I enjoy mushrooms and acid, and could see myself using them in the future for various escapades. Just that coming up, the butterflies in my stomach already high, flying in a frenzy that almost makes me lose my lunch. I guess that’s what you get for introducing a foreign substance into a body so fine tuned for reality. I don’t know why humans are so entranced by altering what we regard as normalcy. Maybe we are constantly dissatisfied with what we know, and those of us unfit for scholarly expansion of the brain take to drug fuelled expansion of the mind. Then there’s me, who’s a happy mix of both. I guess I always want to learn; both about the planet around me and the world inside my head. It’s a weird mix. I don’t know what I’d classify myself as. A scholar, only by the fact I’m spending more time in university than any of my other friends. I’m a learner. A ponderer; I am constantly attempting to quench some intangible thirst I feel, for anything. The world around me will never lose its wonder. I could learn for my whole life and still not know nearly enough. So I pair academia with my own teachings. My philosophies, brought on by altered views from illegal substances. When I’m buzzed I see the earth in a whole new way, a way that sciences can’t teach; only I myself can discover. I’m left wondering about the energy particle duality of electrons in the context of the human duality of physical and soul. I make connections no course can supply me with, and I will never get the answers to, but the sheer questioning is all that is important. I am a constantly unsatiated (screw you red squiggly line, I can make up words if I want), always have a roiling hunger inside me that I can only guess what to satisfy it with. So I take pieces of anything I can understand and place it there, and piece by piece I am becoming full. But never enough to make me stop searching.
i don't know what it is but i cant stand you anymore. maybe because I've been with you for 6 weeks straight. then i got two weeks of freedom, glorious freedom, and it's hard to come back to living in this house, with you, with whom i now associate all the wonderful memories of arguments that you could never bare to lose, the days spent waiting at each corner for you as you lagged behind inconsiderately taking pictures.
my friend told me last night, in alcohol fuelled praise, that you were real. that she had incredible respect for you. and i just couldn't agree. you're real only in the sense that you let us know exactly what is on your mind without bothering if it upsets us. but you don't take the time to listen to me, to consider my opinions, because everything anyone else thinks is completely illogical and a waste of time. you can't grasp that you're views aren't one size fits all. they don't work for everyone; especially not me. You can't...
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You are a writer, like it or not.
It makes me wonder, what are you going to college for? What are you studying?
What is it that you want to be?