something i wrote a little while back...

i think this fits nicely into my mental stage at this moment...


I just want to speak. I don’t have much in particular to speak about… but right now I just want to speak. I dance the fine line between exposure and objection, as part of me feels tightly drawn between the two. I’m sitting carelessly up against a long hallway wall - uniformed looks pass by me, going this way, that way. We all have places to be. What is it about this third-hand zeitgeist we’re living in… where it seems like if shit isn’t being pulled over our eyes, the rest of our shit is being pulled out from under our feet. My (rst341i) professor seems to have this world disparagingly under his thumb and I think shit, damned if I do, damned if I don’t… and where the one hardest thing to do in your life is to ask “what do I want??” and be able to answer the question honestly. What does it feel like, I want to ask him, to see this unfurling complacency take place right before your eyes. We are not satisfied. Are We? And then maybe he’ll get into a rampant sermon where all he does it talk about the sixties and the drugs and the sex and the music that killed the overbearing hand of the people and all this fucking energy! he’ll say, that infected the nation and how everything. was. just. so. goddamn. perfect. He’ll cut himself off, and speak in a low voice, and his idioms will then only caught by the few sitting in the rows closest to him. He’ll clear his throat and his eyes might subdue… a silence will hover within the room - where the students shift uneasily and quiet mutters of what the fuck will weave within the desks… and the few of us up front actually twig and foot his resentment. Unlike the rest of the class, we don’t look at each other after his outbursts.