i've got a lot to say and not a lot of clarity to say it with! every day, i see/hear/smell/touch/taste (the inevitable refrain...senses working overrrrtime) so much and all it does is remind me of myself. or other people. okay, in other words nothing impresses me anymore but people. especially children.
children - with their infinite potential and clear skin - and even if they don't come through with it, you know they want to smile back at you when you smile at them. it hurts. i never understood this...phoebe caulfield beauty...before just recently. because i never really respected kids. because (i love you mrs. habib) i didn't respect myself. this may even be a kramer vs kramer moment. but idiotic allusions cast aside...i only wanted to be a kid so that i could be a kiddlydivy girl (props to rhinebeck, ho!) but working with candy girod, with her perfect smile and self-packed lunches and the honey colored double bass. i felt so unworthy. and don't get me started on seth. that backflipping monster.
and to connect that with something else completely relevant, possibly something which doesn't even need a transition. i saw and spoke to mrs. wilson today. and i almost started crying again. and she could tell. i was so happy to listen to her, without the screens and funnels and rube goldstein devices which hamper me from understanding the rest of the world. so few adults are mature enough to understand that you want to hear their life philosophy, writ small, just by seeing that you've put your hair up and you've got bags under your eyes. and will give it to you, cupped in their hands with a smile. (me and smiles these days) and it will make sense. i would show you verbatim what she said to me if i could. it was almost cinematic except that it was just two people talking. (don't argue, please!) and when i walked out into the sun outside skinner hall i felt like the chosen one all over again.
i had so much to say, or to write, or to scream out before i spoke to her. and now i don't feel it's necessary! but let me, before i feel as if this were too much of a glancing blow. i know now that style isn't an issue. the segment of society which can converse freely these days about the noozles, the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy, enculturation in american schools in the 90s, nan, and ulysses, and whatEVER, let's throw in bjork and AOL, just to be a doof, because i can't express myself anymore but through shabby and already fading cultural subicons, because i've settled for the easy path to zen. this segment of society will always...whatever. i'll let you fill in the blank. i feel invincible with the strength of these numbers. when i write this shite it's just to assuage my failing memory, to assure myself that i feel different at different times. it's not all mind over matter! and now...
children - with their infinite potential and clear skin - and even if they don't come through with it, you know they want to smile back at you when you smile at them. it hurts. i never understood this...phoebe caulfield beauty...before just recently. because i never really respected kids. because (i love you mrs. habib) i didn't respect myself. this may even be a kramer vs kramer moment. but idiotic allusions cast aside...i only wanted to be a kid so that i could be a kiddlydivy girl (props to rhinebeck, ho!) but working with candy girod, with her perfect smile and self-packed lunches and the honey colored double bass. i felt so unworthy. and don't get me started on seth. that backflipping monster.
and to connect that with something else completely relevant, possibly something which doesn't even need a transition. i saw and spoke to mrs. wilson today. and i almost started crying again. and she could tell. i was so happy to listen to her, without the screens and funnels and rube goldstein devices which hamper me from understanding the rest of the world. so few adults are mature enough to understand that you want to hear their life philosophy, writ small, just by seeing that you've put your hair up and you've got bags under your eyes. and will give it to you, cupped in their hands with a smile. (me and smiles these days) and it will make sense. i would show you verbatim what she said to me if i could. it was almost cinematic except that it was just two people talking. (don't argue, please!) and when i walked out into the sun outside skinner hall i felt like the chosen one all over again.
i had so much to say, or to write, or to scream out before i spoke to her. and now i don't feel it's necessary! but let me, before i feel as if this were too much of a glancing blow. i know now that style isn't an issue. the segment of society which can converse freely these days about the noozles, the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy, enculturation in american schools in the 90s, nan, and ulysses, and whatEVER, let's throw in bjork and AOL, just to be a doof, because i can't express myself anymore but through shabby and already fading cultural subicons, because i've settled for the easy path to zen. this segment of society will always...whatever. i'll let you fill in the blank. i feel invincible with the strength of these numbers. when i write this shite it's just to assuage my failing memory, to assure myself that i feel different at different times. it's not all mind over matter! and now...