talking out of both sides of my mouth
I feel like a fool, but a fool who at least in his own mind knows what he's doing.
I don't know how much sense that makes.
Sometimes i think the only time i get inspired is immdiately after i look at people and things and not feel a goddamn thing when i'm supposed to. That's me, Mr. Delayed Reaction. I'm working on that.
I've got a Master Plan.
There are some contingencies worked in. I'm wondering what it would be like to have an alias or a mid 60s Karmann Ghia. I'm also wondering how different my life will be after i'm through with my return to academia. I'm wondering if some big things ever stay gone and if i'm crazy for being so attached to the love-hate relationship i have with reverie.
randomness (is an overused word)
stop not caring and just not care. peel the earth's skin. embrace the ugly, raw wound of the condition of being human and love every rotten thing that oozes out when you drag your fingernail across it. don't understand. maintain your sense of ironic detachment from the subjects of the freak kingdom. the real freaks, the squares. misquote me, but misquote me with a modicum of respect.
still feel gone.
