four years of college and i don't know what i want to do. i don't know. i'd pump cesspools if it made me happy, but i don't think jobs can make anyone happy. not completely anyway, momentarily more likely. so i'm stuck, sort of like a stick in the mud, but, i'm not unhappy - maybe a bit sad, but i always find it has little to do with me and everything to do with the world around me.watch the news.
read the paper.
listen to the radio.
absorb it all, reconsider.
and so i make graffiti on the train because creativity makes me happy.
i like to read and write and watch other people,
pay me for it?
i like to go fishing. not that i'm "serious" about it. i don't go out there with the right bait, rod, or casting technique, but there's something about feeling that life on the other line. knowing that even when you can't see it life is out there - alive! just waiting to feast and be caught.
and i'm a student, but nothing like the one sitting by me on the train. the difference is she has focus and a diet cherry coke. all i have is heart and a Natural Ice. i'm riding this train, not with the intention of moving forward, but with the intention of suspension. i'm dying for distractions from my text. she's reading "Art in Theory 1900-2000". and i find it amazing how they cover 10o years of art in 500 pages. at the very least us accountants know we're full of shit, an invention. art however is not an invention, it's a fruit of being and how i die to eat more than 500 pages.
without a dream there's not much to follow.
i'm sure it's very informative, but heck that's what other things are for. a book describing art almost feels like a disgrace to art. other peoples descriptions and opinions take away from your own.
maybe i'm drunk, no
i am.
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