the earth within;

List: Thoughts: Ten: Tuesday

1. This is what I’m talking about: Things I want to do right now: continue reading Lolita; finish another film off my overgrown queue; write some things (I have ideas!). But what I actually do is: think about the things I want to do and how I can’t possibly do them all at the same time; think about how my return to school life is as inevitable as death; think about how the hour is always already at 50 or so minutes (i.e. 5:56PM, 6:53PM, 12:50AM); think about things that will never happen; write stream of consciousness things such as this to try and sort out why I’m not writing other things.

2. My writing has changed, I think. It feels different. It’s less likely to break up into lines nowadays. But it still feels to me like me—whatever that means. It’s changed but it hasn’t changed, which means it must be alive. I am alive.

3. My writing has changed, I think. Not that it’s become “better” or “worse”—I don’t know what those mean. I am uneducated. I am working on it. I am comfortable with what I’ve written and how I write. At least for the purposes of unwinding and making something, I am comfortable. I have a hobby. Or A LIFE.

4. The fire alarm in my room beeps. It must be low on batteries. It seems only to chime, irritatingly, when I’m about to go to sleep. I hate it. It is of no use here. There will not be any smoke in my room. My uncle will bring the ladder soon and dismantle it. He will decapitate it. He will go replace its batteries. And I will be glad to be rid of it. I will not mourn its absence. If it comes back, I will wish for it to— I was about to say terrible things, but I realized that would be silly because a fire alarm is not alive; it is a machine, it is inhuman, and if it were alive it would eat children and torture kittens and boast obnoxiously about its vintage apartment as if anyone fucking cared and shit.

5. I’m sometimes bad at taking criticism. It’s a gut reaction; “How dare you tell me that I made a mistake, pompous teacher person? How dare you tell me that I could communicate this idea more clearly and efficiently?” I calm down quickly enough but the feelings can sometimes come back and irk me; they make me want to make more mistakes, as I think I should. I rally myself: Make it imperfect! Shake off the spell check of life, dude! Fuck the police!

6. Chopin’s Étude Op. 10, No. 12. This is the song. I will revisit this song. When I was small, this song was one of the samples on my parents’ electric piano, which was not a cheap keyboard, mind you, but a large, heavy, standing thing. But the trigger for the Chopin sample was special because it had it’s own square button off to the side by the power button. I remember the music being dark and mildly frightening. I will revisit this song.

7. Fears: starving, embarrassment, working, idling, schooling, timing. And all of these are somehow complementary.

8. Pet Peeve: I hate the word “pretentious” when used to describe any creative work. It’s such a vague, lazy, unintelligent, and useless criticism to make. I think using it often betrays an unfortunate close-mindedness and rudeness.

9. From the National Utensil Association: Spoons don’t feed people; people feed people. Spoons make feeding very easy; many are fed in our country b/c of the availability of spoons. Without spoons, people would still be fed. More spoon control will not stop feeding from occurring. Everyone eats everyday. So, cool it.

10. I’m still fucking with crime ‘cause crime pays: So much more, scattered. I visit tomorrow. And, in a month, tossed back into the tornado with nothing but my father’s kite to hold onto. Symbolism. Hopes. Dreams. Aspirations. Compilations. Steve Holt!