... and I don't have the... oh, shut up.
(read paragraph before last one. There you go. Perfect example.)
heh.
I am an imitation of myself.
someone who, at one moment, was like no other.
and at some point, I've conformed into someone else... like no other. Which one is the real me?
stay tuned, and find out... maybe we can get Scooby-Doo and Friends on this motherfucker.
I am not a shell- that egg cracked a long time ago.
(specifically in the preface to entering this journal)
I am not voided- the blood courses through, and the thoughts rampage on.
I am not empty- "half" of anything, I am not.
I can not describe, nor entertain of the description...
... of who exactly I may be.
I just know it's not me.
but I am me.
innovative as it may be... irritating it is and will be.
the illusion of confusion...
... of imitation by selection.
making the amendment to the cause
without hesitation or pause.
can someone be who they are
breaking the bottle, the jar
within and inside
command and provide
who you are to me.
who I am... to me.