While in the New Shoots Creative Writing program in high school, I think we were supposed to write something performance-y or at least something that our mentor, whose name I have forgotten… no! Ben! Yes! Ben was supposed to look over and give comments. I went through a phase in high school where I thought that writing the most random things that came to mind equalled great poetry. How very, very wrong I was.
This initally consisted of 3 pages, both sides, of the most random things I could think of. Some were inspired by what was around me, mainly Math class. Of these three pages, I then took passages from all three and condensed them into one prose/poem thing. There’s no story, so it’s not really prose but it’s not structured like a poem (then again, free verse = anything). I remember thinking this was the most brilliant thing I had written. How Ben was able to read and make any sort of sense of this is beyond me.
In the Mind of a Wise Idiot
“Not at all”, he said to me as I wondered what it would be like to finally taste the sweetness of his lips. Don’t tell me I’m dreaming again, I think to myself. Well, how can I be dreaming if I can think? Maybe it’s that even the first time I saw him that it changed everything for me. The randomness of school makes it impossible for me to do anything. At all. At all, at all. Somehow, I find myself wondering about him all…yes, all! The times are changing; perhaps I will feel different tomorrow. Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps he will finally notice me…
Why am I so scared anyways? It doesn’t make sense, well…we’re all scared of something, especially the truth; it blinds us, it tortures us, it shows us things we’re hiding from All! this time. And yet we can’t seem to accept it! It is like we want another reason, but we are given the reason; we just refuse to believe it. How stupid of us, all of us. Why are we all! so stupid? It doesn’t make sense. Then again, nothing ever makes sense. It probably never will. We will all! continue to blind ourselves from the truth that we refuse to believe. I don’t understand. And I probably never will.
I wonder if I should do anything about it. About what? There’s nothing to do and nothing anyone can do. Well, except for both of him. Perhaps he’s scared. Perhaps he doesn’t know if I am or not. Perhaps he himself isn’t. Perhaps this, perhaps that. Only time will. Tell me what you think. Make sense of ALL! Look, there he is again. I think he was looking at me. But I didn’t look back. Should I have? Who cares anyways? But it’s not impossible right? I don’t know what to think anymore. Should I keep chasing after him, or in that case, anyone if I don’t get high? Hmm…maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I should stop. Stop. Stop. Stop, yes…that sounds quite right. Hmm…everything seems so wrong. What is right? What does it mean? The brightness of his shirt is overwhelming. Who is this? Who are you? Who is everyone? Who is anyone? How do we know who we are if nothing is right? Math is stupid and endearing ’till eternity.
Nothing can escape a black hole; its black, black, black heart swallows all. This reminds me of when I thought about not breathing ever again before. Nope, not fun at all. Why don’t everyone just shut up? Please, shut up! Get out now, you stupid opossum! And stay out! Don’t forget to shut up! It makes no SENSE! Yes, that’s what we all need; some sense. How can I make sense of sense if I can’t sense it? Hmm…perhaps my binder holds answers. I don’t know anything. “Funner” is not a word, you stupid hoe. I really should just stop because I’m not making any sense…yes, that word again! I’m confusing myself. What should I do? If today is gone, would we be on February 14th? Quite strange really, but maybe…maybe not.
I wonder if people wonder. I wonder if people wonder about the same things as I do. Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps they are normal. Perhaps, no one is normal. Perhaps we are all queer and I’m normal. Perhaps my people are the normal ones. Perhaps, perhaps not. That seems to make so much more sense…there’s that word again. No! My god! Your god sucks!!! Math sucks. Here sucks. Do I suck? I don’t know but probably. Imagine all the people, living in hell. That I can do. Hmm…cards can be fun if you’re a hobo. The pink fluffy bunnies will continue to hop until their legs fall off. Alive, then dead. I wonder about him and the future. Perhaps it will all! change. Perhaps, perhaps not.
Wow. I am so obviously sane.
aaron's random musings 
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