So I broke up with my conductor. There were a lot of reasons, I don't think I want to go into it.
I met a boy named Dave. I think he's some sort of incarnation of my character Dave, just a little less broken down.
I'm going to school.
Andrea is going to paint a picture of me.
I dyed my hair pink again.
and the mountain goats say this:
"I want to go home, but I am home."
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.
1 comment:
i'm sure he was a wonderful interruption. nothing lasts forever anymore..
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