i'm reading this book about students
who aren't the best-
who eventually become dropouts, sell drugs, get pregnant
and what they say, feel, and believe
and just know, so incisively
so intelligent, so insightful
so much heart and dream.
it just makes me think.
maybe it's what wright wrote about in american hunger...that there was depth to him because he had known pain and hurt and injustice.
what am i learning, and what do i want to learn?
what do i think about, and what is there out in the world to think about?
so much, dazzling array.
like when i woke up this morning and wished i didnt have to go to class so i could think about something else.
it's like a dream of something bigger
and when you grow up it gets smaller and smaller, that dream
dries up
i want so much for things to be perfect
when i'm listening to something beautiful, seeing something beautiful
i want a continuation of that from people, no interruption but synchronization.
i understand when people say that sometimes no words are better than words
and yet it's not that-
i just want something else, a better language, that is higher than that of this earth. or captures that deepest sense of the beautiful found in the earth. because there is much. sort of like light pouring forth from the mouth
and just thinking about,
man, when do you figure out who you are? apart from circumstances?
when you're stripped and punched and pulled at
and you see what you're made of, or what's at the core, mass of shining and burning metal and star, that's at the center of you
think most people are too scared to find out.
