(no subject)
i just started "on the road" and i was really ready for it, and i like the first page and all, but the introduction said it was autobiographical, which is fine. but it really just said almost everything that the first page said and even though that's all i read of both of them, i just keep thinking that the book is more of the same. more of what i accidentally know, written in a different way. a first hand, conversational, not fictional, not literary way. but really, what more could i expect from a beat. i know i should like kourak, because 1/3 the literary tattoos i see tell me so, and i'll get there but i feel late to the boat. but i didn't feel like that with plath, and so the beat goes on. i want to sleep, maybe because productive society tells me i should be doing so right now, but mainly i think because i'd like to be a person who gets up early. i'd also like to stay a person who stays up late, and for myself, really, i'd like to stay a person who sleeps. i've never been ashamed to like sleep. i used to sleep at 9, if i was tired. if i wanted to. and i don't mind a nap, no matter the consequence. when i'm up as i am now, not sleeping and not interested in anything, really, is when i want to read. when i think it would be beautiful to just stay up and read until 5 am, (because really, you have to sleep sometime.) and be secretly up until the sun comes up. i will do this next semester, because really, when my wisdom teeth are out, i'll be reading to fill the void. my jaw still clicks and my teeth are not aligned. my throat is dry, and they say that's not a real sign of thirst. it feels like 5 am because my light is on, like i've been determined to stay up late, but really, i was writing and acknowledging that there is nothing to do. no matter how productive i could be at night, i never do unless there is a deadline. things may be different when i am not surrounded by silence and sleepers and the need to preserve the two, but really i just care about not sleeping and when i will sleep and when i should wake, really. i'm telling you "really" like you have doubts. like you know me or presumed otherwise. i market myself like i'm interesting, (and it's not like i think i can't be). i feel the need to point out my mistakes and my thoughts and my misgivings. i could tell you the history of every shoe i own as if you were interested. "that one was bought to save a blister, and its soles have been here, here, and here." i can't understand when people don't know where they got things, or that they lost things. i would take losing something tangible more harshly than losing something "not." i have such a possession for my things. i can't stand to lose and earring more than i can't stand to lose a friend. and believe me, i've lost touch. i want to revisit places more than i want to visit people. i'd rather own a book than read it. i've bought a movie before i've seen it. my elbows have been falling asleep all night. oh, the pressure of writing and reading, on pillowed surfaces not seeing sleep!