nigh but never over

school time is winding down.

of course, that means that school work is going nuts....


before my inevitable release from the grips of this semester i have: one final exam, 4 final papers,
and a CW portfolio to make out of the nothing-of-mind. do i feel like doing any of this? not bloody likely. Im getting that wierd sensation in my chest now, that burning that means shit needs to get done, like now. It's accompanied, as always, by that endearing friend o' moi: the subtly pervading melancholic outlook and crippling self-loathing. well, maybe not crippling, but it is certainly not very nice. i know that these negative feelings will be alleviated by a (large dose of heroin) bit of hard work. If i bust my ass and get some of these papers done and get the others on their way to done-ness i will start feeling worlds better.

could that be a valid motivation? nah, i think ill blog a little cause im starting to like it, and i like reading my friend's blogs so why not? maybe ill go back home, walk in the cold, read a little and pass out. with the light on (which has been happening a lot recently, after i discovered that when nearing sleep i could more easily pass out if i kept my mind on the fact that i needed to turn out the light, and if i got up and turned it off i would always have a harder time crashing).

does anyone read this? I once heard a quote that inspired me to do this sort of thing, a quote that made it a little more fulfilling than an online diary: [this is a gloss of the actual quote] "Only the man who speaks of himself and his time speaks for humanity and all times." something like that....

exorcise the futility

The moon hangs low tonight dipping into the skyline with a grace unmatched and barely noticable.

whats the point really?

ive heard some say it's love, family, relationships, friendship, living the dream.

I seem to just be holding on to that slim branch of breath,
waiting til the last minute to see if maybe everything will be revealed to me.
as it stands im enshrouded in dark, though i can feel some divine
exhale tickling the back of my neck
right where the skin becomes scalp and suddenly fertile
with another part of me.

I wish I was creative in a way that I could see. I wish I had the kind of problems that spawned art - art with impact and presence - but all I have is me. All i have is petty shit; the small recurrent nonsense that never seems to cease. At least if I had something monumental I could rise up with honor to face it; to rise to the occasion and 'speak in fear and trembling'. i wish i had spent less time wishing all these years - fuck its come to years now hasnt it?- wishing for talent; wishing for fame; wishing for someone to love and love me back; wishing for God; for truth for confidence for gratefulness and love and love and love. i am too good at wishing; i've had quite a bit of practice. im getting better at regret; its not quite honed yet; not quite debilitating but it will come with time. I think i have a headstart on most of my peers - maybe they dont have the natural knack for finding things to regret in so short a span of life- I could one day come to be a mentor to them and young ones looking for instruction. ill tell them: mind the silly shit and always be more hard on yourself than you have to be; go that extra mile and it will take you where you want to go.

On nights like tonight i think these are my only skills: tripping myself on pebbles in my path and cursing myself for being blind and kicking myself while im down.

'the deeper you go the higher you climb, so come on!"
i think thats true; the stumble is always hardest when you've fallen from such heights; and Heaven's not as high above when you've done the work to stand back up. I dont want to get back up; this is home to me; this is where i return - this is my home; my truth. I feel compelled to wish it otherwise; but im so fucking sick of wishing.