Writing an essay i have no motivation for at all. all afraid inside for the grading. afraid they will scorn and burn and fail me.
once burned, one fear the fire. such is with tok. once scorned, one loses motivation and feel whats the point, they will just give me a lousy grade anyway.
but still im writing, although little idea of what they want. non-comformist, im sure thats not what they want since they're all about the boxes.
when you're in the middle of the woods you regain focus.
theres no tv, no internet, nothing to disrturb you. its all quiet and serene woods. showering on the stone stairs, scooping water from a bucket and letting it trickle down the body, the nakedness, the presence, the wind softly blowing through the trees, the touchyness of the skin...
it's something you have to experience to understand.
and when the hours go and you have so much time. so strange that time seems to be of a different quality here, as compared to the racing clock of the city.
I can't seem to recognize, either side of this modern version or
fading person i was, i tried to memorize dates and times of old
accidents and the failed attempts now, i'm still afraid of those
mistakes i've made. i'm mostly memories, most missed
opportunities, mostly minor tragedies, i'm mostly you and me.
i'm mostly memories, mostly missed opportunities, mostly
abnormalities, i'm mostly you and me, and you and you and
me. i can't seem to recognize, either side of my conversations or
contemplations i've done, i've tried to memorize the truth and
lies, of the facts and fictions and the half truth admissions i've
done. i'm still afraid of those mistakes i've made.
(less than jake)
Good punk rock is so good. there's nothing like it with the timing. drums, riffs, in exactly the right place.
on my own like I've always liked it best. on my own like I've always been. on my own like I'm probably always gonna be.
Evil is easier to be. Easy to hide in darkness and play with shadows, than facing the daylight and being the person you and everyone else deserves.
This is the moment that you know
That you told her that you loved her but you don't.
You touch her skin and then you think
That she is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me.
(death cab for cutie)
how the sun can cascade down your face but not really touch you, not reach.
huxley's dystopia is utopia. At least if you're an Alpha plus. Because of the Soma.
and the easy lifestyle. Have said it before and I say it again:
Alcohol and tobacco is much worse than some drugs. These are everyday intoxicators that are accepted, while there are drugs that do much less harm but give you a much more pleasant trip. and those you only use occasionally. there are drugs that you don't get addicted to, while nicotine slowly poisons your lungs. it's just a matter of perspectives, people have decided that drugs are bad "just because they are". and sure there are really horrible examples. but there are no less horrible examples with alcohol! What's wrong with a little experimenting I say.
memories. are so strange. you hear a song, ONE song, and all the memories and associations come rushing all over you like an apocalyptic tidal wave. Lover I don't have to love. Where's the kid with the chemicals? Feels good, I'll give it a try. My mind went dark. Play tragic. keep touching. Got a hunger and I can't seem to get full.
Such pretty words. Hurt me.
