Saturday, February 26, 2005

Oh, there it is

you work your entire life, from the moment you start to crawl, you're working to an end.
means to an end.

you work to walk, you work to talk.
you work to play and cry and eat.
you work for attention.

and where does it end?

in a nursing home, not remembering your children's names or where you are?
in diapers, taken care of by an aide?

screw that.
i plan to live

i think the thing that frightens me the most about the cycle we're all stuck in is, it's about to end.
i've been in school since pre-school: when i was 5
suddenly i have two semesters until i get a little piece of paper, saying that i have a degree in a bunch of bullshit, just because i sat here for a cumulative 19 years and listened and told the teachers
answers they wanted to hear.

you always read about people like ernest hemmingway, who went on safari and live in sri lanka. and killed himself, O.K.... but the safari part.

he's been dead for almost fifty years, and he has a new book coming out next year.

i, on the other hand, will never be published.
why, you ask?

because i have no creative drive.

that's why i haven't been writing good journals, i don't have anything to whine about.
for once i like my life, i like where i am, and nothing's wrong about it.

the downside is, i don't get the ego-boost of people telling me they really like my journal entries.
in fact, since i switched to blogger and abandoned my livejournal friends, i'm not sure anyone reads this at all.

whoops, i broke the fourth wall.

life is so convoluted sometimes. i want to camp
i want to go to montana and work for the parks dept. or the dept. of the interior, or the forestry service.
fuck, i just want to freaking camp.
i want to be an airway steward, it seems like a good way to see the world.
i want to live in the south of france, i want to se the serengheti, and the sahara, and the cradle of civiliation. drink turkish tea in istanbul, learn afrikaans and go to south africa.

i should stop reading now.
i read to go other places, to envelope myself inside acid-free paper and ink. mass-marketed and dust-jacketed.
i need to stop reading, i get my hopes up.

i desperately want to be accepted by society as anything other than a failure, but doesn't everyone else?
what makes me so special? nothing, that's the cold, dark, honest, cliche answer. nothing.

but for some reason i sit in classes, listen to what lunatics who somehow obtained doctorates have to say, and tell them what they have to hear.
have, have, have.

i don't have to see the world.
i WANT to.

and therein lies a difference of infinite depth and proportion.

but for now i suppose i can be content with not being in too much debt to any one company, having a balance in my checking account, and not getting kicked out of college for poor grades.

haven't you ever wanted to see the amazon? or managua, beliz, cape horn?

there's something mystical we all tie to phrases like "the world's end."
well fuck man, let me see it.
one day, i freaking promise you, i will have a picture of invercargill, nz hanging on my wall. i will see the end of the earth.

i want to get lost in the jungles of atemporal china, surrounded by the mixture of ancient art and ultra-modernists highrises.

and honestly, i don't care if it's dangerous.
i want to see tibet, nepal, kashmir, taiiwan, melonesia, and papau new gunea.
did i mention st. croix?


Vanessa said...

Come back to know you want to :-)

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