the anti-hour
here i am. it is 3:05 am. i don't know what to say at this hour. it feels bewitched, but perhaps i only notice it now because of the inflammatory A&E melodrama of paranormal psychology that i have recently ingested.
nonetheless, i find myself staring at a passage on my table that now makes more sense to me than anything i've i ever read...except for this:
the tiny seed
the seeds are blowing in the sky.
the seeds are growing into a flower.
then the petals are blowing away.
that was written by a fucking six year old named ava!
there is as much eloquence above as there exists in any great lifetime.
"despair is a free man - hope is a slave." seriously...say that to yourself one more time out loud. honestly, who would rather be a free man in despair than a slave to hope. if slavery means hope, give me slavery. does that sound ridiculous? of course it does, but i'm ridiculous. that's what's great about me.
maybe i really am arrogant, but i'm just afraid to own it.
i really wish that i could focus whatever is going on inside of me right now. i know it is powerful, but i don't know if it is eloquent yet. and even if it is eloquent, i don't know if it is meaningful. i hope that it is, because it feels like it is, and if i can give it an appropriate philosophic voice maybe it will actually mean something.
again...arrogance and self indulgence. why should i think any experience of mine should have any more meaning than anything else; than a rat, taking a shit, right beneath the statue of mother and child, with john the baptist at the corner of union square west and 15th street.
the only reason that exists to not kill yourself is that if there is no point in going on, there is also no point in stopping. that is so depressing that i kinda want to kill myself. i'm not going to, but jesus fucking christ...ultimately what do i really think that i have to contribute to this gigantic cluster-fuck we call civilization?
so here i am...the barber shop downstairs is throwing another party. i am privy to a non-stop droning bass beat that will no doubt continue until 5 in the morning. one day, i swear to god i'm going to go down there and just say, "i live upstairs, i can hear your party all night long, can i at least come hang out?" but to do that, i'd have to actually exist, and somehow i'm not actually sure i'm doing that right now.
wow...no one should ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever read this.
nonetheless, i find myself staring at a passage on my table that now makes more sense to me than anything i've i ever read...except for this:
the tiny seed
the seeds are blowing in the sky.
the seeds are growing into a flower.
then the petals are blowing away.
that was written by a fucking six year old named ava!
there is as much eloquence above as there exists in any great lifetime.
"despair is a free man - hope is a slave." seriously...say that to yourself one more time out loud. honestly, who would rather be a free man in despair than a slave to hope. if slavery means hope, give me slavery. does that sound ridiculous? of course it does, but i'm ridiculous. that's what's great about me.
maybe i really am arrogant, but i'm just afraid to own it.
i really wish that i could focus whatever is going on inside of me right now. i know it is powerful, but i don't know if it is eloquent yet. and even if it is eloquent, i don't know if it is meaningful. i hope that it is, because it feels like it is, and if i can give it an appropriate philosophic voice maybe it will actually mean something.
again...arrogance and self indulgence. why should i think any experience of mine should have any more meaning than anything else; than a rat, taking a shit, right beneath the statue of mother and child, with john the baptist at the corner of union square west and 15th street.
the only reason that exists to not kill yourself is that if there is no point in going on, there is also no point in stopping. that is so depressing that i kinda want to kill myself. i'm not going to, but jesus fucking christ...ultimately what do i really think that i have to contribute to this gigantic cluster-fuck we call civilization?
so here i am...the barber shop downstairs is throwing another party. i am privy to a non-stop droning bass beat that will no doubt continue until 5 in the morning. one day, i swear to god i'm going to go down there and just say, "i live upstairs, i can hear your party all night long, can i at least come hang out?" but to do that, i'd have to actually exist, and somehow i'm not actually sure i'm doing that right now.
wow...no one should ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever read this.
posted by R. Peeps at 4:09 AM
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