Getting Mistaken For Art

If you asked me a year ago, I’d tell you that I never want the school year to end. I’d say that because I didn’t. I remember driving away from school and feeling as though it would never be the same and I was right. Never again will my first year of college happen. It’s all permanent, ever little mistake and false step. Everything that came stampeding into my life is no longer new. Those moments have passed and I’m all heartbroken about it.

I hate letting my life pass me by. I hate it because I take all my time and spend it on trying to get things back. It’s not my fault. I mean, it is but that’s not stopping me from blaming something else. I blame Oscar Wilde. Now, I’ve never really read any of his work completely, which is kind of dumb of me to not do, but I’m a fan of the things he’s said. He once told that life is about finding the moments in life that make us happy and spend all of our time trying to recreate them. The problem is the messenger of Mr. Wilde was someone.

And now you can see that this has turned into the normal crap standard of my writing. Wah, I’m sad and now I’m going to type about it. I guess I am just a dick like everyone else. But then again, I’ve been told I’m not. But what the hell do people know? What the hell do I care what people know? I do and don’t and I do and then it eats at me, so I try the toxins and drown it out, but it never goes, so I try again and it still stays. I am ready for the summer. I wish I could grow a beard, because I would grow one this summer to make a symbol of everything. I’m going to buy books and write stories and stay off of the evils of the world. I don’t want social networking, I want to free my soul for possibly the last worry free time in my life because the clock is ticking and I have been made very aware of that.

I want to replace all this shit because it’s getting me nowhere. I’m sick of looking for hope when I’ve been specifically told there isn’t any. I don’t want to chase anymore because I know I’ll just keep running after it if I don’t convince myself that I shouldn’t. Because I really shouldn’t just for the simple fact that I should.

“Business or pleasure sir?”


“I’m sorry to hear that sir.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“And don’t call me sir, I consider it disrespectful.”

But as I was saying, nothing. I wasn’t saying anything but I still expect you to listen to me. See that’s why I need to just retreat. Maybe I’ll find something that may actually be worth saying. Someday I’ll take those things I’ve learned and whisper them softly into your ear, whoever you are. And once I do, you’ll take that and move on and I’ll be left with my own empty words ringing in my head. And then I’ll breakdown and have to go through the hermit phase again, only to emerge ready to give away all that I’ve learned. And then you’ll take it and all those words will do some much for you and I will only see it as the bullshit that I spew when I get bored. I’m mean, it’s all bullshit isn’t that it? That’s pretty much what it comes down to. So spread the shit kids. Take it and throw it into the biggest fan you can find. Maybe someone will mistake it for something of value. But it’s just shit.


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