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Avoiding a giant research paper that's supposed to do all sorts of wonderful things for my being.
I can only listen to music softly when I write anything, and it must be instrumental.
Hello, Rodrigo y Gabriela.
Once I spent a whole class period listening to Santana and doing excellent work at the same time.
Such productivity will never happen again, I'm sure.
Coming to the conclusion that I have to write shitty things (perdon mi francais) and let them simmer for a while before taking a second look.
I made a painting last night.
It was just lines over a trajectory graph.
Kind of sunsetty lines, but still.
In the same way a haiku is still a form of poetry, let that be my contribution to the painting community.
Anywho.
Not a word.
Need to work.
Can't.
Must.
Won't.
Graduating with honors depends on it.
Parents will be upset with life decision.
But.
The work.
So much work.
Complain complain complain
Worth it worth it worth it
WHAT IS LIFE
I can only listen to music softly when I write anything, and it must be instrumental.
Hello, Rodrigo y Gabriela.
Once I spent a whole class period listening to Santana and doing excellent work at the same time.
Such productivity will never happen again, I'm sure.
Coming to the conclusion that I have to write shitty things (perdon mi francais) and let them simmer for a while before taking a second look.
I made a painting last night.
It was just lines over a trajectory graph.
Kind of sunsetty lines, but still.
In the same way a haiku is still a form of poetry, let that be my contribution to the painting community.
Anywho.
Not a word.
Need to work.
Can't.
Must.
Won't.
Graduating with honors depends on it.
Parents will be upset with life decision.
But.
The work.
So much work.
Complain complain complain
Worth it worth it worth it
WHAT IS LIFE
Holy Hell, a DD
I haven't been active on here in quite a while. I attended a summer camp that was extremely writing-intensive in 2011, and after sharing my work in front of others, I realized that writing about pain only seems to perpetuate it. The Sylvia Plath kick of 2010 left me in a bruised and battered emotional state, and luckily I escaped with my life at the end of that year. Things are going fine now; no unrequited loves or hipster desires of moonbeams, hipbones, 3 am cigarettes, whatever you kids are writing about these days to fulfill all your egos and secret wishes.
But there's a fine line between writing about pain subjectively and objectivel
Etc
Blew up everyone's notifications, sry.
Summer's here, for the most part.
E
12:30 and nothing better to do--no, that's not the case. Sleep is appealing. But I think I've been learning a little, and I like that. It's been a long time.
The two poets I saw today were ordinary people. And there didn't seem to be a secret, either; just a need to express.
Rambling.
Sleeping.
No. Not.
But.
Sleep.
OH GOD A QUIZ THIS SHOULD BE FUN
Stories can be fun.
A- Age of 1st kiss: Fifteen. Dark room, completely emotionless. I shied away from the moment. Not... not fun.
B- Band you are listening to right now: Iron Horse brutally destroying Metallica songs through the power of bluegrass.
C- 1st Crush: I was five years old and a little boy that played with me gave me many butterflies. I wrote him a letter. He checked "yes" to liking me, but sadly, nothing came of the situation.
D- Dad's name: Dave.
E- Easiest person to talk to: ... is this a trick question or
F- Favorite ice cream: Either Turkey Hill's Double Dunkers or Baskin Robbin's Love Potion #31 (however, due to its
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