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2004-02-24 4 4:56 a.m.
"i'm a cut above you p***ies" (c) Vakill
but am i though?
they say student writers never fail to end their stories w/ one trademark gaffe; our fiction always runs on one sentence too long. that last sentence we felt tied up the moral, the motif, the conceit...so beautifully? didn't. it's our calling card, our misguided wax seal of approval.
"there's no stopping a writer of this calibur"
that's what she said at the end of my second workshop. from someone w/ a heart of steel, that's quite a watertight complement. sum'n to be revelled in, i guess. but there's an eternity of difference b/n tittilatingly impressive & flawless. the 2nd is where a nigga's tryna be.
there's...
a motif in my work. something that has managed to cleave itself, unflinchingly to the fiction that i churn out: violence against women. what's my angle? am i a victimized pansy in 240lbs of misleading molasses coating...or a closet wife-beater? u decide.
Peter, the IrishAccordion-player from Maryland or Minneapolis (can't remember which)...said that we, as a people, as a world...have forgotten how to create "nicely"; write "nice" stories & "nice" poems & "nice" music. but...i wonder whether life really isn't just kids, bully, the rules of attraction, baise-moi, irreversible, ken park, requiem for a dream & the like?
i've been thinking in terms of screenplays these days. & hacking up green phlegm. & popping blue pills. & drinking red liquids. none of it helps y'know? the phlegm is as green as ever. the throat as agonizing.
within the last few weeks & months, i've had so many encounters...
a drunken frat boy & some beads...
my first time hearing the word "nigger" couched not-so-comfortably between a white person's lips & then stuttered forth into the aural world...
calming storms...
my first pool game(s). i gave away the win b/c honesty. (hopefully that's a sword i can die by)
my parents proud of me...
internet ignorance (nothing new, just especially concentrated this time)
having yr work universally praised...
making some1 cry b/c smthg u wrote...
((tbcontinued))
i feel like in a week, when i finally turn 21, i'll have nothing left to do. it is after all the golden age of freedom, no? that oh-so-sought-after freedom that i can't seem to value in the same manner as the deluge of americans among which/whom i am afloat. that same freedom that makes me...smile at the irony? yawn at the boredom? smthg better, smthg new, smthg satisfying...
smthg blue?
"all history is written in sperm & blood"
the passage of time is overly rated, kids.