Mad Girl's Love Song
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Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember what this flesh had gone through; I dream of what it may go through. I record here the actions of optical nerves, of taste buds, of sensory perception. And, I think: I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.
Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember what this flesh had gone through; I dream of what it may go through. I record here the actions of optical nerves, of taste buds, of sensory perception. And, I think: I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.
Mood is rising, rising, rising; risen.
In the last hour and a half I have written an essay on existential death-anxiety (for my own pleasure; I don’t ever get formal education this relevant) and made a necklace. Normally I could perhaps conjure up the effort to do one of these things in an entire day. I wonder what else I can do, do, do.
My actual class-work?
Nah.
I believe in self-directed studies.
Hardy-harr.
I also feel like punching a wall.
Tuesday February 21st
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porcelaindream posted this
