"step right up! one night only!"
i paid my money and took the ride.
jumped up and kept falling,
fell off the face of the earth,
expanded at an astonishing rate.
outerspace, man; distant.
everything that's going on here with me
is being performed by a hologram.
it's my autopilot and i don't really trust him.
this is the danger of experimenting with college
during yr pot years.
when i talk to old ladies, they're very impressed when i mention that i'm studying to be a teacher: "that's very respectable. you'll make a good teacher."
when i talk to teachers, they say "aw shit, man, yr gonna hate it."
maybe i should just hang out with more old ladies, because i'm sick of hearing from naysayers. i like to think that maybe i really will love it, but as it grows nearer i'm beginning to see how big and real it really is. it's like watching the huge, ominous, approaching mountains on a slow train, and it's very intimidating--somewhere yr new house is up on that treacherous rock.
scattered lately--my thoughts, my actions, my behavior.
in the midst of this period of doing very little, my main accomplishments include making lemonade from scratch, catching a live version of my usually-via-telephone soap opera over the weekend, hanging out with the girl my autopilot is telling me that i like, and procuring some medium-nice fountain pens
and ink for handwritten correspondence with my fancy new pen pal, annabel-now-in-boston. i'd forgotten how much i love to write letters. hand writing a letter seems more challenging now, in an era where instant correspondence technology has diluted the art down to a streaming series of text messages. considering all the extra effort that some people put into handwriting a letter(snobby, elitist pens with fancy inks, and wait--there's more), i feel almost obligated to make the letters more substantial and thought-provoking than any message that has been digitized, especially the kind executed with thumbs. finding a fitting image for the stationary is always fun, too. my next one is a page-sized, bad picture of my face, very faint; it's a photo that she shot, maybe accidentally--that's personalized.
i want to write the kind of letters that people keep.
i paid my money and took the ride.
jumped up and kept falling,
fell off the face of the earth,
expanded at an astonishing rate.
outerspace, man; distant.
everything that's going on here with me
is being performed by a hologram.
it's my autopilot and i don't really trust him.
this is the danger of experimenting with college
during yr pot years.
when i talk to old ladies, they're very impressed when i mention that i'm studying to be a teacher: "that's very respectable. you'll make a good teacher."
when i talk to teachers, they say "aw shit, man, yr gonna hate it."
maybe i should just hang out with more old ladies, because i'm sick of hearing from naysayers. i like to think that maybe i really will love it, but as it grows nearer i'm beginning to see how big and real it really is. it's like watching the huge, ominous, approaching mountains on a slow train, and it's very intimidating--somewhere yr new house is up on that treacherous rock.
scattered lately--my thoughts, my actions, my behavior.
in the midst of this period of doing very little, my main accomplishments include making lemonade from scratch, catching a live version of my usually-via-telephone soap opera over the weekend, hanging out with the girl my autopilot is telling me that i like, and procuring some medium-nice fountain pens
and ink for handwritten correspondence with my fancy new pen pal, annabel-now-in-boston. i'd forgotten how much i love to write letters. hand writing a letter seems more challenging now, in an era where instant correspondence technology has diluted the art down to a streaming series of text messages. considering all the extra effort that some people put into handwriting a letter(snobby, elitist pens with fancy inks, and wait--there's more), i feel almost obligated to make the letters more substantial and thought-provoking than any message that has been digitized, especially the kind executed with thumbs. finding a fitting image for the stationary is always fun, too. my next one is a page-sized, bad picture of my face, very faint; it's a photo that she shot, maybe accidentally--that's personalized. i want to write the kind of letters that people keep.