12.06.07

exactly what I always thought I wanted to be.
I am delighted at[with?] this new information.

well, aside from being some kind of super-genius. I always wanted to be that. learning through osmosis, that kind of shit. knowing everything about mathematics and science and literature and art and linguistics.
obviously, you have to learn these things; I wanted [still want, would totally trade a limb for it if I could] to just, you know. know everything.
it's okay.

I'm getting C's, whatever. no point in harping on about how little grades and scores matter if I don't bother to believe myself, and supposedly it's because I don't pay attention/try hard enough/apply myself, whatever reasons.

ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch. I think I can I think I can I think I can I think I am I think therefore I think I am
I can think and feel and see and taste and hear and love and hug and kiss! what else does a person need?
I'll get by. that's all you can ever really do. balance on a balance beam and balance the equation, because life is equations but equations are knowledge and knowing everything gets boring and stale, like bread but you know what stalebread tastes like and that is something that matters. greenbacks don't matter. the adjective describes or modifies a noun, that's what matters if it matters to you. does it matter to you? gold and emeralds and furcollars matter if they matter to you; do they matter? what does a summer morning mean to you? california, like it does to me, at the end of the year? so surreal, a summer morning on the west coast right after you turn ten years old at the end of december.
this is how I write, this is my thought process, not some refined nameless thing in a verse or a silly two-part story to try to grasp horror literature. I combine words to get rhythm across and use too many commas and conjunctions and clauses, and I feel like motherfucking golden literature and oscar wilde SAID! it is the highest form of art and that may be true for me, and that is what matters gloryhallelujah, does the louvre matter to you, then it matters to me and let's let it all be, let's get drunk and cry and laugh and poetize the world, describe the colours of the beach, because the ocean's not for me or you. we're not fish.

and that's what makes us beautiful, whirling in all these different directions see me movin' like a fuckin' tornado? swear words and pink rose petals, mountain summits and valleydepths of death, smiles and tears and laughter during sex, delight and anger and pain and shame and you and me, we're all the same.

maybe I could be a slam poet. is there enough money in poetry to feed me and my cat? would msi sue me?