Jack is 16, and Jack is adorable, and Jack is my little brother's friend, and Jack has panic disorder, and Jack sometimes wears glasses, and Jack was named for Jack Kerouac, and Jack is going to grow up into something even more wonderful than what he is now, and Jack is a good kisser, and Jack probably wont ever be my friend now even though I'd like him to be, and Jack doesn't usually smoke cigarettes, and Jack got beaten up on new year's eve, and Jack is from Hegewisch, and Jack has two cats, and Jack makes me think about that dreseden dolls song even though he and the song are in no way related, and Jack sometimes drinks too much, and Jack used to stare at me when I was in high school, and Jack is this huge fucking looming representation of everything that conflicts inside of me and everything that I absolutely adore and loathe at the same time, and Jack is my instability.
I feel horrible. Don't hate me. Don't think I hate you. Someday you'll be older and this will go away and we can be friends. Hopefully it won't take too long.
About Me
- Anastasia
- WE ARE Failed poets, artists, philosophers, geniuses, cigar aficionados- in other words we are the Chicago Heights Literary Mafia. a combination of underground organised crime and literature. an amalgam of spectators turned plotters. It's not about sexism, racism, rankism, ageism* or any other "ism" (good or bad). it's not about what makes us different or what makes us the same. it's how we don't care. it isn't about religion, music, t-shirts, art, street cred, or even literature sometimes! it's about you and me and something stronger than guns to bring us together. we late night wanderers and tea drinkers know of one thing stronger than the derringer: the pen. WHY? Things get neglected. interocean avenue, fording the river on the oregon trail, rent-a-poets, awkward silences and nervous laughter, the acceptability of dogearing pages, tri cornered hats(really haberdashery in general), poetry as the art of literature, the scarcity of benches--never should it be limited to literature.
2 comments:
Anastasia is 19, and Anastasia is beautiful, and Anastasia is my friend's sister, and Anastasia makes the craziest motor oil I've ever tasted in my life, and Anastasia had a crush on me in high school, and Anastasia doesn't have a damn thing to worry about when it comes to me hating her.
So I cut mine a little shorter than yours but i felt bad for stealing your idea. Seriously though, don't worry about it. It's over and done with and things aren't even bad. If I was pissed then I wouldn't have messaged you. Don't think you need to wait for us to be friends, because Im down with that idea right now. You've gotten ahold of me before, so Im sure you can figure out how to do it again.
By the way....... How did you know about me named after Jack Kerouac?
jack kerouac noooooo way....i am in love. you know.
Post a Comment