i'm not one for aping or mimicking or copying or pretending or posing. and sometimes i'll think of that one poem by that dead white guy that describes a character who imagines alla the great things that he'd've done if only he were born in another time, saying that he was born too late, whereas opposed to these grandiose scenes he was imagining, he was just alone and depressed in some bar, stagnant. i mean, the fucking beats. X.J. Kennedy wrote a poem for Allen Ginsberg where he described him as "full of glee and sweetness", and somewhere or other he also wrote "freaky light", and there's something in the beats of the romanticism era of literature. where there's just this frantic desire to live, and experience. carpe diem and alla that now trite crap. they put it on car stickers for this one jersey college that i've forgotten the name of, the posers. there's no danger, no risk, no excitement, no ecstacy to barely existing. this ship might sink at any fucking moment.
so naturally, when we're not out rioting or creating or yelling ecstatically about this poem or that song or that orgasm, there's bound to be this frustration at complacency. and it's fucking hard to shake.
i dunno, the past couple'a years, my new year's resolution's been to y'know, "find myself" and things of that sort. what comes with that, though, is that i've lost a lot of inhibition and insubstantial hangups that were holding me back. it's fun when you're your only audience.