January 2011
160 posts
Today really has been a wake up call. I’m not as important as I once thought. I’m not as smart. I have felt out of place and unimportant towards the things I love to participate in the past few months, and today was a slap in the face: I am a minute person in the grand scheme of anything I do. My writing, the most important thing to me, isn’t even of great value. I grew up being...
I’m pretty positive that feeling humble doesn’t mean feeling this insignificant.
I want my walls to be filled with art. I want my halls to be filled with bellowing melodies. I want to be able to lie down and be immersed with the ones and things I love. I want to cherish that day. It’ll happen. One day.
“Man’s real life is happy, chiefly because he is ever expecting that it...”
– Edgar Allan Poe
The sun gazed into my windows, then sheepishly peered away. A golden tint filled my room. I look down at my hands and think about how just last night I gnawed away at the tips. I don’t know what today will bring, probably nothing. I don’t know who I really am, either. Which is meaningless anyways. I want to put on my shoes, take my bike and just pedal my way out of this minute town. If...
I had my fill and I know how bad it feels.
Some nights I just never go to sleep, at all.
Where Will You Lead You?
A long lost child rummaging through the dead leaves scattered across a forest floor.
“I can take these home.”
Home: no where.
“Will I always be this poor, pathetic nomad?”
Looks up towards the canopy, smiles, and knows the answer is yes.
He’ll make his own music.
Imagine his own friends.
Find his own food.
Until he realizes that his existence as a poor boy...
We’ve come so far, but how far have we gone off track.
Today, I found a container full of tacks and finally hung artwork I’ve made and my friends have gave me. It looks pretty neat. Meanwhile, I washed my sheets and read Brave New World. I’m pretty sure that I’m going to spend the rest of the day gathering clothes I no longer wear. Excuse to go to Goodwill? Yeah.
“Aim above morality. Be not simply good, be good for something.”
– Henry David Thoreau
If she had been beautiful, even, Or wiser than women about her, Or had moved with a certain defiance; If she had had sons at her sides, And she with her hands on their shoulders, Sons, to make troubled the Gods- But where was there wonder in her? What had she, better or eviler, Whose days were a pattering of peas From the pod to the bowl in her lap? That the pine tree is blasted by lightning, And...
Freedom is what you do with what’s been done to you.
- Jean Paul Sartre.