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o wise men, riddle me this: what if the dream come true?
what if the dream come true? and millions unborn shall dwell
in the house i have shaped in my heart
the noble house of my thought...
"...some of us sold out and became hippies. And some of us managed to preserve our integrity by accepting government grants, or writing pornographic novels... You name it."
-Diane di Prima
the poets, the writers, painters, actors, actresses, dancers, models, artists, musicians...where have they all gone? they're becoming a myth - a sweet idea of tragically beautiful and creative young people hidden from the world by their poverty and the arrogance of a few narrow-minded fools. never will i be able to grasp the beauty or tragedy of their lives. this world doesn't allow for it. my life doesn't allow for it. and, perhaps, i never would have survived nor flourished artistically like i would have dreamed to. perhaps i would have become one of those who couldn't handle the harsh reality of life and would have found a tragically showy and artistic way to kill myself...or just run home crying that i'm sorry and hoping my family would take me back.
maybe i'm just one of those nuts who have no reason to be discontented with their life and yet could think of nothing better than to leave it all behind for something else - anything else. maybe i'm one of those thankless fools who doesn't know a good thing when it bites you in the ass and calls you harry...i don't know. all i know is that, right now, life blows and there's nowhere i can go to change that. so i'll go to college, take my classes, listen to professors drone on about things i don't particularly care about, maybe even do all my papers and such on time. i'll be who i'm supposed to be, as defined by everyone else, and try to forget i can be anyone else.
in case i don't, i'm already forgotten.
isolated outbursts of rebellion. from what? i don't really know. perhaps just my own mind.
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