I need to blow this popsicle stand.
This crops up every now and again. The restlessness; that trapped, explosive feeling in my heart. School is no longer fulfilling. Sigh. I could say that a million times. Enough of the busy work, the sleepless nights for no reward. I want to read books again. I want cigarettes and a roof to climb on.
Good thing I'm moving soon, eh?
But, being that this is my current mood, I thought I'd share to two of my favorite Poet/Novelists.When in doubt, I turn to my first true literary loves.
*Note, I only used a very small excerpt from Plath's journal. Most of it actually sounded a lot more like how I'm feeling, but I didn't want to (a) focus on the negative or (b) compare my state of mind to Sylvia Plath's, because that never works out very well. Ha. However, I would highly recommend her Unabridged Journals (from 1950-1962)! They are...revelatory.
Jack Kerouac:
November 4, 1947:
"I had to go out and walk in the rain in N.Y. and rage around with my friends. We smashed recordings of Mozart over our heads, I and the daemonic one. We got drunk. I came out of it beautifully, remembering the simple beauty of life, and came home."
Sylvia Plath:
November 4, 1959:
"Pleasant dream of return to London: renting a room with the bed in a garden of daffodils, waking to soils smells and bright yellow flowers. The Doers intrigue me. I would be one of them."
For good measure, here's a Bukowski poem!:
my fate
like the fox
I run with the hunted
and if I'm not
the happiest man
on earth
I'm surely the
luckiest man
alive.