An Honest Portrayal of What One Person Thinks At A Given Time

[Author's Note: I think every day feels a little bit like this. In a good way. Extracted from the personal journal I rarely use.]

Art is the easiest thing in the world to do, you open the drain and let it all spill out. Being the plumber is the hardest thing in the world to do.


After this I draw a prison.


If only...

I could trade brains w/ Matt.
Be content like Nick.
See light like Jeff.
Stay calm like John.
Be naive like Nico.

But no, you cannot dream of another's traits. This creature is the one you'll inhabit-for better or worse, until the fascinating release of death. You'll continue to be this creature and it is best to exist in its confines and not look for some extrinsic solution that will only be unsatisfactory when it arrives.

I didn't share that much humanity forever. Mostly, I looked at girls. The good pussy was out today.

Went to school, wandered, watched, drove, and desired.
Listened to a CD that mixed every popular American song of the past twenty years together. I now know what it's like to go to Red Robin on Acid.
Dissatisfaction is a good way to sum up the current state of affairs. That isn't entirely bad. I think it is entirely bad. AT ALL. One must go in want and search to fill the void, filling it at the first solution would be the meaning of meaningless. Of course I knew this. College is nothing if not a brain on mortgage.
When I was 18 I thought I'd have quite the a®tistic life. Here I am in crayon colored walls, studying sports like breasts, and I don't allow myself to appreciate the trite beauty of my life. That's fucked up. I'd appreciate it in anyone else.

I took care of the ants today. They were crawling into our kitchen. They are no longer crawling through the hole in the floor, up along the counter, & under the microwave to feast on crumbs. I'd like to write about ants. I'd like to write about anything that would produce a dialogue between me and myself.
Sundance was a great time. So was Spring Break... wooooo

IMAGINE:
*Selling off all my possessions
*Working odd jobs
*Spending lots of time in libraries
*Eating lots of Cake
*Visiting friends often
*Striving for something

What is right and good? I've been waiting for a change for so many years. I've had hints, but at this rate I suspect it will never come. The change only flirts. I know I have to commit to totally bang this bitch. I drift through days unwilling to recognize the desperation. I don't want to be 40 and in polo shirts to appease some in-laws.The call I am waiting for is the call that tells me I don't have to care. The call that informs me I can do whatever I want.

What do I want?
Love, food, occasional laughter, music, and drugs.
Sports are very good but they aren't this much...
I often say "I don't want to work" I am beginning to suspect that this isn't archetypical bravado, that I actually mean it.

I'd like to write novels, big beautiful novels that set the heart ablaze, but aren't condescending while they do so. Like so much of the stuff that qualifies as stuff.
I want to give as much laughter as much as I can.
I want to see the Thai sun set w/ a Thai woman in my arms.
Movies are...kinda cool, I guess.
Not like Stevie Wonder.

The passion is the only thing worth chasing. As far as I can tell the only good thing about working/living is seeing the same people day in, day out.
How can I write novels/study/play when there are so many thoughts that are much more important to consider?
Anysthing seems possible when I just strip myself away.

There you go. Complete honesty. What more can you ask for? Nothing.