a little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men
It's raining. I've always loved the rain, especially rain at night and the glow of streetlights on wet pavement.
More and more often I find myself feeling very sad. I'm sad for everything, and I'm hopeless about it. I wish that many things could happen differently.This is as simply put as it gets. There is so much to say, and too much to this world.
I have never been a private person before, but now I'm private and reclusive because I feel that my life and I would be a burden on other people. When asked 'how are you?' I now reply, and quite beautifully, 'fine, and yourself?'
This is something I used to never do. Now it's easier than explaining myself.
I'm certain and willing to admit that most of this can be held accountable to my age and my angst and to my hormones, but I don't want to believe my mother about a number of other things.
As much as things are changing I don't want them to change any further.
What all of this equates to, you see, is that I just feel like crying and I don't know why; there aren't available answers for anything anymore.
Today when I walked into school I was carrying a gigantic Pollock painting forgery that Shefali and I created. Michael Christ smiled at me and told me it was very good. His insincerity made me grin.
If I weren't so cold more would matter.
More and more often I find myself feeling very sad. I'm sad for everything, and I'm hopeless about it. I wish that many things could happen differently.This is as simply put as it gets. There is so much to say, and too much to this world.
I have never been a private person before, but now I'm private and reclusive because I feel that my life and I would be a burden on other people. When asked 'how are you?' I now reply, and quite beautifully, 'fine, and yourself?'
This is something I used to never do. Now it's easier than explaining myself.
I'm certain and willing to admit that most of this can be held accountable to my age and my angst and to my hormones, but I don't want to believe my mother about a number of other things.
As much as things are changing I don't want them to change any further.
What all of this equates to, you see, is that I just feel like crying and I don't know why; there aren't available answers for anything anymore.
Today when I walked into school I was carrying a gigantic Pollock painting forgery that Shefali and I created. Michael Christ smiled at me and told me it was very good. His insincerity made me grin.
If I weren't so cold more would matter.