I think that I could fall in love with Beat poetry a hundred times over.

Aimless. Pathetically aimless.

And trying to remain as AIMless as possible.

Some years, February has an extra day.

I think I just felt like posting because it's the 29th. Right.

"Everything I am consumes me.
I dreamt I was a fish --
when I woke, how foreign it felt
to be out of water."

Comments, for the sake of comments, though my computer is currently being slow-ish. Sluggish, perhaps, would be the word then. I'm very wishy-washy about this whole livejournal thing, still. Perhaps I'll throw short essays up here every now and then.

And such is the disillusionment of february.

Wow.

It's December already.

Just because.

Well anyway, the day is beautiful, and I'm getting some things done.
Much relieved to have thought of an idea for my art project.

It's good.

You gonna be old with cats