Collegiate Studies

Well, earlier I was talking to a dude I know; he described his interest as a hunger. It isn't about the knowledge for him, but like an empty, longing for cerebral reaction. It's not an objective--like for me--it is the action of engrossing, of pitting one's mind against the abstract jungle-gym-labyrinths of theory and application. That's meaningful for some, I guess.

Fear of Judgment

I've decided to stop feeling bad about being disinterested and ambivalent towards my studies, at least as long as I'm passing. It's such a waste of opportunity, I know, and there is so many interesting things to learn, I know, but I can't argue with the immovable any longer. I am here for a degree.

Finding an impossible way into graduate school is as far off as I want it to be, and in honesty I wish it did not stand in the way of my goals. I still do plan to go, someday, and yes, perhaps the most ludicrous aspect of attaining the plainly stated will be overcoming my stagnating GPA.

But I've decided to stop feeling bad about being disinterested and ambivalent towards my studies, at least as long as I'm passing. And I know, I know, it's a waste of time and money, but you work with what you have. Right now, I have 3 years of college credit and a desire to be happy.

And fuck you if you think I need more than that. And fuck you if you think I should have more than that.

This damn world and its judgment, I've decided to stop feeling bad about being disinterested and ambivalent towards my studies, at least as long as I'm passing.

Consolations (draft)

Merv sat in his bed effortlessly, his lips permanently parted. The thick marshmallow wisps drifted out a consoling forgiveness.

With his back leaning against the drawn blinds, only the top most bars allowed staccato flits of light to filter through. There was a charred blunt in the ash-tray and the sunny glow of another as he drew in from its long crispy barrel.

At first the light illuminated rays of haze, like a prism that had run out of color. But as the smoke filled the room, it swirled in and out until it folded over the dim ambiance. He didn't want to see himself right now anyway.

He didn't want to see. Baggy hanging eyelids and a melancholy absence of latitude in every other part of his complexion. It was too late to cry now. Too late to feel emotion, he decided. His love fell out of parted lips, like on so many other occasions, and it left him feeling emptier, as empty as his smokey room.