you know what i want?
i want me
you
whoever else
a bunch of writers
a bunch of poets
a bunch of artists
to get together
in one tiny smoked filled room
everyone with shoes off
discussing
what we have been writing
life in general
who we have a crush on
and other such things
any type of thing
someone would yell out some haiku he just wrote
someone else would then stand up and yell out some sentence meant to define the whole of our existence
and we would talk about
dickinson
cummings
kerouac
blake
we'd read aloud
bukowski
plath
our own works
yates
we'd throw paint on the walls
and behave like indians
(and by indians, i mean native americans
and by behave, i mean to act the way that they were stereotypically believed to behave before we entered this period of enlightenment that we currently reside in)
life, would happen all around us
we would be the creators of life
more importantly we would be creating that which defines life
the verly thing that explains, and gives voice to, our inner yearnings and emotions
we would be art
yeah, thats what i want to do
but instead,
i think i am going to go to blockbuster.
10:29 p.m. - 2004-12-05
Recent entries:
Awake in My Tiny Cage - 2014-11-03
God. - 2014-10-27
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The Paper - 2014-10-13
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